Oh, hello again! It’s me! And by “me,” I mean “Grizzly Fetus!” As I usually do. Since I am Grizzly Fetus. Sorry, you girls are so simple in the mind-brain that I often feel compelled to give you a little extra explanation. Don’t remember me yet? Oh! Let me remind you, YOU BIG OLD SIMPLETONS:
Here’s another thing I will explain to you: I am BACK! Oh, what: You thought I was gone? That I wouldn’t be posting here again? That tireless self-promoter and control freak Sady Doyle had found some way to expel me from her blog? TOUGH LUCK TO YOU, LADIES! No matter how Doyle may whine — “oh, wahhhh, it’s my blog and I want to decide who writes on it, wahhhhhhh, I had no plans for a fetus to occupy the blog and write various brilliant and compelling op-eds, interspersed with charming personal anecdotes that make you think he’d be a really cool dude to meet and hang out with and potentially elect as President, WAHHHHHH” — once you get Grizzly-Fetused, you STAY Grizzly-Fetused. Also, you embrace “Grizzly-Fetused” as a totally cool catchphrase. And you say it, all the time.
TO CONTINUE: Yep, Grizzly Fetus took himself a little break, this weekend. Grizzly Fetus does not feel bad about this! You don’t own Grizzly Fetus! You don’t know his life! WHO ARE YOU, unpatriotic blog whiners, to tell Grizzly Fetus he can’t celebrate Presidents’ Day? (The most meaningful of all holidays; granted, it would be Christmas, but we in the fetus community view that as a day of solemn mourning, as it denotes Our Christian Lord’s demotion from unplanned fetus to mere human baby, crying in some sort of donkey-feeding device while dudes gave fancy incense to his dad.) Who are you to tell Grizzly Fetus he can’t celebrate with a 3.85-day weekend? And oh, what a 3.85 days of President’s Day it was!
For, you see, one of the really awesome things about me, that I don’t think we’ve spent enough time discussing — and can we EVER spend enough time, discussing the awesome things about me? THAT WAS A RHETORICAL QUESTION, COMMENTERS. CAN YOUR SASS AND LET ME KEEP TALKING — is that I plan to be the first Fetus-American president. Oh, sure! It’ll be an uphill battle. Just as Sarah Palin had to crash through that “glass ceiling” (which is a stupid made-up concept, under most circumstances; but Sarah! Sarah faces SO MUCH GLASS in her face, I’m assuming), I will have to crash through the “uterus ceiling.” That is to say: The assumption that I am not in fact a person, but a piece of a CURRENTLY EXISTING person, growing inside that person’s uterus.
Um. Excuse me. But when did we decide that people with uteruses were PEOPLE????? I mean, seriously. Was there ever a vote on this? More specifically, did I GET to vote on this? No! I did not! Because I technically do not exist, and also, I am a fetus! This is just part of the discrimination I face, daily.
Sure, there have been attempts to liberate me. For example, “fetal personhood” bills, which would at the VERY LEAST restore the TOTALLY SCIENTIFICALLY ACCURATE conception that I am a miniature little man, with thoughts and tastes and a well-defined nervous system capable of decision-making and pain-feeling and Kevin-Costner-movie-enjoying, from the very minute the heroic sperm hits that selfish tease of an egg and brings me into technical existence. And I know, I know: You’re going to tell me that’s not scientifically accurate, and you’re going to say things like “no developed nervous system” and “viability” and “clump of undifferentiated cells.” But you know why you’re a bad person for saying that? BECAUSE I NEVER GOT TO TAKE SCIENCE. BECAUSE I’M A FETUS, AND I DO NOT EXIST. Don’t use your “personhood privilege” to silence me!
In fact, don’t have “personhood privilege.” Or any privilege, at all. Because even if I attain my total legal right to undifferentiated-clump-of-cells personhood, there is always the problem that YOU, the uterus-haver, will be legally regarded as a person, too! And as we can clearly see, this leads to nothing but disaster. All of you, wandering around, with your “dates” and your “jobs” and your “life goals” and “ambitions” and VARIOUS EXCUSES for not getting pregnant, preferably with me! The fact is, “fetal personhood” is a nice measure, but it is a compromise. The REAL GOAL is to eliminate “uterus-haver personhood.” In this way, we can restore ourselves to the natural order of things: You exist. You wait around to get pregnant with me in some fashion, with no messy being-a-person-related distractions. You raise me, in limitlessly supportive fashion. Then I go on to be AWESOME, and you die. Or, I don’t know. Rent “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants,” or something.
