The Lesser and Greater of Two Evils – But Which One’s Which?

My pal Derek was busy sending me links today (look for a great one that I’ll post tomorrow). But this is a piece that was pulled from the best of Craigslist and was originally posted on the Seattle-Tacoma page. I’m just cutting and pasting it verbatim below. It’s awesome.

I’ll try to sum up a funny story that happened a few years ago:

I got a vasectomy.

I met a girl soon afterwards. She was nice and attractive but with a selfish streak that raised a big red flag. She was 32 at the time and I could practically HEAR her biological clock ticking. Regardless, she was a good lay, easy on the eyes, and reasonably good company.

I did NOT tell her about my vasectomy and I always used a condom with her to protect against STDs. She assumed, obviously, that the condom was only used for birth control. Silly girl.

We date for a few months. I never made any move towards commitment but she brought it up ocassionally. For me, this was a casual but pleasant relationship. For her – as I was to find out – it was part of life-changing series of events that she was planning very carefully.

Four months into dating, I get the “I’m pregnant” talk. She’s going on and on about how the condom must have broke and now we really need to think about getting married “for the baby”. She’s positively giddy. She has a baby in her and she thinks she’s gonna have a good meal ticket (me) to go along with her new 7lb annuity.

At this point, I’m just as giddy. I get to pull the reverse “oops” on her. I figured that she slept with some bad boy and got knocked up. Good thing I was using condoms! Better still that I have a serious mistrust of women who can’t think beyond their own uteri.

So I wait a couple of days to “think about all this.” I meet her again. I say I don’t want kids and that she should have an abortion. I know where this is going and sure enough it goes there. She goes completely batshit insane on me. There were the usual insults about my manhood. There were threats of legal action. It was all very ugly and I was loving every minute of it.

Well, I let her stew for a few days. She leaves me nasty messages on my phone. She sends awful emails. I’m laughing hysterically.

It was time to drop the hammer. While she was stewing I was busy. First I get a notarized copy from the urologist who performed the vasectomy. Next I get a notarized copy of the TWO test results indicating a “negative test result for sperm” to show I’m sterile and shooting blanks. Finally, I get a letter from a shark attorney stating he has seen the other documents and is prepared to litigate against this woman if she continues to communicate with me in such an unpleasant manner. Also, the letter states that we will insist on DNA testing to show that the baby is not mine. I’m ready.

I meet with this woman at her place. I bring flowers and a small bit of jewelry to show I am willing to reconcile and assume my responsibilities as a new father. I also have stuck in my pocket the documents I have prepared.

She’s all giddy again. Her plan is going perfectly – or so she thinks. We talk about our future. We have some pretty good sex. Then, as I am about to walk out the door, I ask her the $64,000 question. “Are you sure that this baby is mine?”

Well, she goes batshit insane again. Hell, she ought to. Her plan could completely unravel if there is ANY question about my paternity. Oh, she’s really screaming now. How dare I question her morals. Do I think she’s a slut. I’m just trying to weasel out of my responsibilities… blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I’m not really mad. I’m kind of embarrassed for her. But since she won’t shut up and the neighbors can hear all of this, I ask her to step back inside and sit down. She sits on the sofa and calms down a bit. She is glaring at me with all the moral self-righteousness that only a woman can muster up. She thinks she has me trapped. She is 100% convinced her plan has worked. Oh, the tangled web of lies and deceit she has wrought around herself and I am about to hack through them with a few pieces of paper.

I reach into my pocket slowly. I extract the three pieces of paper and unfold them slowly and deliberately.

I tell her simply, “You’re screwed”.

Her look doesn’t change. There is no way she can fathom what I have prepared.

I continue. “I am sterile”

Her look changes just a bit. Something is beginning to sink in. Naturally, she reverts to women’s logic. “You’re full of shit. You’re trapped and you know it.”

I hold up the letter and the test results. “Three months before we met, I had a vasectomy. Here is a notarized letter from him stating what I had done. Here are two test results showing that I tested negative for the presence of sperm. Blanks. I am shooting blanks. That baby inside you is simply not mine.”

This woman is not to be swayed by logic and clear documentation. “Bullshit, those are fakes.”

I was ready for that. “No, they are real. This last piece of paper is from my attorney. It’s a simple letter to you that states if you pursue any kind of legal action against me for child support that I will insist on a DNA test to prove paternity, that is, to prove that your baby is not mine.”

I give the woman all the documents. She reads them slowly, deliberately. With each passing second she can feel in her soul that she has made a very bad mistake. With denial swept away, she started to cry. It’s a small cry at first. Then it becomes deeper and more painful. By the time she gets to the letter from the lawyer she is sobbing.

I had no sympathy for her. I turned and walked out the door. Even after I closed the door I could still hear her sobbing.

Epilogue –

I never heard directly from this woman again. I did hear through my friends that she did indeed have the baby. I also heard that the real father was some guy in a band she had met. I assumed that after 30, women stopped going after musicians, bikers, criminals, and thugs. Silly me for thinking the best of American women.

The Moral of the Story –

Get a vasectomy but keep it a secret.

Why is it so cold? Why?

