OR we could share?
Sirius “Remus is effortlessly cool” Black and Remus “I just had a nervous breakdown over the grocery list” Lupin.
Taint Misbehavin’: The Gender-Neutral Tragedy of the Human Gooch
Not about taxes. Not about calories. Not even about the clitoris.
No — I’m talking about the taint.
That glorious, forgotten slab of flesh. That unclaimed demilitarized zone between the promised land and the chocolate factory. That thin, sweaty strip separating birth from exile.
Let’s set the record straight:
Women. Have. Taints.
And the fact that society pretends otherwise is the greatest act of anatomical erasure since we collectively agreed that “muffin top” was a nice term.
Also known as:
The perineum (if you’re a doctor)
The gooch (if you’ve owned a PS2 and body odor)
The grundle (if you’ve ever dated a drummer)
The Devil’s Slip-N-Slide (if your festival record is sealed)
Technically:
“The perineum is the area between the genitals and the anus.”
But spiritually?
It’s the unspoken pause in God’s sentence. The hallway between the temple and the abyss. The place where gender, shame, and chafing meet.
Let me be clear:
Whether you’re packing heat or holding space, slanging meat or curating petals, carrying a baby cannon or a soft serve dispenser—
You. Have. A. Taint.
And if you’ve gone your entire life without realizing that, congrats: society’s gendered body-shame campaign worked.
Historically? Sure.
“Taint” was born in locker rooms. Raised by Xbox parties. Educated in Reddit threads. And baptized in the sweat of men who didn’t understand the purpose of a washcloth.
It was linguistically colonized by testosterone.
But anatomically?
It was always co-ed.
You think the patriarchy invented oppression?
No. The real villain is linguistic erasure.
Because while men gave their taints nicknames, stories, and occasional bar soap—
Women got radio silence.
Your undercarriage has been:
Ignored
Unlabeled
Uncelebrated
Unclaimed
You’ve spent years exfoliating your thighs and waxing your peach…
…but no one told you there’s a full-blown diplomatic zone beneath it.
A biological Bermuda Triangle. A tactile twilight zone.
Your taint.
Body Part Coverage
Boobs Over - celebrated
Butts - Literally worshiped
Clitoris - Found in 1998
Labia - Misunderstood poetry
Why? Because it’s funny. And neutral. And sweaty.
You can’t put the taint in a perfume ad. You can’t put it on a billboard. So they buried it.
Because it’s:
Genderless
Timeless
Politically neutral
Sensually charged
Biologically disrespected
It’s the only body part that:
Isn’t sexualized
Isn’t sacred
Isn’t politicized
Isn’t aestheticized
Isn’t protected
It just is.
Unbothered. Unbranded. Unapologetically indifferent.
And that makes it sacred.
Unisex taint aliases, rebranded for the equality era:
The Fleshbridge
The Forbidden Fajita™
Undercooch
The Sin Tundra
Devil’s Hallway
The Emotionless Alley
The Oathbreaker’s Strip
The Nether Yawn
Purgatory Patch
The Biblical Buffer Zone™
Choose your fighter. Reclaim your stripe. We’re not asking anymore.
Let’s get raw.
Your taint:
Sweats like a liar in court
Collects funk like it’s in a blues band
Suffocates in yoga pants
Smells like the ghost of mistakes past if ignored too long
Male or female — it don’t matter.
Your taint will betray you unless:
You lather.
You exfoliate.
You show it the respect you pretend to give your “self-care routine.”
The taint is the final frontier of bodily respect. Ignore it, and it will out you in summer.
Let me be dead serious.
When you finally accept your taint:
Your shame collapses.
Your ego softens.
Your sex becomes better.
Your humor becomes darker.
Your subconscious literally trusts you more.
Women who accept their taint become dangerous. Not because they’re wild — but because they’re free.
Ask your friend with the “Divine Feminine Energy” tattoo:
“Do women have a taint?”
“Can I call mine a gooch and still be empowered?”
“If you ignore your perineum, are you really body positive?”
Watch her hesitate. Watch her blink. Watch her glitch.
Because the truth is hilarious. And hilarity burns the shame right out of you.
You now have no excuse.
That strip of skin between the peach and the abyss?
That subtle runway between entrance and exit?
