You think we’re kidding? We’re not (link thanks to LC & IB Rick Moran).

UPDATE:Hmm… The most Brilliant Fisking in the history of Fiskings appears to have been eaten by a server glitch. Please don’t tell us that we have to go Fisk that unholy mess of a 2-page whine-fest one more time!

UPDATE the Second: I’ve added a few thoughts on the Baby Boomers and their complete uselessness vs. the Greatest Generation close to the end of this overlong Fisking, just because I could. Oh, and because I fucking hate the spineless suckweasels. The Baby Boomers, that is. I marked it so it’s easier to find. In case you give a good flip, that is.

Oh what the Hades… As we said in the original, sometimes you hear a plaintive, whining Idiotarian wail so inexcusably moronic that you simply have to dig out the old Imperial ClueMossberg™ and give it both barrels. On general principle, if for no other reason. Oh, and the fact that it is so much fun to mock the morons.

The conservative politics of the Bush administration forced me to have an abortion I didn’t want. Well, not literally, but let me explain.

Not literally and not in any other sense whatsoever, “sense” being something that Dana L. is not even remotely familiar with, as the following will illustrate so very clearly.

I am a 42-year-old happily married mother of two elementary-schoolers. My husband and I both work, and like many couples, we’re starved for time together. One Thursday evening this past March, we managed to snag some rare couple time and, in a sudden rush of passion, I failed to insert my diaphragm.

Holy mother of Christ, that had to be a very sudden rush of passion if it kept you from plugging the hole first, something that, last we checked with people knowledgable about such things, doesn’t exactly require all afternoon, to put it mildly.

And all Bush’s damn fault too.

The next morning, after getting my kids off to school, I called my ob/gyn to get a prescription for Plan B, the emergency contraceptive pill that can prevent a pregnancy — but only if taken within 72 hours of intercourse.

No. It doesn’t prevent a pregnancy. It terminates a pregnancy. The time window in which you can prevent a pregnancy is between the point where you’re caught up in a “rush of passion” and the point where you’re screwing like frantic minks which, in your case, seems to last all of three nanoseconds. The word you’re looking for is “abortion” which, we’ll freely admit, sounds a lot less aseptic than “Plan B”.

(UPDATE: It seems that I’ve managed to misunderstand something here. She’s not talking about RU486 which terminates a pregnancy, but some other drug, basically a massive dose of regular birth control medicine, that actually prevents a pregnancy, provided that the egg hasn’t been fertilized yet. Thanks to LCs Azygos and JannyMae for pointing this out.

It doesn’t change the point, however, the point being, of course, that the pregnancy didn’t occur because she couldn’t get her drugs on time, it occurred as a result of her and her husbands irresponsibility. But in the interests of accuracy and honesty, it should be pointed out that she’s not talking about RU486.)

Plan C, we suppose, is when you have the unborn shish-kebob’ed in the womb and sucked out with a vacuum, and Plan D would be where you pull the baby halfway out, jam scissors into his skull and slurp his brain out through a hose. Ah, euphemisms. Nothing better if you’re a morally vacuous, cowardly bint afraid and/or unwilling to take responsibility for her actions.

Which, we take it, is Bush’s fault as well?

As we’re both in our forties, my husband and I had considered our family complete, and we weren’t planning to have another child, which is why, as a rule, we use contraception.

A rule that obviously doesn’t mean all that much when mating season comes around and a “sudden rush of passion” makes it impossible for you to spend a few seconds following them prior to humping ugly like a pair of rabbits OD’ing on Viagra. Not that we’re in the least against humping ugly, although we shall mercifully refrain from going into details here on this family-oriented website, but if we’re “not planning on having another child” we tend to stick with the logical conclusion to that decision, which is doing something to prevent it from happening.

I wanted to make sure that our momentary lapse didn’t result in a pregnancy.

No. You wanted to make sure that your momentary lapse, in case it had already resulted in a pregnancy, didn’t result in a live birth.

Save the bull for somebody dumber than yourself. If you can find anybody fitting that description. If you can’t, you can always blame it on Bush.

