Night of the Inane Comment V (IV? VI?)
Link Farmin'
I got nothin. How 'bout you find it for yourselves:
I plan my family naturally, in that the nature of the capitalist system has put me in a position where by my student loans make it unfeasible for me to go out popping out the offspring of the nearest annual boy toy.
Natural Family Planning: Fucking in such a manner as to ensure the certain demise of whatever sperm may kick around awaiting the arrival of a viable egg. Starving those little fuckers into submission, as it were.
Plan B: Fucking in such a manner as to ensure the certain demise of whatever sperm may kick around awaiting the arrival of a viable egg. Starving those little fuckers into submission, as it were.
The logical conclusion? One and the same, say I. The illogical conclusion? Any woman who fucks (but only between days eleven and seventeen) ought to be punished with a child.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'd like to believe that my child is a viable human being, with love, flaws, quirks, and spirit; not a punishment. But hey, I'm a babykilling mofo, so my opinion don't count.
So on to:
How To Kill Potential Zygotes; Canadian Style:
1) Don't use condom. Just don't. Realize that condoms are a mile away from you, and fuck, it's been half a year since you've, well fucked. Pills make you cranky, the shot makes you bleed for six weeks at a go, and the IUD is still pending you finding the time to get your sorry ass to North Burnaby, therefore insuring that this non-condimated fucking could potentially lead to your sorry ass getting pregnant.
2) Do midterms. Do more midterms. Hell, throw in another one.
3) Take a fiver from midterms to scurry up to the drop in clinic.
4) Meet a new doc. He reminds you of your dad. So much, that you find yourself offering up unsolicited confessions of wrongdoings, just so you can revel in that semi-sarcastic, poker faced reproof.
Ahhh, the parents. How we miss them when they choose to allow us to live our own lives.
Ohh, ohh! I smoke a pack a day too! Hell no, make it two!
5) Get prescription for Plan B: yes, said prescription may be unnecessary, but it'll save you twenty five bucks at the till to come with it.
6) Get pill. Commiserate with pharmacist over medical plan's decision to exclude pill from coverage since said pill became over-the-counter.
Fucking medplan.
Movin' on; again.
The American experience:
I phoned my doctors office which informed me that the office was closed and that I had to call the local hospital and have her paged in order to reach her on the weekend. So I called her and had them page her. A little while later she called back and I answered the phone immediately. She sounded tired and really grumpy; I apologized for having to page her for a thing like this and then asked her if I could get a prescription for EC. She explained that I needed to go to the Emergency Room to get it.
He puts me on hold and I sit on the edge of the bed frowning and fiddling with a pen. I wait on hold for 15 minutes before he finally comes back on.
"Have you talked to your doctor?" he asks.
"Yes, I talked to her this morning and she told me to go to the ER" I reply.
"Oh, so she won't prescribe it for you?" he asks.
This possibility hadn't occurred to me. I just assumed that the ER was standard procedure, "Hmmm" I say, "Well, I guess not. It's not just standard procedure to go to the ER?"
"No, not really. We don't really have this happen much."
"Well see," he begins, his voice dropping a little, "the problem is that you have to meet the doctorÂs criteria before he'll dispense it to you."
"Criteria?" I question.
"Well," the nurse sounds decidedly nervous as though what he really wanted to do was hang up the phone completely, "Yes, his criteria. I mean...ummm...well, are you ok? Is there any, ummm....trauma?" he asks me.
My face changes expression and I hurry to explain, "No, no" I said, "No. I haven't been raped. This was consensual sex."
"Oh..." he trails off.
I wait expectantly.
"Well, ummm....*clears throat*...So you haven't been raped?" he asks again.
"No. I have not been raped. The condom broke". I state, becoming very frustrated at this point and wondering what the hell is going on.
"Ok, well ummm....Are you married?" he mumbles the words so low I can barely hear them.
"No." I state plainly. "I am not married. I've been in a relationship for several years and I have three children, I don't want a fourth." I respond tersely.
"Oh, I see." He says and then he hurries on, "Well, see. *I* understand. I want you to know that I understand what you're saying. But see, the problem is that we have 4 doctors here right now but only one of them ever writes EC prescriptions. But see, the thing is that he'll interview you and see if you meet his criteria. Now, I called the pharmacy but I also talked to him and well....*clears throat*....you can come down and try to get it. You know, if you meet his criteria he'll give you a prescription, I mean, there's really no harm in trying." the nurse trails off, his voice falters as I realize what I'm being told.
Folks, the condom broke Friday night and I searched all weekend for someone who could prescribe me EC. It is now Monday and I have to report that I have been unable to find anyone who will write me a fucking prescription for EC.
