NSFW, unless your boss is a hardcore otaku:
H/T Jezebel, where it ran over the weekend under the title “Fly Away Home, Gentle Underpants”
NSFW, unless your boss is a hardcore otaku:
H/T Jezebel, where it ran over the weekend under the title “Fly Away Home, Gentle Underpants”
For a progressive and a sentimentalist, one of the advantages of living in the Boston television market has been its coverage of Senator Kennedy’s last public appearance. He was one of ours, and he did a lot of good for a lot of individuals and families here, apart from his many services to the welfare of all Americans. I’ve been glad to sniffle through many an anecdote from the people who came to witness the hearse carry Teddy’s casket from Hyannisport, through Boston’s Government Center and the North End streets where he first politicked, to lie in state at his brother’s JFK Library in Dorchester.
People like the couple whose son was killed in Iraq, and Kennedy not only sent a note of condolence, he found out the soldier’s father was having problems obtaining his citizenship — problems that magically disappeared within two weeks of Kennedy’s intervention. And when the couple started a scholarship fund to honor their son’s memory, Teddy sent a personal check. People like the Republican parents whose son’s last words from Iraq lamented the lack of decent body armour; they contacted Kennedy “despite our doubts” and the Senator successfully fought to change the Pentagon rules protecting Blackwater and its private-contractor ilk by denying civilian donations toward ‘non-approved’ equipment. “Teddy did more for us than any of the senators we contacted who voted for the war,” they said.
People like the 9/11 widow who’ll be standing with the Kennedy family overnight, at the coffin wake. It wasn’t just that he contacted her and the other families immediately, she said, or the “dozens of little things, stuff that was only important to us” that he’d done in the years since. “He walked me through those first terrible days, taught me how it was possible to go on, when I thought I would never get through it… He told me I could, and I knew I could trust him, because he’d had to — he’d done it himself.”
And then I made the mistake of looking at Andrew Sullivan’s blog, hosting the smug and disingenuous Hanna Rosin, whose back-handed ‘tribute’ to Teddy’s public service went beyond the usual Wingnut Welfare Wurlitzer “Chappaquiddick today, Chappaquiddick tomorrow, Chappaquiddick forever” sniping to “the bigger problem of the Kennedy women”:
“If they were lucky, like Eunice Kennedy Shriver, they managed to install themselves at the head of virtuous nonprofits—“charities,” we used to call them.” — Goodbye, Kennedy Women, Double X, August 26
Rosin is treating Eunice Kennedy Shriver the way she laments Joe Kennedy did — as a mannequin, a non-person whose highest ambition was to worm its way into a figurehead position. This is a grave and willful misunderstanding, which denigrates not only Mrs. Kennedy Shriver’s lifetime of hard work, but the worth of the Special Olympics and the Special Olympians.
Eunice Kennedy Shriver was not “lucky”, she was brave.
She worked just as hard and as long for her “virtuous nonprofit” as Teddy did in the Senate, starting in 1961 when she pressured her brother Jack into authorizing The President’s Committee on Mental Retardation, which developed into what is now Eunice Kennedy Shriver National Institute of Child Health & Human Development within the NIH. She was supposed to be another Barbara Bush, someone who’d be content supervising an appropriately large brood of future (male) politicians, a Junior League matron breaking her “fiercely competitive” golf and tennis matches at the country club with martini-and-cigarette lunches. But while she never challenged her father’s fierce chauvinism to the extent of pursuing political office herself, she never forgot how her older sister Rosemary had been traumatized, locked away, and lobotomized in a misguided attempt to “protect her from herself” — and to protect her family from the stigma of having produced a mental defective.
