While I am oh so tempted to blog on about the wacky antics and zany hi-jinks of our governor-in-absentia, I vowed to keep WSW as apolitical as possible – which essentially means that I am reduced to writing about things far more controversial than word-vomit inducing election commentaries that are already suffocating the web. I mean, hey, if you really want my opinion, can’t you just pull my finger? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
What I would like to expound on, however, is the concept of pro-choice, because it is a topic that affects all women whether you are “well seasoned” or still just a bit damp behind the ears.
“But wait, WSW!” you clamor. “Didn’t you just promise to be non-political? Don’t you consider the whole Roe v. Wade issue to be a politically charged matter? Do your words have no value?!”
As a matter of fact, I agree. That is one hot topic and I intend to circumnavigate it entirely by zoning in on pro-choice as a relationship-oriented concept instead of as a consequence of too many margaritas and/or poor planning. I am referring to the sort of men we sometimes shack up with that are so obnoxious, we are left wondering just how unpleasant the lesbian lifestyle really might be. And I think you know what I am talking about here. These are the men that were obviously raised by baboons. They show up at your door, dragging those hairy knuckles across the entry-way with their goofy gap-toothed smiles, and you hear the soundtrack to The Deliverance playing in your head, and you think, “Hmmm…. he’s kind of cute. We could maybe hook up.”
Weeks, months, maybe even years pass, and you wake up one day realizing that you ain’t getting any younger and he ain’t getting any better-looking. Turns out he was an in-bred troll all along only thinly veiled as a Neanderthal (upgrade)… and now you gotta take him out on a one-way hunting trip. Yup. Think of it as Darwinism at work. It’s time to cut the cord, because he is one of those men whose very existence justifies a pro-choice stance. You know the type: corn whiskey-swilling, chainsaw-wielding, children-eating, best friend-bedoinking, psycho from Hell that could make your panties fall down every time he entered a room. With or without the classic movie soundtrack.
Therefore, on one hand it is your fault for letting him into your life. On the other hand, it is his parents’ fault for giving him life. Oh well, it’s a moot point now. Best to just back away from the banjo and run straight to The Polls!
Make sure you choose wisely when you vote, because some accidents are preventable after all.
WSW consolation prize: Click here to create your own word vomit!