Doesn’t that sound nice, feminists? Oh, of COURSE it doesn’t sound nice to you. NOTHING sounds nice to you. But let me explain: Have you ever gotten a delicious cup of coffee from a deli? Have you noticed those disposable paper cups the coffee comes in? Mmmmm, that coffee is tasty, isn’t it! And the experience is, sure, mildly enhanced by the cups. They come in decorative patterns, and various grades of paper. Cups can be quite pleasing, really, to look at. Without them, the coffee would just be a mess of various fluids on the floor. Cups have their uses; mainly, their uses consist of “having coffee in them.” But who — I ASK YOU, WHO — is going to come in and order the cup, without the coffee? Who REALLY CARES about paper coffee cups, no matter how momentarily diverting their design may be? Without that coffee, the cup is a useless piece of paper! And do you know what happens, once the coffee is gone? Straight to the garbage, with that cup! It has served its purpose! Well, and faithfully! And now it is going to be thrown on some decaying halal meat and a condom, because it has been a good cup, and it deserves that reward.
In this analogy, you see, I am coffee. And you are garbage. Also, you shouldn’t be drinking coffee, because you should be getting pregnant right now, and coffee is bad for fetuses, you selfish, energy-guzzling skank.
Oh, it will be an uphill struggle, before justice and equality — by which I mean “you not having rights any more, and me having basically all of them” — is secured. But we’ve already made such strong strides! For example, the flagrantly personhood-enabling organization of Planned Parenthood has been crushed — CRUSHED, I say — by a vote in the House to de-fund it. Consider all of the vastly unfair and uterus-haver-privileging “services” this collection of anti-fetus bigots provided!
- “Breast exams.” Oh, you self-absorbed chicks, always thinking about your precious boobies, in between swilling Cosmos with your three best stereotypical-yet-complimentary friends. Here’s how you do a breast exam. Look down at your breasts. Is one of them currently suckling an ex-fetus? NO? Get pregnant!
- “Cervical cancer tests.” I tell you! You people will NOT STOP THINKING about your JUNK. It is obscene. I blame “post-feminism” and its encouragement of promiscuity and “hooking up” among the young people. What are you going to do with your precious cervix, anyway? Have lots of barrier-methody, non-fetus producing sex with it? Sit on it, while you do some sort of “job?” Look: You might not be long for this earth. And when you go, your uterus goes with you. So GO TO WORK. Get pregnant!
- “Contraception.” Need I say more? This is a HATE CRIME. It is a public, open, unrepentant statement that you hate Fetus-Americans SO MUCH that you don’t want one in your uterus at the moment. WHAT ELSE IS IT EVEN GOOD FOR? Tell you what: I have a super method of contraception for you. It’s a one-time treatment, and it’s guaranteed effective for nine months. My method of contraception: GET PREGNANT. NOW.
- “Pre-natal care.” Oh, waaahhhhh. We know you’re only checking in on the health of your fetus, and taking “steps” to “ensure” its health, so that you can find some excuse to abort it at the last minute. A superior fetus needs no pre-natal care! It is a Randian ubermensch, dependent on no vitamins or medical procedures! It is, however, dependent on your providing it with a stream of nutrients, and a place to crash, and whatever. I mean, I guess “pre-natal care” might be needed, under some EXTREMELY RARE circumstances. But in that case… I mean, can’t you just get your owner to take you to the vet, or something?
And then there’s all this stuff about health complications and medical care that I don’t know anything about because I’m a fetus, and don’t have a developed brain yet, and I’m imaginary, and ALSO I don’t care. So, there’s that.
Anyway, it’s about time to wrap up my revolutionary activism for today. And see if “Walker, Texas Ranger” is streaming on Netflix. But, I’m glad I’ve been able to motivate and inspire you all! And I’m gonna wrap up this speech with some patriotic crap. Baseball! Is about the size I will be, after a little while in your uterus. Mom! Will be your sole function, once I have implanted myself on your uterine wall. Apple pie! Is something you should bake for me, when I am expelled from your uterus and it is your job to cater to my whims. Um… CAPITALISM! GRIZZLY FETUS T-SHIRT!
Yeah, yeah. Doyle says she’s going to donate it to NYAAF. Which sounds like the noise Doyle should be making while barfing from all the morning sickness she should be having, but is apparently some “abortion fund” or whatever. Feminists don’t understand capitalism. Ohhhh, I’m going to donate the money I saved on Radiohead’s album to Planned Parenthood! Oooooo, I’m going to start a blog about Planned Parenthood, and make no money off it! WHEEEEE, I’m going to donate to Planned Parenthood and make a donation in John Boehner’s name! DONATE IN MY NAME, for all I care. Donate for Grizzly Fetus! You chicks won’t even have bank accounts by the end of this campaign. And oh, how you’ll regret your charitable donations then!
Also, we have tote bags?