…and being anti-choice apparently kills braincells.
Tampon guns don’t kill people. Uppity bitches kill blastocyst-people.
Just when you thought you’d heard it all…
Neanderthals like me think women should know the pill can kill their 5- to 9-day-old children. Informed consent and all that.
So the American Life League is launching Protest the Pill Day ’08: The Pill Kills Babies this Saturday, June 7, on the 43rd anniversary of the Griswold vs. Connecticut Supreme Court decision.
ALL is calling on pro-lifers nationwide to peacefully protest in front of Planned Parenthoods and other facilities that distribute birth control pills.
Yes, you read that right: Women should be “informed” that the Pill kills nine-day-old babies. Which is a little confusing, until you realize that anti-choicers apparently track your age from what time your daddy’s sperm fertilized your mama’s egg. (The fact that the Pill is totally incapable of killing such a fertilized egg is apparently even further beside the point).
All of which leaves me very confused. Did I already turn 25? I thought my birthday was in August, but if my clock started to tick upon insemination, I need to recalibrate. I couldn’t have been six days old twice, right? How am I supposed to start my quarter-life crisis when I didn’t know that I had already hit quarter life? Should I start celebrating inseminationdays instead of birthdays? Given the importance of knowing our own ages and not letting babies die, is it worth forcing women to undergo a daily insemination exam, just to make sure we don’t miss the presence of a teeny tiny one-celled baby (the cutest kind)? Did I just drown a baby when I flushed my last tampon? Am I a murderer? Do my serial tampon-baby-murder-flushings mean I’m barred from getting a license to practice law? Should I tell my future kids that they have potentially dozens of “siblings” that sloughed right out of my uterus, unbeknownst to me? Do you think I should get a little cemetery plot for my feminine hygiene products and used panties? How old am I? Who am I? Where am I? Where’s my mom?
Lesson learned: Even reading anti-choice columns will turn you into a moron.