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The 'Queef'. Elusive, unapologetic, surprising, mysterious. Bigfoot, The Lochness Monster, Chupacabra, Steve Martin. All wonderful mysteries of the Universe and then you have the dreaded Queef.

Say you find yourself balls deep in that foxy blonde from the gym you've been internet stalking... I mean pursuing. Or you're riding that Stallion you gave your digits to from the local coffee shop and then that mystifying unannounced burp echoes in the room.

"Uh..."

"Yeah, so?"

Awkward.

Here's what you do. I call it the Queef Breaker.

The best thing you can do is laugh at the situation and get back to banging or playing beer pong or blowing bubbles or whatever it was you were doing before the queef happened.

As soon as you hear that unmistakable hiccup say, "Did you say something?" Hey there's the elephant in the room and she just Queefed! It's funny and you're off the hook.

I hereby declare we retire the word Queef and replace it with Vart. A queef's when a hippy loses his stash and walks around in circles scratching his head looking for it. Or when Country Joe Bob has a joint behind his ear and swears to the Officer "No man, I swear I ain't been smoking reefer."

A true queef's when a dog wakes himself from a nap with a fart, ears perked he sniffs and runs away. That's a queef. No explanation, totally confusing. We all know what a Vart is. Let the Hippies have the queef.

"The same wind can blow into a thousand different orifices,
and yet each sound is produced in its own way."

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