The Name is VAGINA. Agent Vagina. Otherwise known as ‘Secret Agent Double-O-Face’. Often called ‘Angry V’, Agent Vagina is a Warrior with a failed Mission. The Objective: enslave the Enemy, a super good looking and brainwashable Penis Custodian, to service her with his weapon. The assignment unfulfilled, she has since used other weapons instead.
And thus, we now observe as she reports back to Headquarters at the Secret Cervix where she faces disciplinary action, mostly for failing to get play or extract anything of note from a pretty DNA Dispenser. The punisher is none other than the “Grandmaster of the Order of Labia” - the Gynecologist. Code Name: Coldfinger.
A clandestine office in a high tower. Original art pieces of giant pink flowers decorate all four walls. To the left of the door, a rainbow statue of a female torso with sharp nipples stands sentinel, greeting all who enter. The Grandmaster now hunches in the center of the room, head nearly buried between the stirrups in which Agent Vagina is performing a typical spread eagle, thighs semi-clad with a perfunctory white sheet. Coldfinger now pokes and inspects Agent V’s hairy exterior with a tiny metal shaft. Pausing and peering above the sheet to examine her direct report’s silent cringe, she speaks with little emotion. “You might as well close your eyes and think of Asian porn, Agent Double-O-Face.”
Agent V grimaces.
Coldfinger continues, “You were supposed to enslave Penis Terrorists for the sake of National Security. We need to grab them by the Shaft before it’s too late. We must not let them realize we have initiated operations for a new world order of Vagina domination. Our growing success is of course, no thanks to you, Double-O-Face. You’re fired. Or nearly fired.”
Agent V sighs. “I know Grandmaster. I have failed you.”
Coldfinger appears dubious. “Agent V, you used to be one of the best. As such, your latest results are incongruent and disturbing. If you’re hiding something—”
“Of course not!” Agent V fires back defensively. “I haven’t concealed jewelry or currency in there since—”
Coldfinger interrupts. “I believe you. Yet please note I stay abreast of your misadventures. Speaking of which, are you still using the emotional support scarecrow for your dates with new Penis Custodians?”
“Not anymore, Madame,” Agent V replies quietly.
“You nevertheless haven’t been conducting Penis Profiling properly,” Coldfinger informs her. “I trust you received my new memo?”
“Yes Grandmaster. I believe you said, ‘If Thou shalt find a small Shaft, report him to Experian and his credit score will be lowered accordingly . . . ?”
“No,” Coldfinger answers, her growing displeasure palpable. “The one I sent out yesterday: ‘If Thou finds a good-looking DNA Dispenser who doesn't like you as much as you like him, you may dispose of his body in the following pre-approved locations . . .’”
Coldfinger points to a map on the wall and gives a heavy sigh. “Agent V, do you at least remember our preferred birth control technique?”
“Yes Madame - always throw the DNA Dispenser down a flight of stairs after possible conception.”
Coldfinger nods and probes further with a new metal wand that acts as a flashlight. “Are you still having lurid dreams about root vegetables?”
Coldfinger digs roughly into the depths of Agent V’s fuzzy inner armor. “Your labia reminds me of shrivelled eye socket . . .”
“Roger.” Agent V concedes.
Coldfinger pauses, then pokes. “. . . Like a goddamned haunted house in here . . . but the good news is, you're almost as tight as Agent Sphincter. . .”
Agent V smirks triumphantly.
In a figure-8 motion with her wand, Coldfinger continues. “Ah! And what about Mr. Purple Toy? You are indeed utilizing his social welfare services as prescribed?”
Coldfinger now removes the metal shaft and inserts an icy finger.
“Of course!” Agent V squeaks. “He goes on strike without warning - just like a real relationship!”
Guiltily, Agent V now remembers her last correspondence with Mr. Purple Toy:
I’m sorry you ended your own life. I didn’t mean to abuse you.
Coldfinger quickly ejects Agent V from her reverie. “Good. Just make sure the Penis Custodian next door doesn’t hear you weeping when you utilize Purple Toy. Like last time. We don’t want him alerting the other Shafts. Could scare them off.”
Agent V takes a private pause and has a flashback to previous times with the Custodians, when she tried to lure one of those dancing male prostitutes to give her a lap dance.
(Agent V, reminiscing) Could only dry hump Mr. ‘Female Entertainer’s’ leg before he ran off to spread his cheeks for truck drivers along highway 5 . . . (she sighs nostalgically).
Coldfinger interrupts Agent V’s reverie once again. “What about that dating app? You targeted that one Penis Terrorist ‘Osama bin LargeOne,’ correct?”
Agent V blushes. “Oh yeah! Codename ‘Ultimate Dummie’ . . . Ummmm . . .”
Betrayed by one short and hysterical giggle, she regains composure and answers. “The Terrorist was . . . executed before he reached the Promised Land. He likely carried a sizable weapon, but methinks he was an agent of President Stump. I mean, Trump--”
“But how did you manage to murder such a robust Mushroom Head Owner?” Coldfinger is genuinely curious.
“I ‘baked’ for him!” Agent V smiles widely.
Disappointed, Coldfinger sighs. “Well then, he ate ‘the bread’. So indeed. You actually tricked him into eating Secret Cervix yeast. This is a war crime, Agent V. Surely you must know that. This could be traced back to our division.”
