Now that Republicans have voted to repeal Obamacare and caused the medical system to spiral into chaos, my insurance will no longer cover things like anything that could be described as health care. So I can’t afford to see a doctor anymore, but it’s fine because I have a crystal egg with healing powers and I’m wearing it in my vagina.

Sure, I was angry that those Penis-Americans, also known as Congress, were making decisions about my body. As a woman, I was especially concerned that things like sexual assault, c-sections, or postpartum depression could be considered pre-existing conditions, leading to denial of coverage or astronomical surcharges. It’s almost like living in a misogynistic society and not having a dick is itself a pre-existing condition.

But I’m OK with all of that now because I shove an egg-shaped stone up my Fertile Crescent every morning. Crystals have a natural energy that is absorbed through the mucus membranes, and my schlong sheath oozes with mucus. Which, now that I think about it, might not be normal. But hey, we’re normalizing everything these days, like Nazis and kleptocracy and bacterial vaginosis.

I mean, who needs things like pap smears or treatment for your cancerous ovarian teratoma when you have this jade egg wedged up in your vajizzle? And it was only $25.99 at that kiosk between Sears and Qwick Botox. In fact, I took the $800 I was planning to spend on a tricked out new iPhone and bought thirty vag eggs. Thanks for the advice on how to afford health care, Representative Jason Chaffetz!

Yep, my pussy chakras are zen as fuck. They don’t even care about the wage gap anymore.

I’m sure Dr. Tobin, my gynecologist, wouldn’t approve, but I’m boycotting that tool of the patriarchy anyway since she only believes in “effective, evidence-based medicine.” Also because my new Trumpcare policy only covers leeches and aromatherapy.

What about birth control? I think you mean, schmirthcontrol! There’s an impenetrable hunk of rock jammed into my cervix. Just try spelunking in my love cave now, sperm. Look, I’ve solved the abortion debate too!

That’s not to say there aren’t some downsides to squeezing a stone egg up these flappety carpaccio curtains. It’s kind of awkward when you’re talking to your boss and the egg just falls out in his office because you forgot to do your Kegels.

And lately my mind is all cloudy, and my mouth is lined with sores — it’s possible that I’m absorbing too much of my jade’s natural energy, which some might call ionizing radiation from the breakdown of uranium atoms inside its ore.

I really would like to get this tumorous ovarian teratoma removed too. Did you know these teratoma things can grow their own teeth? My reproductive tract is full of molars and they’re going to chew up the nearest penis-like dick jerky. It’s hard to meet guys on Tinder when you’re the living embodiment of the nightmares that haunt their fragile masculinity.

Also, I’m having a little trouble getting the egg out. Apparently there’s not much to grab onto when a smooth round shape is clenched between slippery walls of muscle.

Seriously, I can’t get it out. It’s way up in my bearded clam, and not in a hot amateur porn kind of way. Maybe if I squat down and really get, like, wrist deep… nope. Oh great, now I think something prolapsed.

Does anyone know if Dr. Tobin accepts barter for her services? I can’t afford insurance now that Congress has turned our whole health care system into a festering pus bucket, which incidentally also describes my vagina.

But I can trade two and half dozen jade eggs for a pelvic exam. Beautiful green color! Please ignore the fishy smell.