This column is not about sex. But it is about vaginas. So I guess it’s about sex insofar as sometimes vaginas are involved in sex. I know I already spent time pontificating on my love for the vagina’s northern cousins, but this won’t be that kind of column either. This is a column about pussy monsters.

Maybe you’ve heard of a little production called The Vagina Monologues, a play in which pussy monsters are glorified in all sorts of terrible ways. You got ladies talking about touching and loving their pussy monsters. You got ladies talking about what their pussy monsters would wear or say. Most importantly, you got ladies talking about how pussy monsters around the world are being badly hurt — shit that has got to stop.

And who’s one of the ringleaders of this monster pussy show? Me. I’m on the poster holding a monster pussy back with a chair in one hand and a whip in the other. I’m dangerously putting my head inside a monster pussy’s mouth and not even breaking a sweat about it.

By that I mean that I’m the artistic director of a process whereby many fierce-ass women stand up in front of hundreds of people and talk about vaginas. Because the show has been produced at Cornell for the past decade or so, you’d think doing it this year wouldn’t be a major feat to accomplish. But where monster vaginas are concerned, one should always expect the worst. Especially when they attack churches — Hide the women! Hide the children! Monster vaginas are coming!

The facts are these: We contacted Cornell United Religious Works (CURW) last semester to procure Sage Chapel for a performance. They gave it to us. How awesome is that? The Vagina Monologues, performed in Sage freaking Chapel, one of the most beautiful places on this campus. A space that comes charged with a kind of energized silence waiting to be broken for two hours, not with whispers of quiet prayers for justice but with raucous, exultant cries demanding victory over violence against women. It doesn’t get any better than that.

Three weeks before the show, tickets printing and being sold, we got a phone call saying that — oops! — we can no longer use that space. CURW was no longer comfortable with our performance happening there. I’ll give you three guesses as to why.

In a meeting with the president of CURW, the Monologues production team was told this: CURW supports the message of the Monologues. Individually, the president and staff-person present support the message of the Monologues. It’s the stakeholders who might have a problem with the vagina/Sage Chapel combo. It’s the potential backlash. Along with that, we were told that Sage is undergoing a paradigm shift to focus its energy as a place of worship and quiet reflection. CURW is in the process of rethinking other groups’ use of the space as well — but it looks like they’re setting an immediate, abrupt and unfair example with The Vagina Monologues. Sorry, hands are tied, surely you understand, thanks for playing.

Well, CURW, I understand that vaginas are horrifying. That every one comes equipped with a pair of dentures so sharp they’ll slice through bone — that is, if the monster doesn’t just swallow you whole. I understand that vaginas are veritable cesspools of sacrilege, lying in wait to desecrate any holy object they can get their moist little labia on. Stained glass really pisses vaginas off. Don’t even get me started on angels.

So what’s a group of people to do when faced with a potential army of pissed off monster vadges that are probably attached to chicks who talk a lot and don’t shave their armpits? (That’s right, I’m still going strong.) Get those vaginas out of our beautiful, calming spaces and put ’em up elsewhere ASAP. When vaginas attack, your best bet is to run, run, run.

When one is actually fighting giant monsters, it would be wise to consider ways to prevent the monster attack in the first place, rather than attempt an escape with your arm in its mouth. It should be noted, however, that the pussy monster is a rare and dangerous beast. Within its secretions are highly dangerous molecules that, once inhaled, cause individuals to have delusions of harboring progressive ideals. People will say, “Pussy monsters? Why, we love the things!”

The effect typically wears off after a few months, precisely when the pussy monster has reached its optimal strength capacity. And when that happens, the individuals experience sudden feelings of shock, disgust and horror. They will scramble to right the havoc they have created. They will say, “Pussy monsters?! Not in THIS HOUSE!”

See, vaginas can cause some serious damage. It’s OK if they’re kept under panties or girdles or chastity belts, but once you get ’em out in the open, it’s nothing but trouble. Then they turn into pussy monsters, and once you speak their name, all hell breaks lose. You start getting strange symptoms. Opened minds. Expanded levels of tolerance and acceptance. Radical ideological shifts. Empowerment. Oh my gosh, the fucking HUMANITY! Shield your eyes. These words are not for gentlefolk to see.

Last year was the tenth anniversary of The Vagina Monologues, yet we’re dealing with the same old shit. So, CURW, if you really want to tame the pussy monster, don’t kick it out of the house. It has been pushed out of institution after institution already. It has faced hatred and oppression. Right now, the pussy monster is still fighting on this very campus. It will continue to fight.