My Uterus Will Cut You

I Can’t Handle the Truth

As I was making dinner last night, I heard a commercial for a pregnancy test that promised to give you results as close to the moment of conception as possible; apparently, the ultimate goal is to know the very moment the Hero Sperm breaches the final ovum defense and lands its jet on the X chromosome in front of the “Mission Accomplished” banner.

I’m not sure how that would work absent some kind of invasive technology, perhaps where a turkey doneness-style pop-up device is implanted into the abdomen of all women of childbearing age

Then I wondered how farfetched that idea really was, given the current state of Blastocyst Rights and disregard for women’s bodily autonomy.

And then I thought, “maybe I should Google this.” But I got scared, because there are some things I just don’t want to know.

Lists of Things

Toddler or Drunk Schizophrenic?

  • Frequently overhead holding conversations with imaginary persons.
  • Terrible impulse control.
  • Has dissociative episodes where s/he thinks s/he is someone else.*
  • Requires that all foods be smothered in ketchup.**
  • Enters fugue states where no communication from others penetrates.***
  • Rapid mood swings.
  • Garbled speech.
  • Irrational insistence on self-imposed rules that are inscrutable to others.****
  • Limited understanding of cause-and-effect, spatial relations, and the concept of the “indoor voice.”
  • Megalomania.
  • Poops in pants.

Answer to all of the above: toddler.  (See fig. A)

*For example, Grandma.

**Including but not limited to cucumbers and salami.

*** Particularly during a new episode of “Dr. McStuffins.”

****E.g., imaginary soup can only be consumed while seated.


Fig. A: 

Bright Ideas

Tips for Making the Most of Shopmageddon

If you’re in the U.S., you’re probably really focused on preparing the lavish meal it wil take your family six minutes to eat, with faint plans to get some shopping done tomorrow.

Since Black Friday is something of a blood sport, I thought I’d give first-timers a few tips. I mean, I’ve never actually been shopping on Black Friday and sure as hell am not about to start, but I watch the news.  You don’t want to do a shitty job, because if you don’t get good stuff it’ll be really hard to keep lying to your kids about the psychotic Big Brother in the red fur pimp suit who rewards them for adhering to some amorphous ideal of “goodness” with toys they’ll forget about by January.

Merry Christmas.

1. Make a list before you go. For each item, indicate (1) the maximum price you are willing to pay and (2) the maximum amount of violence you are willing to inflict on another human to obtain it.

2. Eat a good breakfast. Coffee and doughnuts will give you the initial burst of manic energy needed to get through the door, while the protein and fat of bacon will keep you going for the long haul. Consider bringing a pick me up for the mid-morning slump, like a granola bar or a pre-filled syringe of heroin.

3. Bring the right equipment. Water. A rented box truck for all the loot. A debit or credit card that won’t be declined — for heaven’s sake, don’t try to pay for anything by check; too many people die in those riots — or fistfuls of cash. You’ll also need some anti-competitor weaponry; shotguns are usually frowned upon, but pepper spray should do the trick. Bringing a little old lady (95+) can sometimes help you get to the front of lines or buy you some space but only in the Midwest, so utilize Grandma sparingly.

4. Get there bright and early. Many stores have special Black Friday hours, opening at 6AM or 4AM; Walmart is funding a team of physicists to figure out how to warp the space-time continuum so they can open last Tuesday but still offer the same deals. Whatever your local stores’ hours, be sure to get there just as they open to beat the rush. Most people don’t know about this trick.

5. Wear comfy shoes. They’ll hurt less when you kick yourself later.

Of course, you could always just, you know, shop on the internet. Or decline to participate in our national overdose of consumerism. (I know, I know, I’m one a’ them crazy liberals. I’m actually a Second Lieutenant in the War On Christmas.)

Happy shopping, I guess.

You've Built a Crawl Space Under Your All-Time Low

“Iceberg Hunters” Is Totally a Real Show

No, really. They sail their fishing boat out to some big ol’ icebergs, and they shoot at the icebergs with guns. Apparently, you can harvest the ice that breaks off and sell it to bottled water producers.

  • First, they circle the iceberg several times. I assume they are attempting to confuse it so it will make a mistake.
  • Then, they shoot the iceberg. With regular rifles, such as one might use to shoot tin cans off a fence, or Dick Cheney’s hunting companion in the face.
  • Next, the iceberg laughs at them, because IT IS AN ICEBERG, not a pile of ice that came out of your home freezer.
  • Then, the hunters eat lunch while waiting to see what happens.
  • Eventually, the iceberg throws them a bone and sheds a miniscule piece of ice, but not from the section that was shot, just to prove who the boss is in this scenario.

During all this, the hunters are accompanied by a film crew made up of people who go home and drink themselves into a stupor every night because they couldn’t get hired by Deadliest Catch and they’ll never get to hang out with Mike Rowe.

Yes, I watched one-half of one episode, so you wouldn’t have to. You’re welcome.

Effed-Up Shit

Where are Nicholas Cage and John Travolta? I DEMAND A REFUND.

So, this is an actual thing that Bloomberg’s Businessweek felt it necessary to publish:

Which business school has the most attractive female students?

It’s in a part of Businessweek called “Face/Off,” which is described as:

…our new social voting game where we channel your opinions about the biggest news stories of the day. Each day, we’ll post a series of simple choices: which is more likely? Which is better? Who’s up, Who’s down, and Who won the day? We’ll ask you, our readers, to cast your vote and tell us which stories matter and which don’t.

Coming up tomorrow: How many gin and tonics would it take before you’d sleep with Sandra, the feminazi bitch from Mergers & Acquisitions who always wears those awful pantsuits?

In other breaking news, Businessweek can bite my ass.

ETA: They wised up an took it down after some well-deserved blowback, but the proof still exists on Twitter. Here’s hoping that someone got seriously spanked over the decision to run this, although that’s probably wishful thinking.