Taint Misbehavin’: The Gender-Neutral Tragedy of the Human Gooch
Not about taxes. Not about calories. Not even about the clitoris.
No — I’m talking about the taint.
That glorious, forgotten slab of flesh. That unclaimed demilitarized zone between the promised land and the chocolate factory. That thin, sweaty strip separating birth from exile.
Let’s set the record straight:
Women. Have. Taints.
And the fact that society pretends otherwise is the greatest act of anatomical erasure since we collectively agreed that “muffin top” was a nice term.
Also known as:
The perineum (if you’re a doctor)
The gooch (if you’ve owned a PS2 and body odor)
The grundle (if you’ve ever dated a drummer)
The Devil’s Slip-N-Slide (if your festival record is sealed)
Technically:
“The perineum is the area between the genitals and the anus.”
But spiritually?
It’s the unspoken pause in God’s sentence. The hallway between the temple and the abyss. The place where gender, shame, and chafing meet.
Let me be clear:
Whether you’re packing heat or holding space, slanging meat or curating petals, carrying a baby cannon or a soft serve dispenser—
You. Have. A. Taint.
And if you’ve gone your entire life without realizing that, congrats: society’s gendered body-shame campaign worked.
Historically? Sure.
“Taint” was born in locker rooms. Raised by Xbox parties. Educated in Reddit threads. And baptized in the sweat of men who didn’t understand the purpose of a washcloth.
It was linguistically colonized by testosterone.
But anatomically?
It was always co-ed.
You think the patriarchy invented oppression?
No. The real villain is linguistic erasure.
Because while men gave their taints nicknames, stories, and occasional bar soap—
Women got radio silence.
Your undercarriage has been:
Ignored
Unlabeled
Uncelebrated
Unclaimed
You’ve spent years exfoliating your thighs and waxing your peach…
…but no one told you there’s a full-blown diplomatic zone beneath it.
A biological Bermuda Triangle. A tactile twilight zone.
Your taint.
Body Part Coverage
Boobs Over - celebrated
Butts - Literally worshiped
Clitoris - Found in 1998
Labia - Misunderstood poetry
Why? Because it’s funny. And neutral. And sweaty.
You can’t put the taint in a perfume ad. You can’t put it on a billboard. So they buried it.
Because it’s:
Genderless
Timeless
Politically neutral
Sensually charged
Biologically disrespected
It’s the only body part that:
Isn’t sexualized
Isn’t sacred
Isn’t politicized
Isn’t aestheticized
Isn’t protected
It just is.
Unbothered. Unbranded. Unapologetically indifferent.
And that makes it sacred.
Unisex taint aliases, rebranded for the equality era:
The Fleshbridge
The Forbidden Fajita™
Undercooch
The Sin Tundra
Devil’s Hallway
The Emotionless Alley
The Oathbreaker’s Strip
The Nether Yawn
Purgatory Patch
The Biblical Buffer Zone™
Choose your fighter. Reclaim your stripe. We’re not asking anymore.
Let’s get raw.
Your taint:
Sweats like a liar in court
Collects funk like it’s in a blues band
Suffocates in yoga pants
Smells like the ghost of mistakes past if ignored too long
Male or female — it don’t matter.
Your taint will betray you unless:
You lather.
You exfoliate.
You show it the respect you pretend to give your “self-care routine.”
The taint is the final frontier of bodily respect. Ignore it, and it will out you in summer.
Let me be dead serious.
When you finally accept your taint:
Your shame collapses.
Your ego softens.
Your sex becomes better.
Your humor becomes darker.
Your subconscious literally trusts you more.
Women who accept their taint become dangerous. Not because they’re wild — but because they’re free.
Ask your friend with the “Divine Feminine Energy” tattoo:
“Do women have a taint?”
“Can I call mine a gooch and still be empowered?”
“If you ignore your perineum, are you really body positive?”
Watch her hesitate. Watch her blink. Watch her glitch.
Because the truth is hilarious. And hilarity burns the shame right out of you.
You now have no excuse.
That strip of skin between the peach and the abyss?
That subtle runway between entrance and exit?
That’s your taint.
And it deserves:
A name
A scrub
A shrine
A Wikipedia page
You don’t need to gender it. You just need to own it.
The taint is real
The taint is universal
Women have taints
The patriarchy ignored it
But your loofah doesn’t have to
This isn’t just anatomy.
It’s resistance.
🔁 Reblog this before someone calls it “cisnormative perineum propaganda” 🧽 Send to the friend who forgot to wash hers today 🍑 Share if you’ve ever worn tight leggings with no idea what’s happening underneath 🫧 Save this if your taint is a neglected spiritual quest waiting to happen
⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER:
This post is satire, anatomy education, performance art, cultural rebranding, locker room theology, and biological diplomacy.
It is protected by the U.S. Constitution, the Geneva Convention of Postmodern Memes, and the sacred covenant of shower-based self-respect.
If you’re offended:
Wash deeper.
Laugh louder.
Reclaim your gooch.
Because if you can’t name it — the patriarchy still owns it.
And that is the real tragedy.
I’ve had this meme on my Tumblr page for years. Literally, years. Recently, I noticed that they removed it for “Violating Tumblr’s Community Guidelines.” Really?! Where? How? I know that ceiling is terrifying, but, seriously…
A question to all of my people with panic attacks:
What do you do when you're really really deep into a panic attack and your comfort person just isn't available to talk?
Had this thingy happening today and I was completely at a loss on how to cope.
Thank you!
I honestly once looked into a persons's house by accident and kept walking and then I ran back to that house's window because I realised they were watching the BBC series 'Merlin'. I started waving at them and giving them thumbs up like crazy...
walking by people’s houses is such a bizarre feeling. like what are you doing in there. what does your life look like
We need this to happen, everyone hurry!
god I fucking love strawberries
I stole this idea from another blog,but I cant reber the name. Every single person who reblogs this before 10 February will recieve a baby pokemon in their inbox,after this egg harches.
reblog to teleport your mutuals to a massive party when jkr dies
Reblog In 5 seconds for good luck
𝓓𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓪 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴, 𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓬𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓷? 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓵𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝔂 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓻𝔂, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓶 𝓪𝓰𝓪𝓲𝓷? 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓿𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓼𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓷𝔂 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓼, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓬𝓪𝓷'𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮? 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓼𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓾 𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓼, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓬𝓪𝓷'𝓽 𝓭𝓮𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓱 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓽? 𝓗𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓼𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓷𝔂 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓼, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓯𝓲𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝔂𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮? 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓲𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓼? 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓮𝓷𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓼, 𝓫𝓮𝓬𝓪𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓷𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓶, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓮𝓷𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓼𝓹𝓪𝓬𝓮? 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝔂 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓭 𝓾𝓹...
Happy Birthday to one mister Loki!!!
💛💛💛💚💚💚🖤🖤🖤
(Picture doesn't belong to me, credits to the actual creator, found it on Pinterest.)