Summary

A patient recounts an encounter with Svetlana, a Russian spy disguised as an ultrasound technician, who reveals the absurdity of her mission to extract supposed American secrets hidden in women's vaginas during transvaginal ultrasounds, orchestrated by Putin as a prank.

Abstract

During a transvaginal ultrasound, the narrator meets Svetlana, a Russian spy who shares her disillusionment with her mission. Svetlana believed she was gathering important intelligence for Russia by probing American women's vaginas, a notion planted by Putin. However, she comes to realize that the entire operation is a cruel joke played by Putin on American women, involving unnecessary and uncomfortable bladder filling before the procedure. The narrator, initially anxious about the alert on iChart for an irregular Pap smear, ends up sympathizing with Svetlana, who is also a victim of Putin's manipulation and humor. The story unfolds as a dark comedy, highlighting the absurdity of the situation and the manipulation of women's bodies for political pranks.

Opinions

Svetlana initially believes in the importance of her espionage work, probing vaginas for American secrets, reflecting her indoctrination by Putin.
The narrator's perspective on their own body changes upon learning about the supposed hidden secrets in their "lady parts."
Svetlana criticizes the treatment of women's bodies as receptacles for secrets and the discomfort caused by the excessive water intake required before the ultrasound.
Putin is portrayed as a manipulative figure who uses women's bodies for his own amusement, making a "joke" out of their discomfort.
The narrator feels a strange connection to Svetlana, considering the situation almost like an odd date due to the intimate and bizarre nature of the encounter.
Svetlana eventually sees the humor in the situation, aligning with Putin's prank despite its impact on women, including herself.

Sound Humor

Russian Spy Probes Pussy

Vaginal spy games reap bladder havoc

Photo by National Cancer Institute on Unsplash

While receiving my transvaginal ultrasound, I met a middle-aged Russian spy named Svetlana, who was starting to doubt that her transvaginal ultrasounds were gathering any valuable intel for Mother Russia.

“Probing pussys was not as glamourous as Svetlana was led to believe,” she confessed to me as I laid on the cold stainless bed, my feet in stirrups, my vagina ajar, anticipating the cold probe. A captive audience, indeed.

“Originally,” she began, handing me the probe to insert myself, “I believed everything Putin told me. That government had inserted all American big secrets into American women’s vaginas. This was why, Putin said, that American politicians were always getting caught with their hands in the, how do you say, pussyjar?”

She took the probe from me and started searching for what I had thought was an irregularity, and now realized was a container for valuable American secrets. I gotta tell ya. It made me think about my lady parts a little differently.

“The reason women get so angry whenever their puss is pinched,” Svetlana continued, “is that government, being all men, did not inform women of their um, how do you say, secret pusspot situation.”

I tried to send my vagina a mental command to release the intel so I could get the hell out of there. A spy’s confession never feels safe. I feared Svetlana, as her plastic name tag read, was going to murder me after she retrieved my data.

“Occasionally,” Svetlana continued. “I am called and told that secret needs to be retrieved from woman’s vessel. iChart sends woman message that she has irregular Pap smear. Someone like you. I probe and remove information, but never do they tell Sveta where information goes. I am in as much darkness as your pussy.”

I remembered seeing the alert on iChart. It hadn’t seemed sinister at the time. It worried me, but for different reasons. I thought, what I always think when there's an alert. I’m a goner. But now, looking at Svetlana, I think I may have been right this time.

Svetlana continued. “Putin tells me to make American women drink three gallons of water and hold it for two hours before pelvic ultrasound. Every woman is coming in, grabbing her crotch, her face red, her eyes popping out, veins in her neck like champion weightlifter. I thought, at first, that maybe the intel shoot out from water pressure.”

I had been holding my pee since that morning. It was agonizing. I was kegeled the fuck out. I felt like my vagina had been in basic training for the army. Now I realized my vagina did have an adjacent military connection. Unfortunately, it seemed to be working for the enemy.

“I do this for many years,” Svetlana continued. “I make women drink water and observe this bladder torture and finally it’s too much. I call Putin and say, “Mamma Russia can’t see the screen when American woman’s bladder is so full. Why must we fill bladder to brim?’

Then Putin does big Putin laugh. My soul gets shiver. His laugh is like deep antarctic winter, no sun, no wind, just fucking evil bastard cold.

I say, ‘Hey Poots, what’s so funny? Many women suffer.’

Then Putin says, ‘I make big joke. American women don’t need to drink gallons of water before their pelvic exam. But, my friend, American Former President, says prude-y American women don’t like pee-pee like Russian hookers. So, me, being genius, prankster, torturer that I am, get an idea. American women think they hate pee-pee before. I make them wish they never met pee-pee. Funny joke, right?’

So Putin no kill Sveta with vaginal probe through the ears, I say, “Good one, Putin. Funny joke.”

“Are you saying?” I finally speak, defending my bladder which has been weaponized for a bad Russian joke. “That I didn’t have to drink three gallons of water this morning and hold my pee? That this is trickle down misinformation from the previous President.”

“No, you no need drink” Svetlana answers, “this drinking water is Putin’s joke,”

“So why did you make me do it?” I ask.

“Because when Svetlana think about it long time, it’s funny joke.”

I don’t know if I’m gonna make it out of here alive, but I do know, that after being probed, and confessed to for twenty minutes, it’s starting to feel like a pretty good date.