“I bleed for you,” most “women” are internally saying to the fuckboys they covet on a daily basis. And it’s true in the literal sense as well. Never truer, in fact, thanks to the rather disgusting invention of bleeding cups. Some of the tiptoers (so everyone) around direct language prefer to use the more palatable phrase–if you can call it that–“menstrual cup.” But no, it’s ultimately a bleeding cup. It’s filled with fucking blood that you’ve freely chosen to cart around with you as though it’s a separate entity, a friend. Pads were already foul enough in this regard, but bleeding cups are pads on steroids, allowing a “woman” to chill with her own filth as though nothing bizarre or slightly cultish is happening. Because, yeah, cults, rituals, blood sacrifices, etc.
Promoted as being more “practical” and “eco-friendly” than tampons and pads, the bleeding cup has found a lot of favor with the “ethereal woman.” You know, the sistren that goes to yoga, eats granola, wears natural deodorant and composts. There’s nothing wrong with these activities, one supposes, except that, well, what is she really getting out of wearing the bleeding cup, ultimately? Missing A Clit’s guess is the feeling of wearing a strap-on, ergo sporting the closest thing she will ever have to a dick. Her desire to feel powerful in this fashion is what the bleeding cup provides in a subversive, undercutting way. But of course she’ll tell you she’s only trying to be environmentally conscious–all the while subconsciously wishing for a penis, even if it is one that amounts to a chode.