Cultural Imperialist

"Scathing Spats on Shallow Subjects"

 

Thu Jun 22

 

2017

 
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Pregnant Pause

Greg Piper

If only 10% of the population were terrible candidates for parenthood, then the question of timing one's romantic entanglements would be completely moot.

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"It's been 48 hours since our last coition, my temperature's optimum, I'm ovulating, I have the pillow set up in the position - you can watch TV if you get bored. Here's to successful fertilization." - Kristy Biggs, She's Having a Baby

People who try to have kids - I mean really try, who would outsource the project to a Bang-her-loin call center - sicken me.

The whole point of unprotected sex is you never know what's going to happen. You could get syphilis, pregnant, or embarrassed at your prematurity. Or nothing could happen except hurt feelings and canceled sponsorships. That's what makes sex exciting: Every coital encounter is a cliffhanger that could change your life, like Cliffhanger ended Michael "Noooo!" Rooker's promising film career.

If you like rocking the Casbah and pregnancy follows, great! Children are a blessing eventually, when their taxable earnings are paying for your retirement and they replace time-ravaged female news anchors. But there's nothing more degrading to the human spirit than laboring to conceive.

Marriage civilizes lust, but choreographed coitus subsumes pleasure to a soul-crushing bureaucracy led by a loathsome Tim Geithner type who promises the results will be worth the ugliness. Pumping away monotonously like an iPod techno playlist, the Inseminator might as well be a hired gun from the Teamsters delivering a payload (except for the lazy and surly ones). Feelings, spontaneity, and bad knees don't make a baby, and for godless materialists, animated flesh is all there is.

Their flesh, that is. And when geometry and wine coolers can't deliver, it's time to call the mad scientist on your Cadillac health plan to arrange for an eggstravaganza. For some reason we're ready to crucify athletes for shooting up to improve their performance, but not would-be parents who will go to any lengths to pass on their DNA, when there's plenty of good DNA that needs a family.

Remember Coach Hayden Fox and his oddly-coiffed girlfriend Christine? This Midwest college football power couple tried unsuccessfully for years to produce a pup, even running bedroom plays when Christine was simultaneously mad at Coach and ovulating. A successful major-market female news anchor (ravaged only by a bad perm), Christine demanded her ovaries overcome biological hurdles much as she overcame hurdles to being taken seriously as a precious little woman. But nothing worked. Childless, the couple moved up to the NFL expansion team Orlando Breakers and accepted their destiny: adopting a baby named Timothy and discovering the joys of parenthood.

Planning parenthood is second in selfishness only to Lucifer's rebellion against God. And sex shouldn't be a chore - it's a beautiful expression of pounding, writhing and comprehending the needs of another. Abraham and Sarah, with no expectation of pregnancy in a much more baby-crazed culture, kept wailing against the wall for decades, giving humanity its Savior. Who knows what great things we could accomplish through no-strings-attached lovemaking?

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Timing Is Everything

Jeremiah Lewis

 

The United States of America is a land of extraordinary paradoxes, as any reasonable critic and historian can tell you. We despise any assault on personal freedom and independence, yet we happily agree to governmental intervention and state entitlements for every niche need. If you're a black lesbian midget with a family history of heart disease and caffeine addiction, there is a check with your name on it (especially now that we have a health care bill ensuring everyone will be covered no matter what your prior history is). But Americans cherish individual control over just about any other national virtue.

So it comes to no surprise that we Americans, and to a certain extent, Europeans, want to control even the ways, means, and scheduling of our most precious and pernicious, revered and reviled, shunned and coveted, marketed and disdained commodity: the exchanging of our reproductive juices.

Timing our sexual encounters to lessen or increase the chances of conception is a time-honored tradition ever since science learned that ovulation was the key to a planned parenthood and they started handing out The Pill as part of the unstoppable drive for women's liberation. Sex may be fun and spontaneous, but there's no rule that says it can't be (and isn't) just as fun when metered out like monthly bribes at a "medical marijuana" stand. Since we're talking about nothing less than the creation, growth, and ejection of a tiny creature from your partner's Cave of Wonder as a result of coitus uninterruptus, one would hope more care and thought and timing might be given to the act.

If only 10% of the population were terrible candidates for parenthood, then the question of timing one's romantic entanglements would be completely moot. But the figure is more like 90%--90% of our vox populi are vox copulating with utter abandon, without condoms, pills, or fertility charts. We definitely have enough free-spirited freaky-deaky going on without having to worry if we're ruining the fun by exercising Gregorian restraint.

It isn't sex as a timed assembly of parts, but merely the natural extension of what takes place inside the body. Millions of sperm race toward perceived freedom; the first out of the gate, seeing the light of Ova shining in the distance, wriggles intently. Then, with infinite timing so precise it must indeed be perfect for the connection to turn miraculous, the lucky protein-based flagellate rams through and in a microsecond's measured grace, a child is conceived.

So can we really blame those who gauge their bedroom encounters by the time of day, the day of the month, and the way their partner's pheromones stimulate them?

America wants ultimate control over everything it touches, including its pelvic-thrusting population. Hell, we're not even happy with on-demand cable; Tivoing our nookie for a better, more reproductively conducive moment is not only the natural course of man, it is the very essence of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.

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