MRS CHENEY: Chicagoans, I am so moved to stand on this sacred patch of dank and sooty roadway with you today. Of course, I came as soon as I heard what's been going on.

As a lifelong Christian, and a writer of vulvacentric historical fiction, I never thought for a moment that I would ever get the opportunity to stand so close to the eye-poppingly cavernous opening of Jesus' mom's moist, clammy ladyhole! And yet here I am, like most of you, reveling in touching the pouting lips of Mary's womanhood with my fingertips, running my trembling index finger lovingly along the hirsute periphery of her succulent labia majora virgo, building up courage to probe deeper, deeper and deeper still and – finally – having my photo snapped next to the coy dilation of the holiest of hoo-hoos!

(Applause)

Fellow Christians, when I think that our Lord Jesus elbowed His little way out of this very opening, I realize that I am not just looking at the most voluptuous pair of inviting lady-lips I have ever seen, but also the very first thing our Lord saw when He slipped on His sandals and came to Earth. After staring longingly at this wet loveliness for the past three and one-half hours now, I can't help but think that it was all downhill for Jesus from there on out.

It was my daughter Mary who brought this glorious Heavenly Ladyhole to my attention. Apparently, a pack of Catholics thought that the Virgin Mary (the one who isn't my daughter) was being less generous, less personal in what she chose to show the faithful. But when it comes to apparitions, I have learned never to trust those Papists. They will start worshipping your poop if you don't flush fast enough! Frankly, I never thought I would see the day when I was happy for my daughter to spend hours worshipping an enormous gaping vagina! But it was with her scientifically significant sampling that we were able to determine that this apparition is anatomically correct in every detail – except for the disconcertingly engorged mega-clitoris that appears to bob and wink at passing truckers.

(Applause)

I just moments ago spoke to Father Francis O'Garland. He is the Catholic priest carrying his cute-as-a-button companion, who I just wanted to hug to death because he looked just like that Macaulay Culkin boy in Home Alone. I explained to Father Francis what a vagina looked like, then helped him clear the subsequent violent eruption of vomit off of his tunic. Father Francis was able to interrupt his doting attention of his little friend long enough to tell me that it is clear that the Holy Mother had become tired of nonbelievers questioning whether she ascended into Heaven with all her lady parts fully intact. As a definitive refutation to doubting thomases everywhere who fail to unblinkingly swallow up whatever the Vatican chooses to shovel in their direction, the Holy Mother has taken the unusual step of projecting her formidable vagina on a highway underpass. This way, Father Francis said, people who aren't in a rush or don't worry about being sideswiped or asphyxiated by auto fumes, can do a thorough point-by-point gynecological inspection worthy of Mr. Goodwench – to verify that even though an enthusiastic flushing with a bracing vinegar douche would not be remiss, Mary's hymen is still visible – even from a speeding minivan.

(Applause, Shouts of "Amen")

Thank you all so very much, and God Bless America!

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