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Today's rhaps is on ... Alabama Gilead


Marcel Duchamp's "readymade" Fountain, 1917

The Alabama law recently passed by 25 Republicans basically confirms that women are toilets to these men. Beautifully constructed when new, always indispensable, the sine qua non of manly existence. Weirdly also dispensable, easy to abandon when finished. Grabby golden fixtures to plastic port-o-potties, Japanesey new flushy features to decrepit old outhouses, available whenever required. If reluctant, shut it up and stick it in anyway, wherever, dump it, move on. Can't hold it. Youngish, oldish, in between, the myth of Immaculate Conception rules: whatever happens after your dick limps home is not your concern. Their problem. Fuck the mewling puking babies, they brought it on themselves. You have scores to conquer before night falls, miles to go before you sleep.


You want your secretary, daughter, sister, whats-her-face over there? Fuck her. She deserves it. You can't help it.


She can't handle your seed growing in her? Not your fault. She asked for it. Fuck her. She needs to pop that baby out for the nice barren couple down the street, not their fault God made their gametes sterile. You have done your service, deployed your shit. Her turn. Let her mop up the mess.


Wait, she slices her veins, kills both of them? Jesus bloody Christ. Well, I guess unstable then, loony tunes, pussy looked alright, how was I to know.


Well so long as the choice people say it's all her body, her thing, I ain't gotta do shit, right? Fetus is a person, but I get to say it ain't got no father. Ha! I flushed it. I was done, beat her crazy and left her glad I was gone. All on her now. Pop it out or take yourselves out, I don't care.

Wait, I'm getting confused. I put the seed in there, right? Otherwise it's just lezzy-sex? I made the baby? But I kicked the shit out of her, don't want her...but then how she gonna slave-work all day with a new baby, how she be in two places at once, how she even want my baby now, I was such a dick, beat her half to death...so now it's...wait, when is this happening? Now? This week? How can she even know the baby's there? And I got a presentation tomorrow. Car's in the shop, have to get the bus. No two, three buses. Damn, got there late again. Bastards fired me. No money. Wait, I was supposed to do all this and save money for a kid? Are you kidding? Already got one, two, three...no way, this is not happening, deadline's passed now anyway, wrong town, wrong state, wrong time. Fuck. Now the kid's hungry? She can't feed it? Why, what's wrong with her? What, WIC, foodstamps, not voting for that shit. Wait, the kid's sick now? Voted against health care, that Obama shit. Plus she was a freaking Mexican, who cares, wait, where they taking the kid now? Fuck. Tinfoil blankets on cement, in a cage, you can't be serious, kid'll die cold and screaming. Fuck.


Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.


19 MAY 2019

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