The receptionist, however, informed me that my doctor did not prescribe Plan B. No reason given. Neither did my internist.

Well bugger all. So you found another doctor, right? You set up an appointment with your doctor so’s to make your case in his office rather than just demanding that he hand it out over the phone? What do you think a doctor’s office is? The pharmaceutical equivalent of a Pizza Hut?

The midwifery practice I had used could prescribe it, but not over the phone, and there were no more open appointments for the day. The weekend — and the end of the 72-hour window — was approaching.

So you dug out your phone book and started looking up other doctors, right?

Nah. Let’s blame Bush instead.

But I needed to meet my kids’ school bus and, as I was pretty much out of options — short of soliciting random Virginia doctors out of the phone book — I figured I’d take my chances and hope for the best.

A school bus located somewhere in Nepal, we’re sure, since meeting it meant that you didn’t have the time to pick up a telephone directory or do a simple search on Yahoo!’s yellow pages. Which, of course, is all Bush’s fault.

After all, I’m 42. Isn’t it likely my eggs are overripe, anyway? I thought so, especially since my best friend from college has been experiencing agonizing infertility problems at this age.

And there is nothing like the anecdotal experience of a random friend to make up for the lack of a medical license. Since you’re a lawyer, why don’t you try that in lieu of a doctor next time you need a medical expert in court? We’re sure the judge could use a good laugh and we’re reasonably certain that he’ll take enough pity on you to not hold you in contempt. At any rate, it’s hard to hammer the gavel and declare somebody in contempt when you’re busy trying to not snarf your water all over everybody.

Your client, on the other hand, might not find it all that amusing.

Weeks later, the two drugstore pregnancy tests I took told a different story. Positive. I couldn’t believe it.

We know. Sperm + egg => pregnancy. Impossibly hard to fathom, isn’t it? Should we go through it again slowly just to make sure you fully understand it? Nah, why bother? It’s all Bush’s fault anyway.

I’m still in good health, but unlike the last time I was pregnant, nearly a decade ago, I’m now taking three medications. One of them, for high cholesterol, is in the Food and Drug Administration’s Pregnancy Category X — meaning it’s a drug you shouldn’t take if you’re expecting or even planning to get pregnant.

Or if there’s a chance that you might one day become so rhapsodically randy that you forget to stick in your diaphragm. Maybe the pharmaceutical companies should add that to the 765 pages of cautions that lawyers like you have forced them to add to their meds over the years, lest they get sued into oblivion by some patient with absolutely no common sense?

So not only did you fail to follow your own “rules” in your sudden rush of passion, you also wilfully risked exposing a child to the deleterious effects of the medications you were on?

No wonder you’re looking for somebody else to blame, Wonder Mom.

I worried because the odds of having a high-risk pregnancy or a baby born with serious health issues rise significantly after age 40.

Give us a break, Mother Theresa, and kindly hop back down off that cross. You look silly up there. What you really worried about was how much of a bloody inconvenience this hapless child that you and your hubby had sired in a rush of irresponsible runtiness would be. You see, if you were really that worried about the risks for the baby, if you were really “not planning to have another child because you both considered your family complete”, you’d have either had your husband’s vas efferens snipped or your tubes tied. Or, failing that, INSERTED YOUR FARKIN’ DIAPHRAGM.

And I thought of the emotional upheavals that an unplanned pregnancy would cause our family.

See? Of course, you could’ve said it a lot more honestly if you’d just stuck with “and I thought about how bloody inconvenient it would be to have a baby around”, but somehow “emotional upheavals for our family” sounds better, doesn’t it?

My husband and I are involved in all aspects of our children’s lives, but even so, we feel we don’t get enough time to spend with them as it is.

Here we go again with “I’m really only doing what’s best for somebody else here!” Try it on somebody less likely to look through your transparent bromides, and don’t bother filing for canonization until you can come up with a more impressive record, please. Any record at all, actually.

I felt sick.

Morning sickness. Quite common.