Over the last twenty years or so, there’s developed a certain willed historical oblivion over just how hard it was to be, or to bear, a “retarded” child in America in the 1960s. The unchallenged Social Eugenics bias taught in schools of medicine & social work since the 1890s mandated that the “best” treatment for such “defective” children was institutionalization, where the little unfortunates and their families would be protected from the stigma and social opprobrium natural to their pitiable condition. And since there was no hope of a cure, or even a meaningful life for the young victims, the diagnostic lines between “mongoloidism”, organic brain damage, autism, epilepsy, and even cerebral palsy were blurred — if the child was going to be warehoused until it died, hopefully before wasting too much of its family’s or the states resources, how much did an exact label matter? Things hadn’t progressed much since Jane Austen wrote of a family (much like her own) that “had the bad fortune to have a very stupid, troublesome son, and the good fortune to lose him before his twentieth year.” I was born in the mid-1950s, and I can remember the ladies in my blue-collar Irish-American parish discussing whether it was “fair” for Eunice to keep dragging up the “old scandal” of Rosemary’s tragedy — because it risked damaging the political & marital chances not only of Eunice’s own children, but of the Irish-Catholic tribe in general. I know people of my generation who were never permitted to meet, or sometimes even to know about, their “imperfect” siblings until another family crisis unveiled their existence. Just as adoptive parents were warned never to reveal that their child wasn’t “really” theirs, the parents of “defective” children were advised, “Put it in an institution. Tell the neighbors it died. It wouldn’t be fair to your other children, if you try to provide all the extra care and expense it’ll need.”
People today occasionally wonder, or complain, that “When I was growing up, there didn’t used to be so many special needs kids in every neighborhood.” Of course they don’t always use the polite “special needs”, because that phrase didn’t really exist a generation ago. There didn’t “used to be” so much mention of racist privilege or sexual harrassment or domestic violence, either — not because it didn’t exist, but because the concepts were so much an accepted part of everyday life that “we” didn’t have the words to describe them, even if we wanted or needed to. Changing the world to require, and accept, such a new vocabulary was a lifetime’s hard work for many, many people, a few of whom were powerful enough and prominent enough that we remember their names when honoring the work of all their unheralded fellows. Eunice Kennedy Shriver, despite Hanna Rosin’s attempt to reduce her, was never just a ‘Lady Bountiful presiding over an afternoon’s diversion for the little retards.’ She spent her life working hard, and encouraging (demanding) thousands of others to work just as hard, to give the forgotten and powerless a little more space in the world. And it is for her hard work and by the success she won, not for herself but for 3,000,000-and-counting people she never met, that she will be remembered. At its best, this was the real “Kennedy luck” — not that they were born rich and lived privileged, but that Teddy, Eunice, Jack, Bobby, and the rest of the clan sought out the hard work that would make a real difference in the world.
Looks like the new Media Village talking point has been distributed: Americans don’t deserve a decent health care system because we are disgusting fat pigs.
There’s a point (around 3:00) in the MSNBC clip John posted earlier where Taibbi talks about America’s relatively high infant mortality rate and low life expectancy, and Maria Bartiromo interrupts to snarl, “We’re OBESE!” with the same combination of loathing & denunciation that a televangelist would use for “We have sinned!” Bartiromo, of course, is not obese — her television contract is based on her meeting certain standards of attractiveness, and I’m sure it includes clauses covering the personal trainers, gym memberships, nutritionists, and whatever other outside assistance is required to keep Bartiromo up to those standards. But the rest of us, well, how can we expect our babies to stay alive if we insist on being willfully, knowingly “obese”?
Then, in the WSJ op-ed John linked later in the evening, anesthesiologist and anti-happiness crusader Dr. Ronald Dworkin complains that Obama’s threatened health reforms will drive skilled professionals like himself out of the medical business, because taxes are too high and Medicare compensation is too low and frankly, smart people don’t want to work that hard. Also, “Americans have grown very fat. This complicates anesthesia tremendously. Putting in IVs, spinals and epidurals is harder. Inserting breathing tubes is much more dangerous. “ True enough, but then, he’s getting paid somewhere north of $300k a year to deal with those complicated fat people. “Quality of care will inevitably decline. That decline will come first in obstetrics… “ Go away, fat people, or the laboring mothers and their babies will suffer!
