"Dear Manola 180: Why isn't the clitoris located lower in the vagina?
Ms. Edna Hoochielopolus"
This is a probing, philosophical question. I suspect that when God was working with engineers on the form and function of females, he went out for a few Belgian ales and woke up the next day with a most unfortunate hangover, which made him miss the placement of the clitoris by two inches. It's a damn shame, really. You'd think that God would've given the female orgasm some thought, considering that women have to endure labor.
But think about it: if the clitoris were located anywhere NEAR the vagina, you'd have an orgasm every time you wiped.
(Nota Bene: Pilots, next time you're comin' in for a landing, here's a little tip for you ... the clit is on the OTHER side of the tarmac! Orange flag swingin' in the air ... hello!)
Let's turn to literature for an answer. Irish Nobel-prize winning poet William Butler Yeats came ... ehem ... in his later years, to nothing other than this conclusion: "love has pitched its tent in the house of excrement."
Women's bodies are screwed. Fucking, menstruating, peeing, pooping, farting and having babies should not occur within the same postal code, let alone on the same block! Talk about a bad neighborhood and strange bedfellows! After all, you don't build a slaughterhouse next to the meat market, or do you?
Manola 180 is stumped, but not shtooped, let me tell you! It's a cunundrum, for sure.