Note To Self: Won't Someone Donkey Punch My Ovaries?

Note to self, or more specifically, "Alice B. Toklas," (pictured herein) and her counterpart, Gertie (short for Gertrude Stein, not pictured), aka my malfunctioning fluster-cucked ovaries:

You WILL NOT ruin my up-coming vacation by surprising me with a sudden onset of "It's a Small Bloody Clotty Crampy Bitchy World, Afterall."

If needed, I will forcibly remove you BOTH, by myself, with a rusty razorblade and rinse you both out with a bottle of Campho-Phenique, and cauterize you with a disease-laden, half-smoked ciggy snatched from the syphilitic mouth of a local hobo. Then! When I'm done with you, you'll be tossed out of my car, wrapped in a 7-11 Big Bite wrapper, a la John Wayne Bobbitt's lopped-off shweenus, and hopefully eaten by a rabid, feral dog.

You both have been warned, you useless pieces of crap!