Granted: Being too fat is a genuine medical problem. Obesity, or the yo-yo dieting too often connected with obesity, leads to higher rates of heart disease, diabetes, joint problems, yada yada yada. But it’s also a very “resistant” Medical Issue, with roots in everything from genetics to modern suburban planning to the way industrial agriculture is subsidized by tax dollars but local farmers markets are not. In modern America, for all these reasons and more, it often costs more to be thin than to be fat. And it sure costs more to stay healthy, so — more and more often — poor Americans are fatter and less “fit” than wealthy Americans. It does not seem coincidental that one of the memes leaking upwards from the anti-reform astroturf has become “America’s medical system hasn’t failed American citizens — American citizens have failed its medical system.”
Us fatties are using up too much health care, taking up too much room in the emergency rooms, just like we take up too much airline seat space and use too many resources to fill our swollen gullets and cover our bloated hides. And women, of course, are particularly susceptible to this kind of guilt-tripping. Feminist, post-feminist or anti-feminist, some very large percentage of all American women, whatever their actual medical BMI, will always have to fight an inner voice suggesting that we could stand to lose a few (more) pounds. There is nothing so unfeminine as taking up too much space, using up ‘more than one’s share’, attracting too much attention.
After World War II, American economists decided that in order to keep unemployment at an appropriate level, the women who’d been “enticed” into paid employment while “their men” were overseas needed to be sent back to the kitchen and the nursery. A deliberate part of this campaign was the argument, repeated at every level of the media from the radio soap operas to the Harvard Business School research journals, that “bored housewives” and “novelty-seeking co-eds” who insisted on keeping their high-paying office or technical jobs, or demanded slots at the better universities, were “taking jobs away from the heads of households (men), who wouldn’t be able to feed their families”. All the old reliable anti-womanist slogans were also revived (‘career girls’ were unattractive, sterile, neurotic spinsters who couldn’t ‘get a man’, probably because of their sexual abnormalities), but this new meme really sold. Any woman who wanted a job more interesting or better-paid than retail clerk or primary-school teacher was a selfish, self-centered, unpatriotic monster who didn’t mind taking food out of the mouths of starving children. This re-branding worked so well that by the mid-1960s, even women who “had no choice but to work” — women who were themselves heads-of-household — often felt compelled to wear their “excuses” like a badge, or a mark of shame.
Today, American economists are facing a new re-structuring of a nationwide industry, the health-care system, that uses almost one dollar out of every five available. Our current system works very well for the top economic tier, less well and far more expensively for the middle (voting) tiers, and badly / catastrophically for the expanding bottom layer. Suddenly, out of every media outlet, from the morning talk shows to the political blogs to the Wall Street Journal, comes a new slogan: Americans get less health for more dollars than any other industrialized nation because we don’t deserve good health. We haven’t earned it, and if we insist on using it anyway, we’ll be depriving other, more needy fellow citizens of their fair share. And the mark of our selfish unworthiness is that we’re fat. Any good citizen, especially any woman, who “knows” that she should be eating better and exercising more (if only there were more hours in a day, or she could afford a gym membership, or vegetables weren’t more expensive than mac’n’cheez) gets the subliminal message: She can’t afford a mammogram, much less treatment for breast cancer, not because the World’s Best Health Care System is broken, but because she’s selfish even to want such luxuries when she hasn’t earned them.
We may never be allowed to call Donald Rumsfeld, George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, William Kristol, or any of their prosperous fellows to account for their crimes during the ginning up and prosecution of our latest War Against the Iraqis. But, by the Christianists’ God, we can at least ensure that the face of America’s nightmare behavior there will be ostracized from Appalachia’s fast-food emporiums and public housing :
“Former Army reservist Lynndie England hasn’t landed a job in numerous tries: When one restaurant manager considered hiring her, other employees threatened to quit.”
