by Dr. Susan Block Labor Day blossoms into “Labia Day,” like a lush Georgia O’Keeffe flower, in my Womb Room and throughout the verdant Garden of Bonoboville, as we once again strip this venerable old holiday of its corporate baggage, industrial origins and retail hypocrisy, opening up its hidden erogenous doors to the deepest pleasures, passion and the emergence of life.

by Dr. Susan Block Falling like an avalanche of red, white and blue Zyklon B-releasing balloons between the two American presidential conventions of 2016, this show finds Bonoboville grappling with the intensely divided state of the United States. However, with the help of some beautiful music, amazing parody, Bonoboville Communion and sexy half-naked bodies moving and grooving the Bonobo Way, it’s not long before we come up smiling, happy and horny, the sound of jack boots marching in the distance. Welcome to the Trumpocalypse. After four long days of rabid fear-mongering, petty plagiarism, bigotry, stupidity, misogyny, progeny, Nazi salutes, blondes in white dresses, calls for execution of the Democratic candidate by firing squad and fervent prayers to Make America HATE Again, Bonoboville is slightly traumatized. At least, I am, this being the nastiest American presidential convention in my memory. And if Trump wins which, considering the increasing fractious state of the Democratic party, is looking more and more possible, this reality show is just beginning.