Has pickup guru Heartiste ever actually been in the same room as a human vagina?

There’s a famous scene in 40 Year Old Virgin where Steve Carrell’s character inadvertently reveals his complete lack of sexual experience with women (not that there’s anything wrong with that) by suggesting that a women’s breast “feels like a bag of sand.”

I sometimes find myself wondering if some of the guys I write about here have ever actually been in the presence of a naked woman. I mean, sure, it’s not really that surprising that a committed vagina-avoider like the legendary Man Going His Own Way known as Christopher in Oregon would write about women in general, and their vaginas in particular, as if they were stinky alien creatures from Planet Yuckygirls.

But it’s a little weirder when someone who claims to be an expert on the female mind and body describes, for example, the human vagina in ways that seem to suggest that he’s never actually been in the same room with one.

I’m referring to our old friend Heartiste, the smug, racist piece of human trash who presents himself to the world as a pickup artist extraordinaire, someone who in his glory days “slew pussy like the Quim Reaper” (his words, obviously, not mine).

In a recent post, though, Heartiste cast aspersions on a fat woman’s alleged “sticky, bulbous, pitcher plant vagina.”

Bulbous? Bulbous?

Dude, you do realize that vaginas are, er, concave, right?

Heartiste, a somewhat overenthusiastic fan of metaphor, has previously suggested that vaginas are less like pitcher plants than they are like a shark’s toothy mouth, describing how “alpha” males find themselves “staring into the maw of an excited vagina aroused by the scent of cock in the water.”

In other posts he’s written of “poon petals flower[ing],” rhapsodized about  “pussy waterfalls … sprayed in fine mists over jungle canopies,” described the vagina as a “fetid, humid mess” that no true alpha would want to go down upon, and suggested that the vulvas of “aging women” regularly become “low-hanging hammocks” needing plastic surgery in order to compete sexually with the less-hammocky vulvas of younger women.

He’s talked about “vaginal gusher[s],” exploding pussy, and women whose desire “erupt[s] like Mount Vaginius.”

Taking his cue, perhaps, from Frank Herbert’s Dune, he’s described male desire for a world in which “the snatch will flow.”

The word “labia” seems to send him into a veritable paroxysm of excited metaphoring. He’s described labia as “flowering,” “flapping,” and “pulsating.”  He suggests that a sexually aroused women will need to “shift a little in [her] chair to make room for [her] engorging labia.”

In one post, he warns his readers that if they can’t pull off at least a reasonable impersonation of an alpha male, their girlfriend’s “labia will wither like rose petals in a Texas drought”; in another he suggests that if a fella can successfully ape an alpha, a woman’s “labia [will] begin to flower like a Desert Lily after an August deluge.”

He laughs at the thought of a “loser … jab[bing] a few tepid spurts into sea cucumber labia.”

And even more weirdly, he’s referred to the phrase “hey you” as “the symptomatic verbal goosebumps of the warm chill caused by her engorging labia.”

Wat.

But no variety of labia seems to excite him quite so much as feminist labia. In one post he attacks the “crooked labia of feminist ideology,” whatever that means; in another he happily predicts that his opinions will cause much “gnashing of labia”; in still another, he imagines his writings causing “a million fatties and fug feminists [to] sprout martyrdom stigmata on their marbled labia.”

And in an even stranger bit of metaphorical overkill he once referred to “Manboobz Fatrelle’s porcine labia,” which is evidently his somewhat baroque rendition of the standard Manosphere taunt that I’m a fat “mangina.”

Your challenge today, dear readers, is to draw a picture of what Heartiste must think vaginas look like based on his various descriptions of them. I recommend using MSPaint.