We feel sick too, but that’s because we’re forcing ourselves to read your bleating.

Although I’ve always been in favor of abortion rights, this was a choice I had hoped never to have to make myself.

Now there’s a principled stand. “I stand unequivocally for the right to have an abortion. As long as it’s somebody else having it, of course.”

Guess what? You found yourself having to make that choice because A): You couldn’t be arsed to insert your diaphragm. B): You were too busy catching a school bus apparently parked somewhere in the Kuyper Belt to pick up a phone book and C): You decided to just take your chances because, what the heck?

When I realized the seriousness of my predicament, I became angry.

…and immediately started casting about for somebody to blame. Somebody other than yourself. Such as Bush.

I knew that Plan B, which could have prevented it, was supposed to have been available over the counter by now.

“Supposed to” because that’s what you wanted, of course.

But I also remembered hearing that conservative politics have held up its approval.

BLAME BUSH!!!1!

My anger propelled me to get to the bottom of the story.

If only you’d spent a fraction of all of that energy, say, inserting a diaphragm or picking up a phone book.

It turns out that in December 2003, an FDA advisory committee, whose suggestions the agency usually follows, recommended that the drug be made available over the counter, or without a prescription. Nonetheless, in May 2004, the FDA top brass overruled the advisory panel and gave the thumbs-down to over-the-counter sales of Plan B, requesting more data on how girls younger than 16 could use it safely without a doctor’s supervision.

Gee whiz. That’s what the FDA is supposed to do, you know. Reviewing the data available and requesting more if they don’t believe that they have enough to make an informed decision, prior to giving the green light for handing out “Plan B” over the counter like farking Tylenol. Due in part to the fact that some members of your august profession won’t hesitate for the time it takes to insert a diaphragm to sue the living daylights out of pharmaceutical companies if it turns out later that some side-effect was overlooked.

Oh, and by the way? Those rules and guidelines, not to mention the FDA itself, weren’t invented by the Evil Bush™.

But let’s blame him anyway, why don’t we?

Apparently, one of the concerns is that ready availability of Plan B could lead teenage girls to have premarital sex. Yet this concern — valid or not — wound up penalizing an over-the-hill married woman for having sex with her husband. Talk about the law of unintended consequences.

Talk about not having a bloody clue what the Hades you’re talking about, yet insisting on talking about it anyway.

Somehow, but feel free to prove us wrong if you can, we don’t much think that it was the FDA offering the argument that “Plan B” could lead to more premarital sex among teenagers. They really could not care less about what teenagers do with their genitals, since it’s not their job to worry about such things. Their job is to make sure that a drug is absolutely safe, as far as that can be determined, before letting it be sold like candy.

The argument about premarital sex was presented by people using simple logic, logic along the lines of “if you present a way of painlessly and effortlessly avoiding the serious consequences of risky and highly pleasant behavior, then you’re likely to get more of said behavior.” Not that we’re comparing teenagers wishing to have a roll in the hay with criminals (we’d have a rap sheet the length of the tax code as a result of our teenage years if that were the case), but guess what would happen if we were to, say, come up with a way of easily escaping the possible consequences of robbing banks.

Would we have more robberies, or would we have less robberies as a result?

Tough one, isn’t it?

IF YOU’RE A COMPLETE AND UTTER FLIPPING IDIOT.

But that’s beside the point. The point is that the FDA haven’t green-lighted “Plan B” yet because they don’t, in their opinion, have enough data on the possible physical side-effects yet. Which is their, you know, JOB. Fancy that. A government agency doing their job and following their own guidelines. Yes, it’s hard to fathom. We know.

Oh, and you’re not being “penalized” for having sex, as a matter of fact you’re not being “penalized” at all, no matter how much you think that everything happening in this world revolves around you. You’re just facing the consequences of your own irresponsible behavior and, much to nobody’s surprise, you’re failing completely when it comes to owning up to your own responsibilities. It’s always somebody else’s fault.

Fucking useless Baby Boomer wankers.

