NICE FACE
The internet has reached its culmination with a site posing a simple question: "Nice Face but the Cunt?" Upon clicking, you are confronted with a mugshot-like lineup of beautiful, decapitated heads. They are: women, young, suggestive. You scroll down the page; more faces appear. It seems as if their number is never-ending, a kind of battalion of girls demanding you answer the aforementioned question.
So, because this is the internet, you hover over an image. Say, the blonde, the brunette, the smiler in glasses. What is revealed: the date it was posted, the number of notes associated. The higher the number, you imagine, the higher the rating. Or is it? Maybe there is something else.
You click. At this point, you transfer your attention from the face -- which is, really, something of a hint as to what's coming, seeing as the mouth is, for all intents and purposes, the cunt of the visage -- to a new page opening in a new tab. Now, her face looms large. Below her, a series of over-sized, closeup shots of her vagina. You wonder regarding the origins of this picture of her crotch in heretofore unknown intimacy (by you, at least). It seems as if she has done this before; in a porn movie, perhaps, or modeling nude, having spread her legs in some room where you were not present at some other time.
You are unsure whether to be transfixed or terrified. You recall Sarah Silverman saying, "vaginas really, really scare people." You remember that Mother Jones piece that quoted that woman saying a vagina is like a "little Hoover vacuum." You think about Celebrity Close-Up, and how the celebrity gods of our time look when you blow their pixels up to Godzilla-size, and how you have never been able to look at Kristen Bell the same way since. Maybe this is too much information: these photos that show in supersized detail this particular woman's vagina. You feel as if you are balancing on the lip of a Black Hole made of flesh. Will you ever return?
A kind of meditative calm shrouds you as you continue on your vagina-hunting quest/expedition/consideration. This is scientific. This is not to be taken lightly. This is a serious study of what remains unseen, and you are the Ernest Shackleton of digital smut. They're right, you marvel. Vaginas really are like snowflakes. No two are twins. There are ins and outs, lights and darks, stubbled and Sphynx-like. You behold their variety with wonder, in awe at their unknowability. If there is a correlation between her face and her cunt, you can't find it. Or she is hiding it. Her face is for the world; her vagina is her secret. Some are architecturally complex, unexpectedly so; others resemble artfully-arranged filets of smoked salmon. Women, as ever, flummox you, tie you up in a Gordian knot of what they don't show as they expose themselves to you.
You agree: nice face. The question: but the cunt? The answer (you decide): is fucking beside the point. There is no answer. This is a Möbius strip of a riddle. In this virtual space of simulated sexual connectivity, there are only more girls, more clicks, more of this you trying to find that thing for which you are looking and wondering what the hell that was again. You're lost. She's found you. Click.