That’s your taint.
And it deserves:
A name
A scrub
A shrine
A Wikipedia page
You don’t need to gender it. You just need to own it.
The taint is real
The taint is universal
Women have taints
The patriarchy ignored it
But your loofah doesn’t have to
This isn’t just anatomy.
It’s resistance.
🔁 Reblog this before someone calls it “cisnormative perineum propaganda” 🧽 Send to the friend who forgot to wash hers today 🍑 Share if you’ve ever worn tight leggings with no idea what’s happening underneath 🫧 Save this if your taint is a neglected spiritual quest waiting to happen
⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER:
This post is satire, anatomy education, performance art, cultural rebranding, locker room theology, and biological diplomacy.
It is protected by the U.S. Constitution, the Geneva Convention of Postmodern Memes, and the sacred covenant of shower-based self-respect.
If you’re offended:
Wash deeper.
Laugh louder.
Reclaim your gooch.
Because if you can’t name it — the patriarchy still owns it.
And that is the real tragedy.
Artist: 📸 The Pulp Girls
when she says she doesn’t send nudes
I’m doing a Philosophy paper on Asexuality. Please reblog if you think Love without Sex is possible! I really need the data. Like if you think love has to have sex.
reminders:
if you or someone you know might need it in the next few years, purchase plan b. the shelf life of plan b is 4 years, and we might not be able to access it as easily as we can now in the days ahead.
if you are larger/plus size: go online and purchase ella instead of plan b. plan b is less effective if you aren’t under 160 pounds.
if you can, purchase books that project 2025 is looking to ban.
mass deportations are starting. if you see ice vehicles or agents, yell ice raid and la migra as loud as you can.
if someone asks who you voted for, keep your mouth shut. they’re fishing for traitors.
if anyone, anyone at all asks about your neighbors or their legal status in the us, you know nothing. don’t be the reason that their family is separated.
if anyone asks about your religion or lack thereof, keep it vague. this administration will look for any excuse to persecute you.
your friends are trans or queer? for the next four years they’re not. don’t expose anyone’s status as a trans or queer person to anyone else, even if you think you can trust them.
did someone you know get an abortion? no, they didn’t. they were never pregnant.
in short, don’t be a snitch, and keep to yourself these next four years. we’ll make it through this even if it seems hopeless at times.
we can survive this. we’ve survived before, and we’ll survive again.
Friendly reminder that in 'A Court of Silver Flames' Rhys had to go through Feyre, his MATE, dieing, AGAIN.
Friendly reminder that Feyre had to go through Rhysand, HER mate, dieing again.
Friendly reminder that they were hoping nobody was going to die again anytime soon.
Friendly reminder that although it was the first time for the Inner Circle to see Feyre die, they had to go through Rhysand, their brother and basically the dad of the group, dieing again.
Friendly reminder that for Nesta and Elain, Feyre dieing probably reminded them of their little sister going out into the woods to keep them alive.
Friendly reminder that for them it probably felt like what would have happened if Feyre kept hunting for them.
Friendly reminder that everyone had to go through the baby, that gift sent by the Cauldron being ripped away from them as soon as he was born.
Friendly reminder that Nesta, the one everyone thought of as cold-hearted and impossible of love, the one that Rhys HATED, begged the Mother and the Cauldron to bring them all back.
Friendly reminder that she hated Rhys almost more than she hated the king of Hybern, yet she asked for him to be saved.
Friendly reminder that for Nesta, her powers were the price of her life and she wanted to give them back in order for the Cauldron to give her back her life, only her life changed. It's her new family now.
Friendly reminder that when she brought them back to life, RHYAND KNEELED FOR NESTA!
FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT HE WOULD ONLY KNEEL FOR HIS CROWN AND FOR HIS MATE!
My dream for the election is that it’s definitive. I want a 2012-style Election Day where everyone built it up beforehand to possibly be close but then the results start rolling in and it was like “Oh, nevermind. It’s obviously Obama. Everyone go to bed.”
I just want voters to put a stake right through the heart of Trumpism so that it crumbles to ash before our eyes. That’s the dream.
some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, “what’s the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?” and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is “unofficial”, and we know that’s not the right word, but it’s the only word we can come up with…until finally it’s like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is “artificial”.