I have been asked about my sexual practices. Whether I'm 'monogamous' or 'in a relationship' if I'm married, if I have kids, how many kids I have, if I was raped or 'traumatized' but there wasnÂt' ONE question about my health. Not one.
How does this end?
Ask Biting Beaver how her abortion went.
Yes, I'm serious. Save a sperm, kill a zygote.
Which brings us to:
Lovin' Life
Don't do it.
"Life". It's not all it's cut out to be. First of all, it's been here, all along. Learn this. Love this. Every time you stub your pinky toe, that's a part of life. When you roll over in the morning, and wipe the crusties from the corners of your eyes, smack your dried out, stanky lips, and slip the curtain back to reveal day three of those one hundred and eighty two days of Vancouver winter rain? That's life.
Don't give up life for "loving life" to it's fullest. "Life" doesn't need you. And "love" doesn't either. Leave them the fuck alone.
Life
I'm not gonna come down to hard on life right now. After a couple of years of trying to live up to a real life, I've recently come back to realizing that it's not so different. What you imagine you live, well, it's no less real than what you live. Have fun. Take a moment out to pretend to be who you really are, and run with it. You'll go wrong, I'm sure, but it'll make a great story.
Love
Fuck you.
Grow the fuck up, and figure it out.
1) "Loving life" does not mean using women as brood stock. Until you've put in your time proving your love of the plankton, you have no say in the love of your own damn sperm. Bigger is better, after all.
2) "Love" is not yours. You can't keep it. You have to give it away. Kinda the rules of the game. So:
Because that's not what it's about. You don't love people, you give your love to people. You offer it up on a shiny platter, and squat, humble at their feet, hoping they will accept it from you.
There is no you. In love, there's sheets. In the bathtub, at five a.m., wringing out the vomit, with no anger. There's finding the last sock when you got too damn good at hitting that snooze button. There's the tweak-your-eye this way, then they tweak-their-eye that a way, and the conversation's done. There's the way they look like a newt from a certain angle.
And there's no you. There's no you, deciding that you love them too much to wait for the next thirteen years for them to become legal age. There's no you, making major life decisions for them, there's no you, telling them what they need to do to live up to your love.
Fuck your love.
Fuck it.
I hate your love. And you know what? So does every one of those people you profess to love. I'm not the only one; We All Hate You.
So here's from all the liberal assholes in world, who may not realize that their liberal, or that they're assholes; I don't care. I'm speaking on your behalf:
From T, who doesn't know if her family will stand by her: Fuck you, asshole. You're a pedophilic freak, and it's only so long until you realize that you can't hide from this.
From M, who still doesn't know that wrong is not the only way: Fuck you, Dad; There is good out there. I'm not gonna settle for the idea that everyone is as evil as you. Fuck You Dad. You're nothing but a twisted anomaly, and one of these days I'm gonna figure out that people are Not Like You. And then I'm gonna be okay.
From S: Fuck you, grandma, uncle, dad. I've said it once, I'll say it again. You can't kill my morals; they're here to stay. Living in a dream world, where everything is okay? Yeah, well, it's gonna be, as long as there's more people like me, who don't listen to more people like you. So deal.
From me: Fuck you. I missed the Rockies so much last night that I cried myself to sleep. I want back, I want my home, and I can't have it, because you "love me".
Fuck you for stealing my home from me. Fuck you for taking away the feeling of glacier water on my broken hip. Fuck you for taking three hour games of tag away from Satan's Cat. Fuck you for stealing that first breath of fresh air in the morning, knowing that people paid thousands of dollars to visit what I owned, and that life was perfect.
I woke up last night, dreaming of the piano I used to play at that hotel; and I can't go back there.
Because you "loved me".
From everyone: Fuck all of you who have been in "love". Fuck you for using people to meet your own ends, fuck you for your simplistic justification for fucking over everyone who is worth ten times what you are. Fuck you for not realizing that the reason you need to find something to live for is that you....by yourself....have no value.....to add.....to life.
You're nothing.
Fuck you.
I got nothin. How 'bout you find it for yourselves:
- Squirrels: They're here, they're evil, and they're getting worse. Yeah,those little fuckers are cute, but they've stepped it up a notch from attacks on innocent puppies (last years news, find it, I'll give you a cookie), to attacking the neighbourhood postmaster. Yeah; information, it ain't coming free anymore. It's coming your way at the cost of life and limb for some. Fuck anthrax, the squirrels are where it's at. But damn, they're cute. Not as cute as ducks, but close.
- That's it. I got distracted. By Natural Family Planning. Movin on.