By late August 2005, the slow action over Plan B led the director of the FDA’s Office on Women’s Health to resign her post. The agency’s delay on the drug, she wrote in an e-mail to her colleagues, “runs contrary to my core commitment to improving and advancing women’s health.”

Good thing too. If her “core commitment to improving women’s health” means that any drug pulled out of anybody’s ass has to be approved in violation of FDA guidelines if she feels that it must be, then women’s health is well served by her getting her ass off her chair and out the door, if you ask us.

As recently as April 7, Steven Galson, director of the FDA’s Center for Drug Evaluation and Research, said that the agency still needed time to work on the issue.

Unfortunately, time was the one thing I didn’t have.

“Me. Me. Mememe! MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Did we mention how much we fucking DESPISE those self-centered, worthless, whining Baby Boomer wankers?

Well, it can’t be said often enough.

Meanwhile, I hadn’t even been able to get Plan B with a prescription that Friday, because in Virginia, health-care practitioners apparently are allowed to refuse to prescribe any drug that goes against their beliefs.

Said “beliefs” ofttimes going along the lines of “this drug hasn’t been thoroughly investigated yet, so I’ll be damned if I’ll risk my patients’ well-being by handing it out over the phone.”

Damn doctors and their Bushocratic Oath!

Although I had heard of pharmacists refusing to fill prescriptions for birth control on religious grounds, I was dumbfounded to find that doctors could do the same thing.

Damn them for trying to do no harm and considering the potential dangers of a drug before prescribing it! That’s the job of pharmacists, dammit.

Moreover, they aren’t even required to tell the patient why they won’t provide the drug. Nor do they have to provide a list of alternative sources.

“No, I can’t prescribe this drug since it’s not been thoroughly investigated according to my professional opinion, but here’s a list of people who’ll be only too happy to do it anyway.”

Now that would be the kind of ethical, professional doctor that we’d want to have. Not.

I had asked the ob-gyn’s receptionist if politics was the reason the doctor wouldn’t prescribe Plan B for me. She refused to answer or offer any reason, no matter how much I pressed her.

Maybe it’s because she’s your doctor’s receptionist and not his puling press secretary? Did you try to get an appointment so that you could talk to the doctor himself? No, you didn’t. You had this school bus in orbit around a rock in the Oort Cloud that you had to catch.

By the time I got on the phone with my internist’s office and found that he would not fill a Plan B prescription either, I figured it was a waste of time to fight with the office staff.

Yeah. Just let the chips fall where they may and have the damn inconvenience scraped out if we pull the short straw. There are school buses to be caught and sudden rushes of passion to be given into.

To this day, I don’t know why my doctors wouldn’t prescribe Plan B — whether it was because of moral opposition to contraception or out of fear of political protesters or just because they preferred not to go there.

And, obviously, to this day, you haven’t bothered to fucking ask.

It’s much easier to write a long, whiny rant for the Washington Compost and blame it all on Bush.

In any event, they were also partly responsible for why I was stuck that Friday, and why I was ultimately forced to confront the decision to terminate my third pregnancy.

Of course. It was everybody’s fault but you and your husband’s. And Bush’s fault in particular.

After making the decision with my husband, I was plunged into an even murkier world — that of finding an abortion provider. If information on Plan B was hard to come by, and practitioners were evasive on emergency contraception, trying to get information on how to abort a pregnancy in 2006 is an even more Byzantine experience.

Try Google, you daft cow. “Planned Parenthood” should get you all the information that you need in a second or two.

We’ll skip her 40 days of wandering in the desert before she finally figured out how to use a search engine, simply because it makes for even more pathetic writing than what we’ve seen so far and, as we’re sure you’ll agree, that’s saying quite a bit.

It was a decision I am sorry I had to make. It was awful, painful, sickening. But I feel that this administration gave me practically no choice but to have an unwanted abortion because the way it has politicized religion made it well-nigh impossible for me to get emergency contraception that would have prevented the pregnancy in the first place.

