Valentine's Day Archives - Magick Sandwich

Pimp Your Vajajay for Valentine’s Day!

February 14, 2023

2023: When I wrote this twelve years ago, I had no idea this post would be evergreen. Most things come and go quickly but every product and service I mentioned here is still a thing, a decade later. In fact, it’s become so mainstream that Gwyneth Paltrow’s This Smells Like My Vagina candle is a huge seller on her lifestyle/vanity brand, Goop. It has cedar notes, which must come in handy when she’s trying to keep moths out of her cashmere panties. Then there’s her jade egg, purported to balance hormones when inserted in the, well, you know. She had to walk that claim back . . . a little bow-leggedly, perhaps?

But I digress. Without further ado, here is how you can still pimp your vajajay for Valentine’s Day.

***

Dear Reader, are you pining for romance this Valentine’s Day? Do you have a guy but your love life is ho-hum? Is he happy to spend all his time uptown? Well, drop those thongs, girls! The Magick Sandwich is going to show you how to put the magic back in your, um, sandwich.

Maybe your sweetheart is acomoclitic. In other words, he prefers and is aroused by hairless genitalia. After a quick Google check to confirm he’s not a registered sex offender, pop some Percocet and head over to your friendly neighborhood waxing establishment. There you’ll pay someone to tear off all your pubic hair while you hold your legs in the air. And not in a good way.

But wait, there’s more! There’s a pretty good possibility that you’re going to get a few in-grown hairs. Quelle horreur! Your hoo-hah beautification process has only just begun. Luckily, in the war against unattractive privates, you’ve got weapons.

The folks at Haven Spa in New York offer a first-rate vajacial. The Peach Smoothie promises to “gently cleanse the area with a special exfoliating AHA scrub, followed by an expert application of an acid peel to help free those trapped hairs and blocked pores.” Thank goodness they’re using experts to apply the acid. Have you ever gotten hot sauce in your eye? Imagine it in your crotch.

Once you’re properly denuded, head to Juvenex for its Gyno Spa Cure. This “ancient remedy that Asian cultures have known for centuries” involves squatting over a steaming bucket of water and herbs “to irrigate the vaginal passage and restore optimum health.” (Did you know your vagina was sick?) If you can hold a squat through the twelve recommended sessions, your inner thighs will be hard as rock. If you’re weak, though, you might fall into the bucket and end up with your labia looking like a couple of poached chicken cutlets.

Speaking of womanly wares, have you looked at them lately? Really, really looked? Ladies, there’s only one acceptable hue down there. Otherwise, how could there be such a thing as discoloration? Luckily, a product exists to combat this new source of shame. South Beach Skin Solutions sells a lightening gel that uses sodium hydroxide, also known as lye. The CDC lists it as a hazardous chemical that should not touch the skin. Did I mention that it’s used in drain cleaners and wood strippers? But why be a worrywart? Isn’t the uniform tint of our collective genitalia worth the risk?

Now that you’re bleached, why not choose the perfect new color? My New Pink Button was invented by a paramedical esthetician “after she discovered her own genital color loss.” She gives you several options. There’s the Marilyn, the lightest shade, for a subtle change. Bettie is hot pink, Ginger is rosy and Audrey is a bold burgundy. (I’ll never see Breakfast at Tiffany’s the same way again.) One blogger tried it and said the powdered dye tastes suspiciously like Kool-Aid.

While we’re there, let’s say hello to our neighbor, the anus. Why should he miss out on all the fun? He’s been waxed, buffed, and steamed but only because of proximity. He’s the janitor to your pretty cheerleader in the high school of your pelvis. Make him feel special with My Pink Wink. (I’m trying to erase that visual as we speak.) Pink Wink bleaches the rectum using kojic acid, which can cause allergic contact dermatitis. Red rash, bumps, itching, pain, blisters, and dry, red patches of skin—the same reaction you’d get from poison ivy or poison oak. Sexy.

After you’ve been plucked and bleached and dyed, you may feel like something’s missing. Namely, pubic covering. How to replace those curlies? Well, you could purchase a merkin made of human hair.

It does seem a bit silly to glue on a stranger’s bush after all the effort you’ve made to go bald. For something a little different, I submit to you the bacon merkin:

Just when you thought bacon and sex couldn’t get any better, now there’s Bacon Sex®! Imagine the possibilities. But please keep them to yourselves; I can’t get past the hygiene issues.