She doesn’t like to travel: Strangers point and whisper, “That’s her!”
Her family received hate mail from all over the world because of the publicity surrounding the photographs and trial and, 5 years after the abuses were discovered, letters just keep coming. This, despite the fact that England wasn’t actually accused (or convicted) of physical abuse of prisoners — and despite the fact that the Senate Armed Services Committee concluded that the abuses at Abu Ghraib were the direct result of Administration policies that “conveyed the message that physical pressures and degradation were appropriate treatment for detainees.”
England, by even the most sympathetic reading, failed to protest when ugly and un-American deeds were committed in her presence. She hasn’t shown much “remorse” for her crimes, if only because she doesn’t have the ability or the training to memorize the mandatory Repentance Script (and maybe leak a few tears on-camera when ‘confronted’ with the ‘evidence’). And it’s not as though she were the only undereducated PTSD-ridden veteran and single mother struggling to get by during this recession.
But should she really be the single individual who suffers most for the crimes at Abu Ghraib, just because she’s become the “face” of America’s sins?
I may have to buy a copy of her biography even though I doubt it will tell me anything I don’t already know, least of all about England herself.
(Props to the Jezebel commenter who pointed out, tongue severely in cheek, that by the rules of corporate America, McDonald’s might be overlooking a potential star: “If anything, she was the ideal employee — following orders to the end and working well with her team.”)
It is a fact universally acknowledged that Governor Palin’s every action and pronouncement over the next three years will be scrutinized with the assumption that she’s going to run in the 2012 primaries:
“It was so recent, yet it feels so foreign,” she said of the time before women had the right to vote, standing in front of pictures of Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Lucretia Mott.
Palin also remarked with pleasure on a black-and-white photograph of four women aiming pistols, and passed in silence under another of a woman holding aloft a sign reading, “Black lesbian feminist.”
She then toured the National Women’s Hall of Fame a block away, concluding with a handshake for the town’s mayor, Diana Smith, and a word of cheer for “mommy mayors and girl governors.”
Admittedly, as a target for mockery, that’s just about irresistable. But it also makes my stomach hurt, because dismissing women elected to public office as ‘mommy mayors and girl governors’ has been the standard misogynist trope going back to at least Samuel Johnson. (“A woman preaching is like a dog walking on its hind legs; it is not done well, but you are astonished to see it done at all.”)
So, I would like to petition the good thoughtful progressive men and women here — maybe especially the men — to try a thought experiment in regard to mocking Sarah Palin. Your zingers may be both justified and delicious, but would you repeat them in front of your Black Best Friend if Alan Keyes were your target?
There is nothing entertaining about the relatively few and fortunately rare specimens of human Ebola virus incubated, however unintentionally, in the warm petri dish of Pro-Life civic virtue.
Disgruntled Would-Be Baby Buyers Many years ago, a pro-choice friend working the gantlet outside her local clinic had a very white protestor shove an Asian-featured baby at her while hissing “Because of you people, I had to settle for this!” Would-be adoptive parents remain a small but fervent subset of the forced-birth terrorist squadrons. If they had as much power, education and money as Supreme Court Justice John Roberts, they could ship babies from Ireland to Latin America to circumvent inconvenient international adoption laws and guarantee themselves a couple of perfect adorable blue-eyed blonde infants. As it is, they’re reduced to dreaming of a Golden Age when healthy white American teenagers who “got in trouble” had very little choice but to “give up” their by-blows to be raised by decent, God-fearing middle-class white married couples. Yes, it can be argued there is some kind of “biological imperative” to crave a baby of one’s very own, a proto-human to carry the best possible simulacra of one’s one features, genes, and philosophies into the future. But, NO, here in America, not at the cost of using teenagers as their incubators.
(And for a brief but hair-raising tale of the dark side of this very human impulse, try The Baby Thief: Georgia Tann, the Baby Seller Who Corrupted Adoption.)
