Read more about Dr. Cooch here.  Dear Doctor, I’m writing because I sometimes get so angry that I throw things, hurt people and cause scenes in public. My husband insists it’s a "female problem" but I’m not so sure. I do sometimes hear a muffled ringing sound from down there just as my temper begins to rise, but my gynecologist insists there’s nothing wrong. What do you think? And hurry up with your answer because I don’t have all goddamn day! Sorry, Doctor. There I go again. Maybe I should sign my letter The Beast of the Yeast? Please help!    Dear Beast, Well, you are a beast, but I don’t think we can blame that on yeast! You have a case of "hysterikos telephonos," or, as crotch-men in the know call it, "Phone Box"—a telephone shaped tumor in your woo-woo, which "makes calls" to your brain and causes you to commit irrational acts, such as throwing objects at servants, stapling items to people’s flesh or throwing business associates out of moving cars. The best known case of Phone Box is that of Naomi Campbell, who continues to refuse treatment and whose "crotch calls" are becoming more and more dangerous. I fear her recent sentence of community service is just the beginning of the super-hotty’s troubles and I truly wish she’d let me climb up in there and cut the cord—our bodies aren’t wireless yet—to silence the ringer in her dinger. This is a simple procedure. I recommend you let your husband give it a shot with a pair of scissors and the diagram I’m enclosing. Yours truly, El Coocherino  Doctor Cooch, I dropped out of community college and some girlfriends and I blew our tuition money on a Royal Caribbean or Carnival Cruise—I can’t remember which, since I drank so much—a few weeks back. Well, tuition money isn’t all I blew, if you catch my meaning and, since coming back, I’ve noticed that I’m a little sea sick, only I’m not sea sick in my stomach, but in my privates. There’s an ocean-y odor, a gummy discharge and my ovaries are a little woozy. Might I have caught something from that Guatemalan busboy? Or perhaps it was the housekeeper from Turks & Caicos. Help me Doctor! Gummy at the Gunwale  Dear Gummy, Have no fear! It sounds like a simple case of Cruise Cooze. Why, I treated Golden Globe winner Jennifer Hudson for the very same condition not two years ago, after she quit her job singing on a cruise ship to line up for hours and get insulted by Simon Cowell. With the right treatment your vertigo’d vagina will be back on its feet in no time. Just spend the night soaking in a tub of Epsom Salts and spermaceti from a sperm whale and rinse thoroughly in the morning with tomato juice and everything will be just fine. Keep on Cruisin’!--The Doc  Dear Dr. Cooch, I recently read an article in the New York Times that stated circumcision can cut the risk of HIV transmission in men by 50%. I'm already circumcised, but I'm wondering what else I can do to further decrease the risk. Any ideas? Thanks, Nipped in the Bud  Dear Nipped, Indeed, this news has taken the cunt doctor profession--and in fact the entire world of crotch medicine--completely by storm. As you know, I've long been a strong anti-condom advocate. (Not only is it like showering with a raincoat on, but it's also bad for the environment. Where do you think all those rubbers go? If you absolutely must use them, please rinse and re-use your condoms. It's the green thing to do. But I digress.) With this news, not only do I think condoms are unnecessary, but I also think this spells the end of AIDS altogether. Why? Think about it. If cutting off your foreskin cuts your risk by 50%, then being with a partner who has no foreskin doubles the safety--to 100%! Oh, yeah, right, I hear you. That only works for gays. What about us normal guys who like to screw girls? Well, smarty pants, haven't you heard of female circumcision?!? Turns out those tribal Africans were on to something. I am recommending female circumcision to all my patients. So far, I've performed the procedure on Jennifer Connelly, Kelly Clarkson, Diane Sawyer, Barbara Walters, and Fiona Apple, none of whom have had any complaints, and all of whom remain completely AIDS-free as of the time of this writing. Keep on Trimming the Fat, Dr. C  Dear Dr. Cooch, I am a very style-conscious person. I read Vogue, W, Jane, and Us Weekly religiously, and I keep up on all the trends. Well, as you probably know, the latest trend is to wear a short skirt with a waxed woo-woo and no underwear. I'm sure you've seen the photos of Paris Hilton and Britney Spears flashing their parts to the press. Naturally, I've been following suit, but with the cold winter weather I've been having a problem. Let's just say I've got a pair of chapped lips. What can I do? Sincerely, Scaly Labies  Dear Scaly, This is a very good question, I'm glad you wrote in. Many a starlet has indeed been permitting the paparazzi to gaze at her gash. In fact, many of my own patients have adopted this look, and I've encountered this problem on a few snatches that gravitate to colder climes. If you're looking for a season-long solution, consider coating the little lady with a thick layer of shellac or Thompson's Water Seal. This not only protects against the elements, but it also retards hair growth. Alternatively, if you think you'll need to access your funbox for purposes of coitus, just