Defensive, Agent V replies. “Well, special forces called it ‘Mission Marie Antoinette: Let him eat Candida’!”
Coldfinger yells out abruptly, goopy hands thrust angrily into the air. “Double-O-Face! You were given no clearance to murder the poor Shaft—”
“Well, his precise demise wasn’t exactly planned,” Agent V blushes romantically. “I mean, one man’s poison . . . is another man’s laxative.”
“Nevertheless, you know the rules.” Coldfinger is stern. “Only known perpetrators of the dreaded UTI are to be fired upon at will.”
“Roger that! Can't let the Penis Terrorists win—”
“Agent V, you miss the point as usual.” Coldfinger is increasingly impatient. “You are worthless if you fail to beat a DNA Dispenser into submission. Preferably in a rhythmic fashion. Do you understand me?”
“In that case, well, you should know,” Agent V stalls. “Um, the other day I saw a rather handsome eggplant at the farmer’s market and he winked at me.”
“That is insufficient. Hand over your phone. I will inspect the latest Penis Custodian you’ve been toying with.” Coldfinger grabs and ruthlessly molests Rose-Goldie the iPhone while a look of surprise briefly graces her impassive face. “And behold. Who indeed, is Brian ‘Poop-Emoji’?”
“Oh just some helpless Shaft I went on a date with. Said he had a bad hip during our walk in the rain so I tortured him for fun when he texted me afterward.”
Livid, Coldfinger discards the iPhone. “Double O-Face, this requires disciplinary action. You will never inflate the Shafts if you insist on insulting them openly. That kind of commentary is reserved for text messages with other Vagina Agents. Speaking of which, all of my other Vagina Agents have been more successful than you at finding Dick.”
“But Advisor Ladyboner—” Agent V challenges, “said we should never settle!”
“Silence. We will escalate operations to obtain Shaft. You are clearly unable to fill your own Void.”
Agent V lowers her voice. “But, the eggplant—?”
“What are you waiting for?” Coldfinger asks bluntly. “Someone to like your personality?”
Agent V screams a hushed reply. “Of course not!”
“Then it’s settled,” Coldfinger concludes. “Time to allow Agent Butthole Sphincter to join you on this Mission to enslave a Custodian. She offers new real estate for dim-witted Penis Terrorists.”
“Madame,” Agent V pushes back. “I don’t believe Butthole is a ‘team player’. Moreover, she’s always yelling at me—or anyone willing to listen.”
“Butthole does have a certain commanding presence,” Coldfinger considers.
Resentfully Agent V gives more resistance. “I don't understand why the feeble Custodians find her so attractive. She always looks angry.”
Coldfinger glares. “Nevertheless. Studies have shown that Ms. Sphincter has indeed revolutionized the art of being a gravy receptacle.”
Agent V now lashes out wildly. “But this is my birthright! That foreigner—stealing my job. No. I’ll build a wall! I’ll wear Granny Panties if you corner me. Or—I’ll quit once and for all. You can’t make—hey!”
Coldfinger places a deliberate hand on Agent V’s trembling labia, calmly interrupting. “She will lend subtle insight to your quest.”
With a heavy sigh, Agent V becomes sad and desperate. “You know those ‘studies’ were sponsored by Preparation H. No one truly likes her. I mean, why do you think everyone wipes me first--”
Coldfinger gently rubs Agent V’s labia consolingly.
“But—” Agent V continues despairingly “—the chocolate bean sings in her sleep!”
Coldfinger remains unconvinced.
Agent V panics again. “Don't make me work with that bitch. She may look organized on the outside, but inside, she's a hoarder. Especially if cheese is involved!”
More sympathetic labia rubbing continues from Coldfinger, along with a deafening silence.
Pausing for a moment and then jerking away with a wild idea, Agent V triumphantly extracts both feet from the table stirrups and performs a kind of widened splits, crooking her neck to peer further down at Agent Sphincter who is tight-lipped and unconscious. She whispers to Coldfinger accordingly.
“Mistress, I beg your pardon, but I never consented to working with Agent Butthole. Moreover, I never consented to you attempting to—seduce me.”
Coldfinger watches her, impassively.
Agent V elaborates. “That said, I can forget this repeated molestation of my helpless labia, Mistress Coldfinger, if you simply forget that you ever asked me to work with Agent Sphincter.”
To Agent V’s horror, Coldfinger suddenly smiles. “That is a preposterous claim.”
Agent V enjoys a dramatic pause. “Mistress, have you forgotten all about our #VeeToo movement? And more importantly . . . our #BelieveWomen campaign?”
Coldfinger allows a small luxurious laugh. “Double-O-Face, has it occurred to you that I am also a woman?”
A look of hateful insanity briefly manifests in Agent V’s frozen expression.
“How—convenient.” she spits.
Coldfinger is impassive once again. “The revised mission moves forward notwithstanding.”
Agent V sulks. “Oh Goddammit.”
Agent Butthole Sphincter now stirs and awakens with one eye open, hissing quietly.
Agent V chokes her usual greeting. “Agent Sphincter—”
Agent Sphincter accordingly responds with her typical reply, along with predictable morning breath. “Pppppphhhhhhsssssssst---sssssssssssssseeeeehhhhhh.”
Coldfinger is composed. “Agent Vagina? Agent Sphincter? You both will take it from here.”
(Agent V Images by Stan Mchale)