Testicle Defenders These are the men who make the police officers monitoring the legally-mandated separation zones nervous, the men whose photos are posted at every battered women’s shelter. Murder may be the number-one cause of death for pregnant women in America, but that doesn’t mean the Real Men are going to let “their” women screw them over…
“Bitch thought she could get away with killing MY baby.”
“She won’t be slutting around on me while she’s swollen out to here.”
“Good luck finding someone else dumb enough to support her lazy ass, once she’s got another man’s kid(s) hanging off her leg.”
“Everybody knows” the stories about the teenager on her fourth abortion because she doesn’t want her parents to find her birth control pills, or the lawyer who has a second-trimester abortion so she won’t lose billable hours when a big case goes to trial. But the women murdered *because they got pregnant* are just statistics — they only make the local news if there aren’t enough camera-worthy car crashes, fires, or sporting events to fill the evening timeslots.
Certified Crazies Dr. George Tiller, “Tiller the Killer”, was widely condemned by the “pro-life” media cheerleaders as a willful baby-butcher whose murder would be “justifiable homicide”. Scott Roeder, “Sovereign Citizen” and diagnosed schizophrenic, walked into a church and fatally shot Tiller in the midst of his family and friends.
There are a lot of sad, disturbed individuals wandering around unsupervised. Instructing these people that they will be applauded — even rewarded — for committing acts of violence may not be illegal, but it’s still evil.
I’m saying the pro-life crowd is full of real-life assholes doing real-life harm, and it’s imperative that we call them out for the specific, factual, actual things they do.
I’m not excusing what they do, for fuck’s sake, I’m demanding a thorough and honest accounting of what they’ve done and said so that they can be held responsible and shunned by polite society.
I wish I could competently address the plea that I am using “strawmen” or “caricatures” when it would be more effective to point at actual individuals. There needs to be a discussion about the boundary between identifying a specific person’s acts, and encouraging would-be “martyrs” to target them. Because “Naming & Shaming” is what Bill O’Reilly did to a good brave man in Kansas… and now Dr. Tiller is dead.
I want to thank all of you who commented on my earlier segments. Even when we don’t agree, I have learned from you, and (still) believe it is important that we look at these issues and discuss them honestly. I also want to thank John for his forbearance, and the opportunity to get my ideas before some of the smartest, most widely experienced commentators of any political blog I know.
One reason I set up a new personal tag is so that people who just don’t care to read about these contentious issues can killfile my offensive posts. I promise I will diligently use this tag whenever it’s relevant.
Hobbyists and Little Hitlers: This is the next step along the road towards True Believerdom, Domestic Terrorism division. If you’re the sort of woman who really believes (because it’s what you’ve been taught all your life) that God Wants Woman to Stay Home & Breed, anti-choice rallies aren’t just a pleasant outing, they’re a very public reinforcement of your own virtue. Sure, you “had to” get married and start popping out children (and hope that your fellow congregants won’t count the months between your wedding and the first christening, at least not too publicly) and now you’re stuck home alone with a growing pack of stinky filthy whining needy human larvae sucking up every morsel of your attention 24/7, or you’re juggling a string of sub-minimum-wage part-time jobs to try and keep one step ahead of homelessness, and your husband resents the day he first laid eyes on you, but at least you’re not going straight to HELL like those snotty uptown women in their expensive suits with their fancy degrees and careers! When you take time away from your family, it’s in service to God and the cries of the womb-babies, not because you’re desperate to do work that couldn’t be done just as well by a chimp or a robot, if only those creatures weren’t more expensive to rent than you are! If you truly believe that being a WifeandMother is the highest, the only truly acceptable, calling… and you haven’t hit the reality-show jackpot with a pack of adorable multiples or penned a series of bestseller doorstops based on your teenage fantasies of True Pure Love… well, serving as head of the local anti-choice committee is almost as much public attention as getting on the school board, and you don’t have to run for election and pretend to listen to what the neighborhood liberal pervert anti-creationist satanists might think. Imagine a young Sarah Palin, with a little less determination and a lot less luck.
