See, a woman's body is a beautiful thing, and I'm not just talking about her tits. She's got tubes and wires and knobs and stuff that'd have a Dell repairman scratching his head. As for their reproductive system, hell, it makes Mitt Romney's tax returns look like a kid's letter to Santa.
One thing scientists agree about, though, is that a woman's body knows why she's having sex when she's having it, and it reacts different when her motives are pure.
When a woman is having wonton sex with some random dude, her parts downstairs go, "Hey, if she wants it, let her deal with the consequences!" It lets all the little sperms in and nine months later she's got another mouth to feed.
If she's being raped, though, her parts sense that she isn't doing this voluntarily, so they shut what scientists call the Nuh-Uh Gates.
The Nuh-Uh Gates are like the velvet rope at a fashionable club. If you turn up at a club in expensive clothes, then the velvet rope will part. If your shoes are polished and it looks like you got a little heft to your wallet, the door opens and you can go in. If you aren't dressed well, though, the vagina doorman goes, "Oh, nuh-uh!" and all the sperms are diverted to the bladder. It's the body's equivalent of Applebee's.
As for the words, "legitimate rape," well, I don't know why there's any kind of fuss about this. Akin simply wanted to distinguish real rapes from those encounters that start off as rapes but end up as, say, dance parties. See, everybody knows that if a man starts a fight angry, he's going to end the fight angry. After some dude stabs him in the eyeball, he's not going to think, "Hey, I wonder if Bradley would like to go for a soda afterward."
God endowed women, though, with a nurturing side. You start off assaulting them and about halfway through they figure that maybe this isn't so bad and the guy might make a fine baby daddy if he just dealt with his anger issues. She might fool herself, though, but she can't fool her body. The minute she starts enjoying herself it takes that velvet rope down. She can picture all those sperms in cargo shorts and striped tank tops, but in reality they went home and put on blue blazers.
End result? No sperm at Applebee's.
That clear things up? I think so. I never really called myself smart, but I think this explains everything short of their Acapulco Sausage Melt.