For those not thrilled by the prospect of having nethers redolent of breakfast meat, there is a more elegant solution to the quest for pubic decor. I’m talking about vajazzling. Jennifer Love Hewitt has become the de facto spokeswoman for this most intimate embellishment. Here, she tells George Lopez all about it:

“After a breakup, a friend of mine Swarovski-crystalled my ‘precious lady’ and it shined like a disco ball,” she explained, adding, “I am currently vajazzled.” I’m duly impressed but I have a question. How “precious” can she be if you keep letting your new boyfriend slam his dick in her face? That ain’t no way to treat a lady, Miss Hewitt.

In conclusion, there are many ways to disguise the loathsome state of our loins. Even Barbie, our greatest feminine icon, decorates her smooth, hairless, featureless vagina.

Note: At some point in the intervening years, the humorous video of a vajazzled Barbie in various states of undress and absurd situations became sufficiently “triggering” that YouTube included an adult content warning. (It’s a doll, people.) As of this year, the video has been banned in the US. The only place I can find it now is on the Facebook page of a salon in Slovenia. I assure you that there is nothing pornographic, no reason to fear clicking on the link. I’m probably wasting my breath here. Anyone who would find this upsetting didn’t read this far, having clutched their pearls and fainted many paragraphs ago.

Click on the photo if you dare.

If it’s good enough for Barbie and Jen, it’s good enough for us. But be careful: those crystals are a choking hazard. Happy Valentine’s Day, everybody!

More Valentine’s Day advice:
9 Ways to Prevent Your Own Valentine’s Day Massacre
4 New Products to Try on Valentine’s Day
Crazy Beauty Treatments for Valentine’s Day
Lonely on Valentine’s Day? There’s an App for That

9 Ways to Prevent Your Own Valentine’s Day Massacre

February 1, 2021

Let’s face it. Valentine’s Day is the cruelest of Hallmark-induced holidays, practically guaranteeing a crappy outcome. Either you’re single and confronted with the perception that there’s something wrong with that, or you’re attached and no matter what you do, it will not be “romantic” enough.

Since romance can be largely attributed to the hormonal rush you feel at the beginning of a relationship, if you’re a few or many years in, you’re basically screwed. Or not screwed, really, since this is a day where the pressure is so high to live up to an imagined standard, it fairly defines the term performance anxiety.

Please allow me to help you navigate this minefield with these handy tips.

1. Size matters. One year my hubby ordered from an 800 number and his order got switched with someone else’s. I got 3 roses delivered to the office while another woman got my 2 dozen. Imagine that guy’s surprise when she called to thank him. Was he psyched not to look like a cheapskate? Did he send her 3 because they’d only slept together once? Did she think he was trying to tell her he was madly in love with her? Was he really just making a friendly gesture? That’s the stuff of sitcoms.

My point is that 3 roses don’t scream “I think you’re hot.” They more likely whisper something like, “Thank you for ignoring my chancre.” Bigger is better, guys. And don’t order from an 800 number. Not ever.

If Valentine’s Day falls on a weekday:

2. Do not turn your gift into more work for your sweetheart. Monday through Thursday, send them in a vase. Otherwise, she’ll have to spend part of her workday locating a vase and sawing at the stems with office shears to cut them to fit it, then cleaning it all up. Work.

If the date falls early in the week, you’re golden. She gets maximum jealousy from her coworkers and they’ll die by Friday—the roses, not the coworkers—so she won’t have to carry them home. Problem solved.

On a Friday afternoon, send them in a box with the little water condoms on them so they won’t dehydrate at her desk. You’ll be making her bring the box home like a UPS guy, but at least she won’t be taking public transit or driving with a sloshing bowl of roses. This is precisely when the flowers stop being a gift and start being a reminder of how thoughtless you are for not foreseeing this problem.

3. You must always send roses. Always. Don’t listen if she tells you not to. Even if she means it, she will feel ripped off. Even if she’s so allergic that she lives in a bubble, she will still want to look at them and touch them through her rubber glove.

But:

4. Do not attach balloons to the bouquet. Although they may look cute on the website, these things should be reserved for invalids in the hospital. And they’ll hate you for them, too. And while we’re on this subject, suffice it to say, the only gift you should give her that comes in a mug is a cup of coffee.

5. Don’t forget the chocolate. Even if she’s diabetic, you will be expected to get her one of those cute little boxes with two truffles so she can have a taste. Hopefully, you’ll remember if she’s diabetic, because nothing ruins a romantic evening like an impromptu coma.

