I'm almost finished reading Cunt, by Inga Muscio. It rocks. Here is one of my favorite parts:

I went to Anystore USA to buy a box of tampons. I had but eleven dollars to my name. I went down the aisle where I would find "feminine hygiene" products, bitterly playing that term through my mind.
Why are words like "hygiene" and "sanitary"-- which imply that a woman's cunt is unclean-- acceptable in our society? Why are these people trying to sell me feminine deodorant spray? That's like hawking floral air freshener to a lady who lives in a rose garden.
Also, excuse me, but what's so clean about dicks?
One never hears of sanitary jock straps, deodorant condoms, perfumed Hershey-squirt protection pads or hygienic ball wipes, whereas I've heard tell of need for such products.
So anyway, with thoughts such as these playing through my mind, you can imagine my dismay on tampon-buying excursions. If I happen to be in a good mood, it's simply annoying. If I happen to be in a bad mood, I am a green monster who lives in a trash can with a grand piano. On this occassion, I was in a bad mood.
I grumbled down the aisle, openly sneering at all the products on the shelves. New Freedom this and Light Days that.
Comfort, security.
Plastic applicators.
Discreet disposal pouches printed with flowers that do not exist.
I positively fumed as I scanned the prices. Five, six, seven bucks for a box of cotton. Sixty, seventy bucks a year.
Why the flying fuck should a woman have to pay some huge corporation over and over because the lining of her uterus naturally, biologically sheds every month?