Shit Lit

I have just got a blast of the stinky new novel 'Wetlands' by German author Charlotte Roche, who was inspired to write it while perusing the douche aisle of her local store. She was struck by the number of products telling women that their natural odors and growths were enemies, meant to be eliminated and perfumed. I feel amazingly out of the loop. I thought that everyone knew that douches were downright harmful. And I'm also surprised they sell them in Germany where until recently hairy armpits and legs were virtually a fashion statement.

As part of a new wave of literature that I will call 'shit lit' Wetlands is a warts and all insight into a woman's scents, farts and excretions, and also talks about using avocado pits to masturbate. Ardent fans of the authoress have shown up to her readings with avocados as presents and, in several instances documented in the local media, the unprepared have fainted at some of the scenes. In one of those, the protaganist Helen describes saving dried semen under her fingernails as “a keepsake” to savor later. That in itself is a rather bizarre keepsake, unless you are Monica Lewinsky.

I know you're keen to get down and dirty with this, so here goes. Wetlands (Feuchtgebiete in German) by Charlotte Roche, rough translation of the first few pages:

"As long as I've been aware, I've had hemorrhoids. For many, many years I thought I couldn't say anything. Because hemorrhoids only grow on grandfathers. I always found them to be so un-girly. I was so often at the proctologist because of them! But he advised me to leave them alone as long as they weren't causing me any pain. That they didn't do. They just itched. For that, my proctologist Dr. Fiddel gave me an ointment.

For the external itching, you squeeze a hazelnut-sized amount onto your the finger with the shortest nail and rub it on your pink starfish. The tube also comes with a point attachment with many rings inside, so that you can feed it into your ass and squirt it in there, thereby quieting the internal itching.

Before I had that kind of cream, I'd scratched so determinedly in and around my asshole in my sleep that the next morning I would have a quarter-sized dark brown spot in my underwear. As I said: very un-girly.

My hemorrhoids look really special. Over the course of the years, they'd forced themselves more and more out of my asshole. Now they are cloud-like flaps of skin once around my whole pink starfish that look like an anemone's tentacles. Dr. Fiddel calls it the cauliflower.

He says that if I want it gone, it would only be for aesthetics. He'll only remove it for people that are really burdened by it. Good reasons would be if my lover didn't like it or if my cauliflower made me anxious about sex. That I wouldn't admit.

If someone loves me or is even only hot for me, then my cauliflower shouldn't play a role. Besides, I have already for many years — since I was 15 until now, and I'm 18 — despite my wild cauliflower had successful anal sex. Successful, for me, means I came, even though there was a cock only in my ass and nobody was playing with any other part of me. Yeah, I'm proud of that."

Okay, who's turned on, or even remotely interested in reading this crap? Okay, why is this a best seller? It is gross. The author claims she is breaking new ground because she is being radical by saying that women's genitals don't smell of roses. Really, I didn't know that. Apparently critics say this is giving a radical new angle on feminism? To which I say: My arse. My hemorrhoids.

Frankly I'm all for natural scents, so enough of this literary toss. I'm going to get myself a job at Flatulent Technologies(Got gas? Well, we would like to capture and bottle yours, and we will pay you cash for it!).

Also any ideas for a shit lit book I could write featuring I don't know, the time I went on a tapeworm diet, how I like to drink cow urine and how I like to make love to dogs. Am I turning anyone on yet?