It’s sorta funny, but I’m actually a foot and a half shorter right now than I was when I climbed out of bed this morning. I got out of the shower this morning, got dressed, and walked outside to make my way to work. But it was so cold out that my feet kept freezing to the ground. Seriously! Who saw that coming? Not me. But remember in Terminator 2 when Robert Patrick’s character, the T-1000, was trying to walk through the liquid nitrogen spill and it froze him to the ground? He kept walking but his feet and legs snapped off until he ultimately froze entirely. Then Governor Terminator shot him and shattered him into pieces. Well that’s sort of what happened to me today. Except, once both of my feet snapped off at the shins, I was able to drag myself the rest of the way to the car.

Working the clutch on the ol’ Dodge Stratus was tricky, to say the least, but I made it

And being short isn’t so bad. Now my girlfriend can’t make me get stuff off the high shelves anymore.

Nude Britney Spears Statue

This is pretty much unbelievable.

Someone has actually made a sculpture of Britney Spears giving birth. It’s supposed to be some sort of pro-life statue. Now I’m more glad than ever that I’m pro-choice. I wish I could abort the memory of ever having saw this. But I can’t, so I’ll share it with you.

Nude Britney Spears Giving Birth Statue – Monument to Pro-Life
Posted on Friday, March 24, 2006 (EST)
A nude statue of Britney Spears giving birth to her son Sean Preston, by artist Daniel Edwards, has been dedicated to Pro-Life by Capla Kesting Fine Art in Brooklyn’s Williamsburg gallery district, New York.

Read the full story by clicking here.

UPDATE: To see the statue from the back view, click here. Use caution. Sorta graphic.

Click here for a look at all your favorite Britney merchandise.

Hayfever — Worse than a, well, something that’s not fun.

My nose is running. I keep sniffing like every four to six seconds. My nose itches like someone is gently probing the inside of my nostrils with a vibrating coat hanger. My eyes are watering worse than when I watch the bikini scene from Fast Times At Ridgemont High (Phoebe Cates always tends to choke me up).

Allergy season comes every year around this time and every year around this time I find myself walking around in a half daze because my head is either so stuffed up that my brain feels like it’s been shut inside an empty box of Altoids, or I’m so high on allergy medication that my brain feels like a piece of broccoli dipped in bacon fat. Either way, I’m generally miserable.

I think I’d rather have an allergy that I can somewhat control. Like being allergic to peanuts. I’m sure this sucks because you have to be careful what you eat and everything, but at least you can take preventive measures to avoid it. I have no choice, it’s in the freakin’ air. Of course, I guess some people could die if they eat peanut stuff. So really, that’s worse after all. So forget I brought that up.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t still complain about my hayfever.

Once, when I was like ten years old or so, I put a dandelion to my nose and took as big a sniff as I could, just to see what would happen. The resulting 60 minutes were some of the most unbearable minutes I’ve spent on this earth. It was even worse than that time that I tried shaving my face with lemon juice instead of shaving cream. My body immediately erupted in a fit of sneezing unlike anything I’ve experienced before or since. My nose began to excrete it’s byproduct at a particularly alarming rate. I think I lost five pounds through snot evacuation alone. I mean honestly, I don’t think I can put into words just how uncomfortable this situation was. I remember laying in my bedroom in a fetal position while rocking back and forth just wishing that it would all go away.

But right now it’s killing me. I’m sure people think I’m either stoned or drunk based on the redness of my eyes.

Unfortunately, I’m not.
I’m merely suffering from hayfever.

The appendix: A worthless part of a book as well as the human body.

A friend of mine just went to the hospital with stomach pains and what could turn out to be appendicitis. He’s not sure yet, they’re doing checks and such. There’s no mortal danger or anything, but it did get me thinking about this part of the human body. I mean it’s basically useless, right? Serves no purpose.

According to, “hypothesized functions for the appendix include lymphatic, exocrine, endocrine, and neuromuscular. However, most physicians and scientists believe the appendix lacks significant function, and that it exists primarily as a vestigial remnant of the larger cellulose-digesting cecum found in our herbivorous ancestors.”

(See innards diagram here.)

So basically, we don’t need it, which is why so many people end up getting it removed without incident if problems occur. It’s funny, cause I’ve never really known what the appendix looks like. I sort of thought it might be like a liver or a kidney. Something big and meaty. Turns out it’s just a little tube about 10 centimeters long. But yet when that thing bursts, look out.

So I find it funny that the section of books containing additional information is also called an appendix. Is this because it shares the burden of uselessness with its brother, the anatomical appendix? I suppose if it were important it’d be called a kidney, or an anus, or something that serves an actual purpose. Like a liver. But I suppose that with the amount of alcoholics there are in literature, calling it a liver would ultimately cause more work than it’d be worth, what with all the transplants they’d have to do. Reprinting costs would be astronomical.

Alright, so I don’t really feel that a given book’s appendix is useless. I’ve read through an appendix here or there. And I also realize that appendix literally means an appendage. So the appendix of a book is something that is an extention of that book. Just like the anatomical appendix is an extension of the cecum which is part of the large intestine. Hence, appendix is a suitable name for both entities.

The real question now is this, would appendix make a good name for a child?

“Hey, there! These are my kids. Appendix Joseph, Colon Marie, and Anterior Superior Iliac Spine. Say hi, kids!”

Sounds good to me.