[Updated slightly because we felt like launching into a rant] Yes, we know what you “feeeeeel”, and we don’t really give a good shit, mainly because one of the things you “feeeeel” is that it’s “unfair” for you to have to deal with the consequences of your own irresponsible behavior and we don’t suffer fools like that gladly. We’re sure you know by now.

You had choice, you had lots of choices, but you chose not to make good use of them and then, when the unintended consequences of that refusal to grow up and behave like a responsible adult, you chose to blame it all on somebody else, which is fucking par for the course where you Baby Boomer wastes of DNA are concerned.

This may come as a surprise to you, we’re actually sure that it does, your navel-gazing, narcissistic nattering taken into consideration, but the only way that the Bush Administration or any other Administration can be culpable for your failure to insert your rubber friend, and that and nothing else is the reason for your pregnancy, is if it is the duty of the Commander-in-Chief to dive between the legs of 40-something-year-old hausfraus whenever they feel a “sudden rush of passion”, shoving their husbands’ engorged members aside and plunging in the stop-gap.

Last we checked, that wasn’t on the list of things that the C.-in-C. is responsible for, but that doesn’t matter to you whining, spoiled, spineless brats of the Baby Boomer generations. It just HAS to be somebody else’s fault, because how can you be expected to do anything for yourselves? How can you be expected to take charge of your own lives?

The answer is that you can’t. You’ve shown that time and time again. You don’t have the ability. You’re a waste of a generation, a massive squandering of valuable organic material not to mention the oxygen that you steal every day to keep your empty meatbags running. You’re a fucking disgrace to the fine men and women of the Greatest Generation who gave so much, suffered so many hardships and shouldered so many burdens to preserve a society that you’re not worthy of licking the urinal floors of. Of course, the Greatest Generation isn’t without blame here, much as we hate to say it, because they were the ones who let you run wild, who let you build a religion around the golden calf of the Sacred Self, and who didn’t bother to give you the kick in the ass, the righteous paddling, the punch in your self-indulgent mouthes that you so richly deserved.

Perhaps they thought that, given all of the sacrifice and terror they had to go through, you were entitled to a spot of fun, that the memory of the Hell they’d walked through to preserve a society for you to grow up in was somehow rendered less painful by watching their kids bouncing joyfully in the meadows. Perhaps they did, and we’d be heartless to condemn them for it, even knowing the sad, pathetic, worthless results of it. Hindsight is always 20/20 and we can certainly see why somebody who walked through a hail of bullets at Omaha, somebody who climbed Mt. Suribachi while watching his buddies fall left, right and centre, somebody who’d worked 80 hours a week in a munitions factory might say “what was it all for if our kids can’t get to enjoy the full measure of freedom, the gift we bought for them with our own blood?”

I can see that. I can even understand that. After all, how could they, people who’d seen the very best that mankind has to offer, people who’d seen paupers and rich kids alike rise to the occasion and turn uncommon valor into a common virtue in the midst of the burning cauldron of war, how could they possible foresee that their kids would turn into a bunch of puling, pissant whiners not worth vomiting on if their groins were on fire?

Yet that’s what we’re left with, and His Majesty can’t wait to see that self-centered bunch of butt-raisins disappear on the ash heap of history.

May the memory of them fade fast, except as a healthy reminder of what happens when you forget to couple mankind’s basest instincts with a sense of honor and responsibility.

And to think that, all these years after Roe v. Wade became the law of the land, this is what our children have to look forward to as they approach their reproductive years.

What? You mean having to look forward to choosing between abstinence or prevention if they don’t want to have children as a result of their youthful exuberance?

Oh the horror.

Oh the HUMANITY!

We only hope that they, when faced with that, show some spine and responsibility. If so, then perhaps we can find hope for a day in the future where the whiny Baby Boomers are all gone and their idiotic, egomaniacal behavior is nothing but a footnote in the history books for future generations to laugh at.

One can always hope.

Moron.

More righteous indignation:

Darth Apathy
Max Conservative
Conservative Dialysis
The Urban Grind

This entry was posted on Sunday, June 4th, 2006 at 9:23 pm and is filed under Idiotarians. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.