After Olivia Jane Cockburn’s marriage to that Italian royal dude ended, relatives she hadn’t seen in years brought her casseroles wrapped in aluminum foil, her family hired professional crying ladies to constantly weep at her panty drawer and the choir at her local church sang “My Heart Will Go On” while pictures of her pussy flashed on a screen above them. Because Olivia Wilde says that her coochie went to heaven when her marriage went to hell.
Glamour hosted a night of monologues called These Girls at Joe’s Pub in NYC on Monday night and Olivia Wilde got up to say things about her down low parts including this piece of poetry about her marriage ending:
“I felt like my vagina died. Turned off. Lights out … And you can lie to your relatives at Christmas dinner and tell them everything on the home front is just peachy. But you cannot lie to your vagina.”
I don’t know if you can’t lie to your vagina, but you can lie FOR your vagina. Don’t act like you haven’t hollered out a wave of “OHHELL YES OHSHIT YES OHDOMELIKETHAT YESes” while your vagina is barely staying awake and keeps hitting the snooze button.
Olivia went on to say that when she met Jason Sudeikis, who was at Joe’s Pub that night, her punane rose from the ashes of woe. It was the second coming of her pussy. Now once a year, we celebrate the resurrection of her vagine by painting a picture of her coochie on hard-boiled eggs and the Crystal Cathedral presents a show called The Glory of Olivia Wilde’s Cooch.
Olivia said that her box is making up for lost times and she and Jason “have sex like Kenyan marathon runners.” Olivia then told this story about OliviaLand:
In Olivia Land, relationships can legally only last seven years, without an option to renew. That way it never goes stale. Can you imagine, if we only had seven years? We’d be so nice to each other, so kind, and appreciative and enthusiastic, like we were eating a really expensive bowl of pasta! And in Olivia Land people wouldn’t cheat nearly as much because there wouldn’t be the threat of spending forever with one bedfellow. It just wouldn’t be legal. There’s the issue of kids. Okay this is fun.
In Olivia Land, all the kids go to boarding school at seven. It’s like in Harry Potter!
I would like to legalize prostitution. Hiring a sex worker in Olivia Land would be as easy, hygienic, and inexpensive as getting a pedicure. That way when away on business or just not in the mood, we could just hire a hooker for our loved one and keep them uninterested in cheating and keep them satisfied. These particular hookers would obviously have to be mute and possibly cross-eyed.
In Olivia Land, the streets are paved with dark chocolate, and all the people are free of body hair and menstrual cramps.”
But back to the Kenyan marathon runners thing. How in the hell do Kenyan marathon runners do it? My guess is that they pray to God beforehand and then they start out real slow. Just as they start to get into it, they stop and Olivia gargles her coochie out with whatever water is sponsoring her sex times with Jason. Then they go for a little bit longer before they go really hard at the end and Jason squirts out the finish line. Then they fall to the floor and start crying as their family members throw their country flag on top of them. Isn’t that how everybody fucks? Now I feel weird.