Of course Governor Palin eloped with her high-school sweetheart, “to save her parents a fancy wedding they couldn’t afford” (seven months before her oldest son was born, I hear) but it’s hard to form lasting bonds when you switch colleges five times over the course of seven years. However, if you’re a young thing still working on her M.R.S. degree, bossing the Choose Life ! ! ! subdivision of your college’s Young Republican chapter is an excellent strategy to draw the positive attention of some future real estate salesman or marketing vice-president, especially if God has not seen fit to reward you with superficial qualities like beauty-contestant looks. Sure, their laundry may be full of crusty tubesocks and their laptops laden with pr0n-sourced viruses now, but it is a fact universally acknowledged that a single young Conservative in immanent possession of an assistant-vice-presidency at his daddy’s firm needs a true Christian helpmate who knows how to impress the neighbors using only her natural moral superiority, a handful of credit cards, and ten years’ worth of hoarded Better Homes & Gardens magazines.
‘And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.—Matthew 6:5-6
(Thank you, commenter Raven)
Speaking of Little Hitlers, this is the level where most of the male forced-birth terrorists first show up, because of course Their Lord God has informed them that men are meant to be the Head over women, who are only jumped-up body parts. (Ribs, you perverts, Adam’s rib.) Our decadent modern era makes it harder and harder for a (usually) White man of a certain age and no particular claims to brawn, brains, or beauty to attract a covey of female attention sufficiently ego-soothing — even the remaining Catholic nuns have gotten all uppity. And just try treating your so-called ‘personal assistant’ like one of the secretaries from Mad Men! But pius Men of the Cloth, or even the Wednesday-evening-Bible-study-polyblend-polo-shirt, can still demand respect among the anti-choice advocates. As commenter Slaney Black reminisces:
My personal “favorite” is the Irish-voodoo Catholic priest. The one with all the miraculous trinkets and end-of-days talk that would make Jack van Impe blush. Normal routine goes about like this…
“Abortion doctors are baby killers and I have proof because some Polack lady saw the Immaculate Heart of Mary in a bucket of chicken livers! Also, I don’t like Jews and Freemasons! Make sure to get one of these here gen-u-wine miraculous rosaries I got blessed personal by B16 when last I was in the Holy City. (Suggested donation folks, these little babies don’t come free). In conclusion, abortion doctors are like Hitler, who was bad even though I don’t care for the Jews either.”
Redirecting these peoples’ energies is going to be… complicated. Given the parlous state of American education, we certainly can’t afford to put them on the school boards. And I haven’t been able to think of a God-blessed project worthy to absorb their boundless desire to correct other peoples’ morals while parading their own superior worth. (For potential pitfalls, see ‘Maoist Neighborhood Committees’.) I mean, we could try convincing them that the West Nile Virus is an Al-Qaida plot and point them in the direction of mosquito eradication… okay, well, who’s got a better suggestion?
Next: Disgruntled Baby Buyers, Testicle Defenders, and Borderline Crazies — where the funny stops
These are the people standing in front of your local reproductive services clinic, assuming you’re lucky enough to live where reproductive services clinics haven’t been firebombed or otherwise destroyed by forced-birth domestic terrorists, shading from the harmless-if-clueless to the very, very dangerous.
Bingo Ladies Gone Bad: Probably 85% of the “regulars”, the ones who show up on the bus from God’s Love Evangelical Church of the Risen Spirit Incorporated or the whitest of the local white-bread outburbs every week. They’re the women (mostly women) shoving their homeschooled kids in front of the news camera as they shriek “Don’t kill your babies! Repent or you’ll burn in the eternal fire!” And most of them are exactly as sincere about their deeply held anti-abortion belief as the average male sports fan standing on the next street corner, yelling “Go Sox! Yankees suck!” for another anchorpod’s evening news segment. It’s an afternoon out of the house, a socially excusable way to spend some quality time bonding with their friends. And the ‘Choose Life’ ladies don’t get beer, but the sports fans don’t get bonus points towards their version of heaven.