I plan my family naturally, in that the nature of the capitalist system has put me in a position where by my student loans make it unfeasible for me to go out popping out the offspring of the nearest annual boy toy.
Natural Family Planning: Fucking in such a manner as to ensure the certain demise of whatever sperm may kick around awaiting the arrival of a viable egg. Starving those little fuckers into submission, as it were.
Plan B: Fucking in such a manner as to ensure the certain demise of whatever sperm may kick around awaiting the arrival of a viable egg. Starving those little fuckers into submission, as it were.
The logical conclusion? One and the same, say I. The illogical conclusion? Any woman who fucks (but only between days eleven and seventeen) ought to be punished with a child.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'd like to believe that my child is a viable human being, with love, flaws, quirks, and spirit; not a punishment. But hey, I'm a babykilling mofo, so my opinion don't count.
So on to:
How To Kill Potential Zygotes; Canadian Style:
1) Don't use condom. Just don't. Realize that condoms are a mile away from you, and fuck, it's been half a year since you've, well fucked. Pills make you cranky, the shot makes you bleed for six weeks at a go, and the IUD is still pending you finding the time to get your sorry ass to North Burnaby, therefore insuring that this non-condimated fucking could potentially lead to your sorry ass getting pregnant.
2) Do midterms. Do more midterms. Hell, throw in another one.
3) Take a fiver from midterms to scurry up to the drop in clinic.
4) Meet a new doc. He reminds you of your dad. So much, that you find yourself offering up unsolicited confessions of wrongdoings, just so you can revel in that semi-sarcastic, poker faced reproof.
Ahhh, the parents. How we miss them when they choose to allow us to live our own lives.
Ohh, ohh! I smoke a pack a day too! Hell no, make it two!
5) Get prescription for Plan B: yes, said prescription may be unnecessary, but it'll save you twenty five bucks at the till to come with it.
6) Get pill. Commiserate with pharmacist over medical plan's decision to exclude pill from coverage since said pill became over-the-counter.
Fucking medplan.
Movin' on; again.
The American experience:
I phoned my doctors office which informed me that the office was closed and that I had to call the local hospital and have her paged in order to reach her on the weekend. So I called her and had them page her. A little while later she called back and I answered the phone immediately. She sounded tired and really grumpy; I apologized for having to page her for a thing like this and then asked her if I could get a prescription for EC. She explained that I needed to go to the Emergency Room to get it.
He puts me on hold and I sit on the edge of the bed frowning and fiddling with a pen. I wait on hold for 15 minutes before he finally comes back on.
"Have you talked to your doctor?" he asks.
"Yes, I talked to her this morning and she told me to go to the ER" I reply.
"Oh, so she won't prescribe it for you?" he asks.
This possibility hadn't occurred to me. I just assumed that the ER was standard procedure, "Hmmm" I say, "Well, I guess not. It's not just standard procedure to go to the ER?"
"No, not really. We don't really have this happen much."
"Well see," he begins, his voice dropping a little, "the problem is that you have to meet the doctorÂs criteria before he'll dispense it to you."
"Criteria?" I question.
"Well," the nurse sounds decidedly nervous as though what he really wanted to do was hang up the phone completely, "Yes, his criteria. I mean...ummm...well, are you ok? Is there any, ummm....trauma?" he asks me.
My face changes expression and I hurry to explain, "No, no" I said, "No. I haven't been raped. This was consensual sex."
"Oh..." he trails off.
I wait expectantly.
"Well, ummm....*clears throat*...So you haven't been raped?" he asks again.
"No. I have not been raped. The condom broke". I state, becoming very frustrated at this point and wondering what the hell is going on.
"Ok, well ummm....Are you married?" he mumbles the words so low I can barely hear them.
"No." I state plainly. "I am not married. I've been in a relationship for several years and I have three children, I don't want a fourth." I respond tersely.
"Oh, I see." He says and then he hurries on, "Well, see. *I* understand. I want you to know that I understand what you're saying. But see, the problem is that we have 4 doctors here right now but only one of them ever writes EC prescriptions. But see, the thing is that he'll interview you and see if you meet his criteria. Now, I called the pharmacy but I also talked to him and well....*clears throat*....you can come down and try to get it. You know, if you meet his criteria he'll give you a prescription, I mean, there's really no harm in trying." the nurse trails off, his voice falters as I realize what I'm being told.
Folks, the condom broke Friday night and I searched all weekend for someone who could prescribe me EC. It is now Monday and I have to report that I have been unable to find anyone who will write me a fucking prescription for EC.
I have been asked about my sexual practices. Whether I'm 'monogamous' or 'in a relationship' if I'm married, if I have kids, how many kids I have, if I was raped or 'traumatized' but there wasnÂt' ONE question about my health. Not one.
