Abortion Manson

Manson should have Been Aborted

Okay, right up front – a confession.   Had a great day today, beautiful outside, just opened up a nice bottle of Southern Comfort and have imbibed generously.  So, if you catch some typos in this slightly unusual blog, too bad…

Anti-abortion folks like to argue that when we abort a fetus, we could be aborting the next Mozart or Einstein or Britney Spears.   They say the next abortion could have been the person who found the cure for cancer or who assassinated the founder of Fox News.   Of course, they fail to mention that we also could be aborting the next Hitler or Sarah Palin, but that’s beside the fact, right?

But this got me to thinking about aborting real people.  What if I could go back in time, like in “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure” and convince the mother of some person to abort them?   Who would I pick?  Go back, go back, go……..

So, to begin with, and in the interests of being politically correct, I’d pick Charles Manson, the 9-11 terrorists and their buddy Bin Laden, Lee Harvey Oswald, Ted Bundy, the guy who started the plague and Mark David Chapman.   Sure, there are probably hundreds of others and I welcome your input, but that’s my first team off the top of my head.  Okay, now let’s get really personal.

Mrs. Bell, my third grade teacher.   You’re outta here!   She made that year at Captree Elementary School a living hell for me.   She screamed and yelled and generally terrorized me and my classmates for the whole year.  She made me stand in the corner of the room for 4 straight hours because she thought I was talking too much.  She would regularly come up behind me and – WHAM – slap me on the head with her ruler.  I woke up every morning with a stomach ache because of her.    Abort Mrs. Bell.

Then let’s abort that Board of Directors that fired me years ago from a wonderful job where I thought I was doing wonderful work.   Totally out of the blue, no warning, nothing.   Just a mysterious morning email that said “Pat, we need to talk to day.  It’s serious.”   The Board had decided it was time for a change.  I was making good money, had been there forever, was really making a difference and – WHAM – you’re outta there!  Had to go home that night and tell the family that I was out.  Horrible, horrible, stuff.  Abort them all.  Well, not all of them cause since then I’ve made up with a few of them.  But there are a few….

While we’re at it, abort Sandy Koufax.   For years and years, my beloved New York Yankees won World Series after World Series, giving me neighborhood bragging rights.  But in the first game of the 1963 World Series, we faced Koufax, who was pitching for the Los Angeles Dodgers.  And in that first game he beat us handily, breaking the record for most strikeouts in a World Series game.  He totally embarrassed my team and, by extension, me.   We never recovered and lost the Series in four straights friggin games.   The Yanks didn’t recover for years.    Sure, he’s a nice guy but – Abort Koufax.

Abort anyone who smokes.   Growing up in New York, my house was a virtual smokehouse.  Everyone smoked, including the dog.  They smoked at the dinner table, they smoked in bed, they smoked in the hospital while they were visiting a relative dying of lung cancer.  Smoke, smoke, smoke.  I was the only one who didn’t smoke.  But I know the secondhand smoke is gonna get me one day, I just know it.  The Big C.  Adios, amigos.

Anyone who goes slow in the left lane – abort those turkeys!  I mean, who the hell was their driving instructor?  There they are, going 50 miles an hour in the “passing lane,” in a virtual coma, with me and twenty other cars ready to put it into fifth gear.  But they are oblivious.   I honk my horn till I’m blue in the face and they are in la – la land.  Abort them, abort those suckers while they’re driving.

I could go on and on:  the creator of reality shows, anyone who likes cats, people who read their blackberries while they’re talking to you, the inventor of the Pet Rock, the entire cast of “Mamma Mia,” and, yes, Rush Limbaugh.

Oh, there are so many others.  Maybe I’ll copy Neal Horsley and start my own hit list.