The Anti-abortion Pack and the Idiot Factor

By Kit-Bacon Gressitt

Damn it, enough already! I mean it! These idiots just don’t give up! When they learn to control their dicks, then, maybe then, is when they’ll have the moral authority to dictate to women. … Uh, nope, not even then. Besides, they’ll always be idiots. And we just passed one of them, lurking around, being an idiot.

We, my daughter and I, were stopped at the intersection of Craven and Twin Oaks Valley — heading to Cal State San Marcos and engaged in lofty didactic discourse, such as “Do you think the bathroom is near the parking lot?” and, peering into the vanity mirror, “I hate my life: Look at this menopausal zit!” — and there on the northwest corner stood yet another idiot, trying to impose his reproductive will on the world, poorly-penned signage and all. The only visible difference between this numskull and Rep. Bart Stupak — he’s the idiot who, with his idiot cohorts, would have flipped his well-manicured bird to the millions of uninsured men, women and children in the United States if he didn’t get to have his anti-abortion way with the healthcare bill. Anyway, the only difference between the street-corner idiot and the congressional idiot is that Stupak knows how to dress for a public appearance. The street-corner guy was wearing baggy-ass pants, skate shoes, and a T-shirt, a T-shirt imprinted with a full-color image of an aborted fetus.

They must be real high-demand items at all the best anti-abortion conventions — “Get yer mangled-fetus Ts right here! One for twelve dollars; two for twenty! Get ‘em while they last!” — yep, Ts and those little fetus dolls. Oh, and those bus-panel-sized posters the idiots park at high schools to convince teens not to have abortions.

What the idiots don’t understand about this particular tactic is that the squeamish kids see the posters and need comforting and comforting leads to close physical proximity and close physical proximity leads to sex and, given the messages from the anti-sex protesters who tell the kids their stuff down there will fall off if they have sex out of wedlock and all birth control fails so there’s no such thing as safe sex, given all that, the squeamish kids who are being comforted by the nonsqueamish kids — or the opportunistic kids — are probably being comforted sans benefit of prophylactics, which results in more abortions.

Yep, idiots. And when they’re not loitering on street corners or leching around public schools with their lewd posters, they’re prowling the prurient halls of the nation’s capitols, demanding one restriction or another on women’s access to abortion.

From whence do these anti-abortion idiots muster up the gonads to prance so profanely into the realm of women’s genitalia? And to what end?

When it comes right down to it, what we’re talking about here — but what nary an idiot will admit — is man’s dominion over woman. They just can’t hang, so to speak, with the thought of women flushing men’s biological imperative for progeny down the proverbial toilet.

Oh, sure, there are plenty of men out there who aren’t so neurotic, who’ve accepted women as their peers, who are not looking for a mommy-slut they can control, who’ve evolved into adulthood. Of course, they’re all gay.

Just kidding — some of my best friends are straight men.

But those who have failed to resolve their adjustment reactions to adulthood, well, women scare the skivvies off them, and the manly response is to grasp desperately, even violently, for control — over our education, our fashions, our medical care, our entertainment, our employment, our opinions, our faiths, our bodies. And that last one is the clincher: What greater power does woman have than to nurture new life within her? So what is the immature man’s sorriest, most juvenile goal? To control women’s reproductive organs. The idiots lust to master the ripe produce of our ovaries, the stroking cilia of our fallopian tubes, the dark, warm wetness of our wombs.

And if they can’t ride herd over their womanly chattel by virtue of betrothal and diamond rings, remodeled kitchens, a little strong-arming of the little woman; if they can’t actually crawl back into that safe, succulent place, they can at least leave their marks. And the “Kilroy was here” of the idiots’ sperm bears with it an obsessive, occasionally murderous, sense of ownership, much greater than initialing a flat of military supplies or a tank.

Indeed, the moment they dump their dose of symbiotic swimmers, the idiots think they own us — our wombs, our decision-making faculties, our subsequent nine months. And the most heinous, most malicious, most objectionable act a woman can perpetrate on idiot egos is to flush their foundling zygotes to oblivion.

Yowza, do they despise that! Hence, the idiots standing at street corners and lobbying elected idiots and peddling idiot bills each year to force women to full term.

Funny, though: If they put all that anti-abortion fervor, all the angst and prayers, all the dogma and money into safe, accessible birth control, they would have few abortions to rail about. But, of course, that’s anathema to their true, unspoken idiot agenda — to procreate, to perpetuate the species, to force women to have their babies.

It is no wonder, now, is it, that male idiots lead the ranks of anti-abortion advocacy, from Rep. Bart Stupak to Randall Terry of Insurrecta Nex, David N. O’Steen of National Right to Life, Troy Newman of Operation Rescue and Joe Scheidler of Pro-life Action League. No wonder at all.

But the other thing the idiots don’t understand is that they will never control reproduction, because there will always be women who refuse their fetters. Because there will always be women ready to whop the idiots upside the head and tell them to get over it. Because, you idiots, there will always be women who know how to put a bit of sterile tubing, some suction and a mayonnaise jar to good use.

Love,

K-B

©2010 Kit-Bacon Gressitt

(Photo by Bruno Sanchez-Andrade via a Creative Commons license.)