How does this end?
Ask Biting Beaver how her abortion went.
Yes, I'm serious. Save a sperm, kill a zygote.
Which brings us to:
Lovin' Life
Don't do it.
"Life". It's not all it's cut out to be. First of all, it's been here, all along. Learn this. Love this. Every time you stub your pinky toe, that's a part of life. When you roll over in the morning, and wipe the crusties from the corners of your eyes, smack your dried out, stanky lips, and slip the curtain back to reveal day three of those one hundred and eighty two days of Vancouver winter rain? That's life.
Don't give up life for "loving life" to it's fullest. "Life" doesn't need you. And "love" doesn't either. Leave them the fuck alone.
Life
I'm not gonna come down to hard on life right now. After a couple of years of trying to live up to a real life, I've recently come back to realizing that it's not so different. What you imagine you live, well, it's no less real than what you live. Have fun. Take a moment out to pretend to be who you really are, and run with it. You'll go wrong, I'm sure, but it'll make a great story.
Love
Fuck you.
Grow the fuck up, and figure it out.
1) "Loving life" does not mean using women as brood stock. Until you've put in your time proving your love of the plankton, you have no say in the love of your own damn sperm. Bigger is better, after all.
2) "Love" is not yours. You can't keep it. You have to give it away. Kinda the rules of the game. So:
- My daughter is not a weapon that you can use against me, and trying to make her so doesn't prove your "love".
- You. Your family (Ha! I called them family!) they may not understand how truly evil you are. Maybe The Stepsister did, when she was five. And hell, mayber The Sister, my friend, would have, if she hadn't spent the next twenty years with shit like you. Maybe now she'd know that you're not okay.
- And you? Biting Beavers physician? I'm gonna throw you in here right after that fucking piece of shit that fucked his five year old step-daughter.
Because that's not what it's about. You don't love people, you give your love to people. You offer it up on a shiny platter, and squat, humble at their feet, hoping they will accept it from you.
There is no you. In love, there's sheets. In the bathtub, at five a.m., wringing out the vomit, with no anger. There's finding the last sock when you got too damn good at hitting that snooze button. There's the tweak-your-eye this way, then they tweak-their-eye that a way, and the conversation's done. There's the way they look like a newt from a certain angle.
And there's no you. There's no you, deciding that you love them too much to wait for the next thirteen years for them to become legal age. There's no you, making major life decisions for them, there's no you, telling them what they need to do to live up to your love.
Fuck your love.
Fuck it.
I hate your love. And you know what? So does every one of those people you profess to love. I'm not the only one; We All Hate You.
So here's from all the liberal assholes in world, who may not realize that their liberal, or that they're assholes; I don't care. I'm speaking on your behalf:
From T, who doesn't know if her family will stand by her: Fuck you, asshole. You're a pedophilic freak, and it's only so long until you realize that you can't hide from this.
From M, who still doesn't know that wrong is not the only way: Fuck you, Dad; There is good out there. I'm not gonna settle for the idea that everyone is as evil as you. Fuck You Dad. You're nothing but a twisted anomaly, and one of these days I'm gonna figure out that people are Not Like You. And then I'm gonna be okay.
From S: Fuck you, grandma, uncle, dad. I've said it once, I'll say it again. You can't kill my morals; they're here to stay. Living in a dream world, where everything is okay? Yeah, well, it's gonna be, as long as there's more people like me, who don't listen to more people like you. So deal.
From me: Fuck you. I missed the Rockies so much last night that I cried myself to sleep. I want back, I want my home, and I can't have it, because you "love me".
Fuck you for stealing my home from me. Fuck you for taking away the feeling of glacier water on my broken hip. Fuck you for taking three hour games of tag away from Satan's Cat. Fuck you for stealing that first breath of fresh air in the morning, knowing that people paid thousands of dollars to visit what I owned, and that life was perfect.
I woke up last night, dreaming of the piano I used to play at that hotel; and I can't go back there.
Because you "loved me".
From everyone: Fuck all of you who have been in "love". Fuck you for using people to meet your own ends, fuck you for your simplistic justification for fucking over everyone who is worth ten times what you are. Fuck you for not realizing that the reason you need to find something to live for is that you....by yourself....have no value.....to add.....to life.
You're nothing.
Fuck you.
posted by Impulsivecompulsive | 11:07 PM
2 Comments:
"Night of the Inane Comment V (IV? VI?)"
You got it right. It's V. And it's not inane.
M(att)
Matt:
Five it is. And thank you.
Boo:
Pregnant? I'll pass. And throw in any "fuck you's" necessary.
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