There are additional rules that apply if Valentine’s Day falls on a weekend. Take heed:

6. You must spend the entire day with her. No Xbox, no war porn on the History Channel, no car magazines. Not for one minute. You must stare lovingly into her eyes all day. Don’t think you can get sneaky if she’s blind. She will sense your inattention.

7. Buy her jewelry. You’re in a bind here. It’s unrealistic for her to tote flowers and candy into the office on Monday to show and any tale she tells of a toe-curling weekend of romance will be suspect. (Trust me on this. No one will believe it.) Jewelry is the only proof, so make it good. Remember every carat adds an inch to your wang.

If you don’t have that much scratch and you know her birthstone or favorite color, you can get her something semi-precious and save a bundle. You’ll also look like a hero for being so thoughtful. See how listening when your loved one drones on about herself can benefit you? If not, don’t try to fake it by calling and asking one of her friends. She’ll tell her immediately. We’re bitches.

And here’s one for the ladies:

8. Do not give your man “love coupons.” It may seem cute and sexy to give him things that say stuff like “Good for One Massage with Happy Ending.” In reality, they’ll just sit around until your mother finds them when she comes for a visit…or worse, he’ll try to redeem one and make you feel like a prostitute.

A final tip for everyone:

9. Do things for each other all the time. The saddest thing about this stupid holiday is that it assumes we need a specified day and way to recognize our loved ones. The inference is that we must be directed to appreciate them on one day of the year or we won’t do it at all. Or that we don’t need to. Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, even Administrative Professionals Day–aren’t they a little offensive? If we care, don’t we care all the time? If we don’t, then these holidays are all about faking it. No wonder Valentine’s Day sucks so much.

There now, didn’t that sound like an After School Special? I think that’s the name of one of those coupons.

More Valentine’s Day advice:
Pimp Your Vajajay on Valentine’s Day!

Lonely on Valentine’s Day? There’s an App for That

January 31, 2021

It’s Valentine’s Day again, when lonely souls feel contractually obligated to search for a good time. They need look no further than their smartphones with the OhMiBod app, available since 2012 on iTunes and now, fittingly, on Google Play. This breakthrough for the hands-free onanist allows one to operate one’s vibrator remotely.

Designed for touch screen control, the app also works with the iPad and iPod touch. A tap on the screen accesses five preloaded settings, including “Ooh I like!” and the mysterious “Fire Alarm.” For a more personalized experience, OhMiBod can direct the massager to pulsate with the beat of one’s favorite songs, perhaps causing bass-heavy rock bands to edge out, say, Moby, on one’s playlist.

Of course, this remote can be used by couples as well. What boyfriend wouldn’t want to take a break from playing Angry Birds to pleasure his woman while watching porn and indulging in low-tech masturbation in another room?

Steve Jobs would be so proud.

More to love:
Pimp Your Vajajay for Valentine’s Day!
9 Ways to Prevent Your Own Valentine’s Day Massacre

Vagina Repo: Gwyneth Edition

February 8, 2015

The real golden ticket here is the Mugworth V-Steam; You sit on what is essentially a mini-throne, and a combination of infrared and mugwort steam cleanses your uterus, et al. It is an energetic release—not just a steam douche—that balances female hormone levels. If you’re in LA, you have to do it.

Gwyneth Paltrow, GOOP.com

Gwyneth dear, clearly you never got the owner’s manual. How else to explain your ignorance of something that is only a couple feet from your face at all times? Though I’m sure you are so flexible from your spiritual yoga practice that you’re one plow pose away from direct nose-to-labia confrontation, I feel that you need a visual aid. To wit:

Have one of your servants fetch a hand mirror and position it so that you can see your pudendum in all its undoubtedly depilated glory. Note the geography. (Remember, it’s that class you took while perfecting your Blue Steel facial pose.) If you can see your uterus from here, then you won’t need a doula to massage your perineum with sacred oils during childbirth. You can just shoot them out like they’re on a waterslide at Six Flags.

In fact, short of borrowing a pressure washer from your local car wash, steam will most assuredly not reach your uterus. (Note: Steam Douche: excellent band name.) The mini-throne is essentially a chair with a hole in it through which the spa taps your Iron Man residuals. As for the “energetic release,” it’s possible…if your vagina is pulling a very tiny train.

I do have to thank you for the information on how steam affects hormone levels. It explains that weird day at the gym when I spent too much time in the sauna and turned into a man.