These are also the people of the “Choice for Me, But Not for Thee” contingent who ensure that abortion rates are just as high in the Heartland(tm) as they are among us godless liberals. Every abortion services provider has stories about the “pro-life” protestor who shows up in the front room, looking to get rid of a little “medical problem” for themselves or their teenage daughter. But Jesus knows that *they* are good people who made a mistake, or were victims of an unfortunate accident! Not like all those sluts and parasites sitting in the waiting room with them — those people are just murderers! In other words, many of the Bingo Ladies are really members of the Church of the Hypocrites, just like the rest of us.
Next up: Hobbyists & Little Hitlers
If President Obama were my personal “change agent”, he’d have announced that the National Guard would now recruit gynecologists to serve as abortion providers in those parts of America — which would be most parts of America — where domestic terrorism and religious extremists keep American women from accessing medical services which are not only legal but supported by the majority of Americans. And he’d add that the National Guard would also be protecting the facilities where those gynecologists worked, with the intention of prosecuting all lawbreakers to the full extent of the anti-terrorism statutes.
If President Obama were my own Magical Unity Pony, he’d give some version of the Healthy Babies Initiative speech I posted last night, while I was still teetering on the edge of full berserker mode.
Because yesterday, I wanted to visit
Terry RandallRandall Terry’s* house and break his lying jaw with an axe. I wanted to take the current spokesmonster of Operation Rescue and abandon him naked in the middle of Death Valley, where he could petition his god for a miracle to save his worthless hide. And I wanted to air-drop every single “choose life” protestor waggling fetus-pr0n and screaming abuse in front of reproductive clinics to the Afghan-Pakistani intertribal regions, where they could enjoy all the benefits of living under the Taliban authority they crave.
If I were granted one superpower, I’d have the ability to take all the “snowflake babies” and “pre-born” embryos and “womb babies” and implant them in the abdomens of every single anti-choice leader — men first. Sure, ectopic pregnancies are very rarely viable and almost inevitable damage the human carrier’s health, but hey! Most women (excuse me, baby-pods) survive the experience, and there are cases in the medical texts where abdominally-implanted fetuses actually lived long enough to require expensive neonatal services. Live your beliefs the hard way, Reverend Phelps! Who knows — maybe your Special Snowflake will turn out to be a healthy little blue-eyed blond angel! But of course, if it’s damaged or “ethnic” or just requires months of expensive medical intervention… well, don’t come whining to us taxpayers, looking for a handout. You should have known what you were getting into before you opened your
legs yap, you disgusting worthless parasite on the body public! (This is why my god has not granted me superpowers. For which I am duly grateful.)
Most of us, most of the time, manage to ignore the self-styled Pro-Life anti-abortion protestors, those draggled sadsacks yowling on streetcorners, waving rosaries and shoving their exploited offspring in front of the local news cameras. We have a vague idea that they’re well-meaning people expressing their civic opinions, like good citizens should, and besides, religious tolerance is a virtue even when those hiding behind the First Amendment are intolerant loons and borderline psychotics. And there probably are well-meaning decent Christian individuals at those anti-choice rallies — in my life, including the 12 years I spent in parochial schools, I’ve met at least a handful of people the Jesus Christ described in the New Testament would recognize as Christians, so I know the breed may be rare but it’s not mythical. But let’s be honest: Sturgeon’s Law posits that “90% of everything is crap“, and that law holds just as true for human motivations as it does for bad skiffy novels. I’ll be posting a Field Guide to Your Neighborhood Womb Bigots later, because the weasel-wording and mealy-mouthing about this is driving me fvcking mad.
*I plead lysdexia