We'll grant this much to the fetus fetishists of the "pro-life" crowd: they're endlessly imaginative in coming up with new ways to make it harder for women to get access to a legal medical procedure.
Actually, ya know that scene in Silence of the Lambs when they're transferring Hannibal and have him strapped to a hand truck? It was pretty much exactly like that, only with more butt draft.
Thanks for the well wishes – I have an appointment next week to review the scan with my back specialist, and will let you know whether it turns out that I am indeed part lemur.
I'm not sure which makes me more uneasy, though: The fact that I might have an extra vertebrae, or the idea that my doctor can't count.
I'm a loss, where does one even begin with this story?I understand the concept of hypocrisy, but these people have elevated it to a level that I am having difficulty getting my mind around.
One of the biggest ironies of Henderson's "concern for children" has to do with the fact that kids attend his "sidewalk counseling" sessions. Last year, before the clinic moved to it's present location, Henderson brought in a choir of small children who stood on the sidewalk and, I kid you not, sang "Happy Birthday dead baby". Imagine being a child and dealing with that? It skirts very close to child abuse. The clinic escorts dropped their collective jaws when they heard it.
I was the hapless sport who was dragged down to a protest at the Huntsville clinic. My sister is avidly "pro-life". What a zoo that was! Knights of Columbus were there as well as a geriatric version of the Captain and Tennille. I met Henderson that day. I was disappointed. I expected a charismatic gentlemen, but found him to be plastic and vacant behind the eyes. What struck me most about him and what has remained most memorable, is his putrid breath. I strived to hold my breath as he spoke. I imagined a raccoon had somehow crawled into his lungs, died and was slowly decomposing. The acrid balm permeated my nostrils and I, as politely as possible, muttered an excuse and scurried upwind as quickly as possible. Either his wife does not kiss him, or she has a deviated septum.
Thanks, you guys – I wore my sparkly gold capethongbackpackscarf, and had a blast!
when you go to pick up your kid at school if you aren't strapped the tyke has to ride home on the bus.
Thanks — that's exactly the kind of info I needed!
Goin' in...
TUT-TUT!
It's the bikini booth babes shilling for the place on the sidewalk that really sets 'em off.
Unless the plan is to make women's lives worse, in which case, their policies do exactly what they say on the box.
I'm sure the protesters will carry them in to the school for show and tell.
They're crap at geometry but fantastic at circular reasoning.
Those Alabama primates may understand poo-flinging: they sure don't understand logic.
i see you frantically getting your last wonkette posts up while being inexorably moved - in batman fashion - to your destination.
hope all is well and how do you get an extra verteabrae?
Ha! "I'm Backman."
Actually, ya know that scene in Silence of the Lambs when they're transferring Hannibal and have him strapped to a hand truck? It was pretty much exactly like that, only with more butt draft.
Thanks for the well wishes – I have an appointment next week to review the scan with my back specialist, and will let you know whether it turns out that I am indeed part lemur.
I'm not sure which makes me more uneasy, though: The fact that I might have an extra vertebrae, or the idea that my doctor can't count.
I'm a loss, where does one even begin with this story?I understand the concept of hypocrisy, but these people have elevated it to a level that I am having difficulty getting my mind around.
Stop it with your logic! Just get into the mood of the story... the woman-hating mood!
One of the biggest ironies of Henderson's "concern for children" has to do with the fact that kids attend his "sidewalk counseling" sessions. Last year, before the clinic moved to it's present location, Henderson brought in a choir of small children who stood on the sidewalk and, I kid you not, sang "Happy Birthday dead baby". Imagine being a child and dealing with that? It skirts very close to child abuse. The clinic escorts dropped their collective jaws when they heard it.
but you can diddle your sister, or boys and, at the same time, be forgiven?
I was the hapless sport who was dragged down to a protest at the Huntsville clinic. My sister is avidly "pro-life". What a zoo that was! Knights of Columbus were there as well as a geriatric version of the Captain and Tennille. I met Henderson that day. I was disappointed. I expected a charismatic gentlemen, but found him to be plastic and vacant behind the eyes. What struck me most about him and what has remained most memorable, is his putrid breath. I strived to hold my breath as he spoke. I imagined a raccoon had somehow crawled into his lungs, died and was slowly decomposing. The acrid balm permeated my nostrils and I, as politely as possible, muttered an excuse and scurried upwind as quickly as possible. Either his wife does not kiss him, or she has a deviated septum.