More like this:
Pimp Your Vajajay for Valentine’s Day!
4 New Products to Try on Valentine’s Day
Crazy Beauty Treatments for Valentine’s Day

4 New Products to Try on Valentine’s Day

February 14, 2014

We’ve told you how to pimp your vajajay, get gorgeous with crazy beauty treatments, decipher her Valentine riddles, and enjoy some quality alone time with an iTunes app. Now Magick Sandwich brings you this dispatch from our annual genital Olympics.

*****

Our tireless pursuit of hairless pudenda has claimed a hidden casualty. The pubic crab is all but extinct, Bloomberg.com reports, due to our destruction of its habitat. (Where is PETA? Off protesting the eugenics of dog breeding at the Westminster Kennel Show? Are saber-toothed crotch critters unworthy of affection? How species-ist!)

Great analogy, PETA

While it may be too late for the littlest victims, we can hide our guilty loins with the Kitty Carpet, a reusable downstairs toupee. A popular style is the Michael Jackson, presumably because it looks like a Jheri curl and is highly flammable. Kitty Carpet merkin

For the man who has suffered feelings of inadequacy since watching Mad Men (also known as Jon Hamm-feriority complex), there is the faux bulge of Trunk in My Junk, an underwear insert that offers the latest in stealth codpiece technology. Unless she tries to put her hands down your pants.

Trunk in My Junk Also for gents, the soothingly named ballsBalm is a depilatory lotion that comes with a decidedly rough-looking exfoliating glove. The company touts it as an enjoyable adjunct to pleasuring oneself. It sounds like a sadomasochistic way to cut the brush to make the tree look bigger. If sandpapering one’s own gonads was pleasant, Home Depot wouldn’t be able to keep the stuff in stock. ballsbalm magick sandwich

Finally, a product called repHresh uses this cute girl in Groucho glasses to represent other deodorants that mask vaginal odor. Can Mr. Marx’ estate sue? (Please?) While in this case “pH balance” is code for “smelly cooch,” the ad also mentions odor seven times, proceeding from the assumption that women already stink.

Ladies, if you go to all this trouble and your man still doesn’t like it down there, maybe he’s gay!

*****

Whatever’s trending for you, #bush or #bald, we at Magick Sandwich wish you a happy Valentine’s Day. No matter what you’ve got going on, have fun. Go crazy. Tain’t nobody’s business if you do!

Crazy Beauty Treatments for Valentine’s Day

February 14, 2013

Welcome to Magick Sandwich, your source for all things Valentine! Since I’ve already listed 9 Ways to Prevent Your Own Valentine’s Day Massacre and taught you to Pimp Your Vajajay for Valentine’s Day!, it’s time to get serious about skincare for your special day. We’ve got some interesting products to get through so let me start with a question, ladies. Remember what your high school boyfriend always told you? Turns out he was right. It really is good for your skin.

Get your game face on at Graceful Services where, for only $125, you’ll be massaged with Spermine, a powerful antioxidant found in human sperm. The spa takes corporate accounts and does house calls. (Is that legal?) If you’re feeling a bit sheepish, you can purchase a tube of the stuff online. This company, which is really, truly named Bioforskning, asserts that Spermine is “the only antioxidant which is capable of penetrating the horny layer of the skin.” Adolescent chuckles all around.

If you’re feeling flush, hop across the pond to London’s Hari’s Salon for a bull sperm hair treatment. Yes, it’s the real thing but don’t fret: they keep it refrigerated so it’s nice and fresh. Trowel that on, slap a load of Spermine on your face, then lie back and pretend you’re an extra on the set of a porno flick. Tell this tale to your date and he will be snoring peacefully with a stain on his crotch by the time dessert arrives. You’re welcome.

If you fancy your secretions a bit less personal, book an EscarGlow™ snail slime facial at the NYC office of plastic surgeon and amateur punster Matthew Schulman. Or order earthworm excrement-enhanced Wrinkle Butter or Heaven Gold Bee Venom Mask (60ml for only $619.72) from the comfort of your own home. But please refer to these things as secretions, droppings and castings. The marketing folks have worked so hard, it would be a shame to waste their diligently researched synonyms.

All this reclining under excreta may have you worried about toxins but never fear. We’ve broken it down for you. Animal poop: good. Your poop: bad. Now you’ll need to fly back to London’s EF Medispa for its Californian Colonic, perhaps inspired by the warm California sun or just filled with bits of real Californians. One should never assume.

After the normal colonic—did I just write that?—blows “unnecessary waste and toxins” through a length of tubing, wheatgrass is “directly infused into the colon.” Again, hats off to the marketing department but the line must be drawn somewhere. There is no way to make the word tubing sound pleasant. Besides, colon hydrotherapy sounds suspiciously like what Sybil‘s mother did.