smear generously with vaseline. This will provide short-term protection. Just keep in mind that this tends to collect lint, so watch where you sit. And by the same token, avoid suede or velvet surfaces--your host will not appreciate the snail tracks you leave behind. Love, Dr. C  Dear Dr. Cooch, I have a terrible problem and I need your help. I have tried all kinds of contraception and I’ve faithfully applied each and every one, often in combinations. I’ve even insisted that boyfriends wear two condoms even though I am on ‘the pill’. Despite all my efforts, I have still gotten pregnant three times. My local Planned Parenthood is offering me a Frequent Fornicator discount, but my State Legislature is piling on the abortion restrictions. What can I do? Fecund & Frightened Dear Fecund,  Wow! That’s one fructiferous furrow you’ve got there! But don’t despair. I recently treated Spanish starlet Penelope Cruz, star of Pedro Almodóvar’s wonderful new film "Volver," for a similar condition. Suffering from "coño de coneja" or rabbit cunt, Ms. Cruz was so fertile that a single lusty look from the right angle could have her womb bulging—even from Tom Cruise! Happily, there’s a simple remedy: hard boil three grade A eggs, let them cool just enough to be pleasant to the touch, and stuff them up your rabbit hole. This should signal to your ovaries that enough eggs have been produced and they need not produce any more. Repeat this process every three months.   However… Be sure to repeat it every three months to the day. Failure to do so will result in the opposite problem: "coño de la muerte," or "cunt of death," as suffered by none other than Cruz’s best friend, Salma Hayek, whose arrangement is as sterile, barren and dry as the Sonora Desert. No man’s seed will ever find purchase there, to paraphrase the Coen Brothers’ Raising Arizona. --The Coocher  Dr. Cooch, This is really embarrassing, but I’ve noticed a strange discharge… My normal inclination is to treat it right away. Well, this is pretty disgusting, but my last two boyfriends seem to prefer the odor and flavor of whatever is happening "down there." They both insisted that I leave it alone and I’m not sure what to do. What’s your advice? Yeast in the East  Dear Yeast, If it’s not bothering you personally and if the boys don’t mind heading south while you’re in your current microbial condition, I’d say "Qu'ils mangent de la brioche!" Or, as we’ve mistranslated down the years, "Let them eat cake!"    Coincidentally, that’s exactly the advice I gave to Kirsten Dunst during the shooting of Sofia Coppola’s "Marie Antoinette" last year and it’s served her well in recent relationships with hunky Jake Gyllenhall and Saturday Night Live’s Andy Samberg. The boys get to "have their cake and eat it too!" Bon Apetit! --Dr. C.  Dr. Cooch,     I've noticed whenever I have unprotected sex on the beach with some disease free floozy I've just met, it feels like there are rocks in her cooder [sic] and it's extremely painful to me. And after sex I've noticed my wiener appears to be embedded with sand and small bits of shell even though I brought a blanket and left it folded on the front seat of the car.    My question - should sex be this complicated? Thanks for any help you can offer. G. 'Warthog' Bushel  Dear Warthog,    Thanks for the question. You may be old enough to remember a popular television show called "Baywatch." Well, I was the official cunt consultant on that production, and believe me when I tell you it gave me a crash course in dealing with sandy snatches. (Particularly Pamela Anderson's, which was the most complicated box I've handled since I bought a Rubik's Cube back in '80.)      Anyway, sex on the beach  can be risky. To better understand the problem, think of what happens when you eat a sandwich on the beach. Inevitably you get a little sand in there, and it gets crunchy. Well, the same thing happens with a woman's crotch. In cunt doctor school they call this "Crunchy Tuna."  And if you're like me, you don't like your tuna crunchy.    Unfortunately, you can't get the sand out of a sandwich. But you can get it out of a whisker biscuit. The best way by far is to perform an emergency douche. Use a plastic bottle for best results. If it's already filled with water or soda, just insert the end and squeeze away. You'll flush it out in no time. If you don't have a bottle handy, simply dunk the muff into a rip-tide for a powerful saline rinse. (But you don't want to "eat her tuna" after that, if you catch my drift.  You'll be thirsty for a week.)    Otherwise, just probe the area first with your finger. We cunt doctors have a little saying: "If it's smooth downstairs, put it where there's hair. If it's scratchy down south, put it in her mouth." Good Luck,   --Dr. Cooch Dear Dr. Cooch, This summer was just great! I took a trip around Europe with my girlfriend Cheryl and we bought two Eurail passes. We went everywhere—Luxembourg, Poland, Romania and even England! Trouble is, when I was in London I had a little tryst with a cockney charmer whose nick name was Bones. I spent most of my time in London with him. One of our most romantic and memorable ‘encounters’ was in a porta-potty at the Notting Hill Carnival. It was so spur of the moment and he was so irresistible that I didn’t use protection, but Bones washed me down with a can of Strongbow Cider after we were through and he assured me it would take care of any ‘issues.’ I guess I should have known better because all the way home on my British Airways flight, I was writhing, squirming and rubbing ‘down there.’ My gynecologist isn’t sure what’s going on. Can you help? Yours truly, Lusty in London  Dear Lusty,    You sure made a misstep there, missus. But fear not! It just so happens that I’ve got a bead on your little problem.    What you’ve got here is a case of the Soon Yi Syndrome—as in "after you zip up, soon ye’ll be scratching and burning to beat the band." It’s alternately known in London these days as "Snatch Point" after the delightful natural beauty Scarlett Johansson who brought the condition to light during the filming of the Woody Allen’s "Match Point" in London last year.    You see, Mr. Allen was so infatuated with his young star, he seems to have ‘rubbed up against her’ a little too closely while "guiding her performances" and infected the luscious, full bodied lass with a little virus he picked up from Soon Yi.    There’s a simple home remedy I gave to Ms. Johansson that you can try out. All you need is a car battery, two ripe grapefruits and a coil of wire. Connect the wire to the battery, squeeze the grapefruit juice on your affected areas and lightly jab the wires into your flesh until you feel intense burning and pain. Hold the wires there for a two minute count. Repeat daily for about a week to ten days and this should solve the problem. --Dr. Coochiola   Dear Dr. Cooch,      Even though I live in New York City, I’m an outdoorsy gal, and I just love to hike. After years of amateur jaunts in the Catskills, I decided to really "go for it" and tackle the Appalachian Trail!       While hiking a portion of the trail in Tennessee’s Great Smoky Mountain National Park, my girlfriend Sharon and I decided to have a beer at a mountain tavern with a few locals. Well, one thing led to another and let’s just say we wound up with our sweaty Land’s End hiking shorts around our ankles and our ankles around our ears in the back of a pick up truck with a strapping young man from Gatlingburg.       He sure seemed sweet, clean and wholesome but by the next morning I had a rash in the shape of a corn cob and a hankering for grits and banjo music! What should I do? Sincerely, Tarnished in Tennessee    Dear Tarnished,      You’re not alone! Many an unsuspecting city girl has been taken in by the seeming innocence of a country lad. In fact, I recently treated Oscar nominee Reese Witherspoon who had virtually the same experience! While filming scenes for Walk the Line in Virginia, it seems the talented Miss Witherspoon had an itching in her loins for some down home doinking that left her with a case of the Dirty Greasy Country Cunt, or as it's known locally, Gatlingburg Gash, which is exactly what you’ve got.       I suggest you air your compromised cunny on the roof of your apartment building at high noon for the next three weeks. Don’t worry that it’s mid-winter—the cold air will do your box good! You may also want to apply a treatment of pork chops in apple gravy to take away the itching. As for the banjo music, I recommend Flatt & Scruggs' early albums. --Dr. C   Dear Doctor C: I'm 18 and a senior at St. Pius X Catholic High School in Atlanta, GA. I'm a good Catholic girl and always thought I'd save my woo-woo for my husband. But two months ago I met a guy who I'll call Darius. Darius was sooo cool! He drove one of those Scion cube trucks, had a Motorola Razr cell phone, and could slam an entire Mountain Dew without puking. So my girlfriends told me I just had to give him the skins or he might not ever talk to me again! Well, Darius didn't wear a condom. He said that since I was a virgin that we didn't need to, plus it's a sin against the church and as long as we were both wearing a crucifix I wouldn't get pregnant. But now the outside of my marble bag is dry and crusty, and it feels like it's filled with sand. What happened?!? Sincerely, Georgia O'Queef  Dear Peach Fuzz in the Peach State,      While condoms severely limit a man's pleasure and should only be worn in the most extreme circumstances, in this instance using one would have saved some trouble. The nuns down there at Hair-Pius High have done you a real disservice by not teaching sex ed. (By the way, I am available to visit schools as a cooter tutor!) As a result, you're now suffering what sounds to me like two maladies: the dryness is most likely Coney Island Waffle-Cone; and the sandy sensation sounds like Litter Box, a first date classic.      Fortunately, though, thanks to my vast experience with the dirtiest holes in Hollywood, I think I've got a solution to both your problems. Drew Barrymore, actress and CEO of Flower Films, has me on weekly retainer as her wilted flower collects more STDs than a Brita water filter collects sediment. Last week it so happens I treated her successfully for both maladies. The cure? Flush with saline solution and then vinegar and baking soda. Follow that by applying oatmeal topically on your mound. You should be fresh as a daisy in 2-3 weeks. (Though Drew's daisy will never again be described as "fresh," you're still young-enough for some bounce-back.) Sincerely, Dr. Cooch Questions for Dr. Cooch? About Dr. Cooch