Did it suck her brain out too?

If having a juice box squeezed up your butt is not your idea of fun, go the full Gwyneth with cupping, a treatment that harkens back to the days of bile and leeches. (Leeches are still around. Demi Moore likes them, which explains her attraction to Ashton Kutcher.)

Suction cups are placed all over your back and the vacuum created pulls the toxins out, frees your chi and gets your circulation going. I could do the same thing by slapping your face and taking your wallet. But maybe the hickeys you get all over your back will make you feel young. (Again, this explains a lot about Demi Moore.)

Procuring all this dewy softness can make one rather cranky. So if your date shows up stinking of Febreze with a bottle of Snooki perfume in one hand and a box of post-Hef Holly Madison candy necklaces in the other—I think I got a cold sore just writing that—slam the door and clear your schedule for some quality time with the Crave Duet Lux, described by its inventor as the iPod of vibrators.

This bad boy comes complete with a USB port that’s chargeable by computer so there are no pesky cords or batteries to slow you down. And it sports a super classy gold-plated base and 16 big swinging gigabytes of memory so you can keep your treasured memories close to your, well, you know. Best of all, whatever you choose to store–photos of autumn leaves or the complete works of Ryan Gosling—Duet Lux will remember everything you tell it. And isn’t that all you really want in a guy?

More innovation:
Lonely on Valentine’s Day? There’s an App for That

Valentine to an Abusive Ex-Boyfriend

February 10, 2010

As anyone who’s ever gritted his or her teeth through this Hallmark holiday named for a Christian martyr knows, Valentine’s Day isn’t always a happy day.

It is with this in mind that I dredge up a ghost of valentines past. I wrote this piece in 2002 and posted it on my original website, Cruel but Just, which was a pre-Blogger attempt to warp hearts and minds on the Internet. I haven’t thought of this guy in years so don’t go all psychoanalytical on me. I’m just saying that there are worse things than being alone.

Hi W,

I just got home from the latest Rush concert and thought of you. All 235 hairy, girlfriend-beating loser pounds of you. Do you weigh even more now? It’s been a long time. I know I won’t find you on Classmates.com, since you’re a high school dropout. I guess you couldn’t take the pressure of Algebra.

I was remembering the first concert we went to, the Signals tour, 1983. Those were the days, huh? After you’d been arrested for tipping over gravestones but before you were banned from school property for giving booze to underage kids.

Nearly twenty years later, I’m at the Vapor Trails tour. Front row, right in front of Geddy, getting a smile and a wink as I sing along with him, not missing a lyric. I’m wearing my Signals tour shirt. You didn’t buy me that t-shirt—I had to get it last year on e-Bay. In fact, back then I had to pay for our tickets with money from my after-school cashier job. I couldn’t afford the first row back then—but you couldn’t afford the last.

Right before the encore, Working Man, (which you never were, by the way) Geddy points to me and has a roadie give me a special t-shirt, one of only a few printed to say it’s directly from him. My husband is psyched, gives Geddy the thumbs-up and tells me I’m hot. He’s happy to see me having a good time and tells me I’ve still got it.

I might not have lived to see this concert if I’d stayed with you. You might have killed me one day for talking to the mailman. You’d already choked me for pretending to rip a page out of a magazine and tried to throw me in front of a car for some reason I can’t remember, but which I’m pretty sure didn’t warrant that kind of reaction.

You were so frustrated when I got that scholarship, you told me you’d thrown a bottle of shampoo against the wall when your thumb covered the “n” in “collagen.” I was tempted to tell you that spelled COLLAGE, not COLLEGE. It would’ve almost been worth the beating I would have gotten.

You were so angry that I wouldn’t give up the scholarship and move in with you and your mom. You didn’t understand why I couldn’t be happy with that. And now you sit in your shitty little apartment on Main Street, maybe eating a little watered-down Dinty Moore. Remember how you used to add water and a bouillon cube to stretch it? Do you still return cans so you can buy another six-pack of generic beer?

I have to tell you, though, how much you helped me all those years ago. You scared me into running away from my hometown to New York City, where I met a wonderful man, married him and lived happily ever after (with all the bumps in the road a normal person would expect, but no tosses into traffic). Oh, and I got to sing with Geddy Lee. So, you see, you did me a real favor back then. But I’m not going to send you a thank you card.

Love,
K