A Turdendum

I held Darrell Issa’s hand the first time he got his period. He was worried.

“Am I going to die?” he asked through his tears. “I feel like I’m dying. The blood. The pain.”

“You’re not dying, you’re becoming a woman,” I answered.

“What does that mean?” he asked earnestly.

“Well, it means that you are able to have children of your own,” I said, wrapping an afghan around his shoulders and handing him a mug of chamomile tea to help ease the cramps. “Someday, you’ll fall in love, get married and then chair a government oversight committee that will try to deny basic health care to women under the guise that it is infringing on the religious beliefs of others.”

I was just kidding when I told him that so many years ago, but then this week, I realized Darrell took what I said to heart.

The fretful preteen who danced to Like a Virgin in my living room, banged a gavel and said the health care provision of mandating contraceptive coverage for women was akin to kicking God in the nuts (I’m paraphrasing).

“Women should be forced to have as many children until their uteruses or is it uteri? resemble beaten-up change purses made out of cheesecloth. And then they are put to sleep. It’s nature and religion. It’s naturally religious,” Darrell solemnly said.

Although I was appalled, I was happy that Darrell at least brought in male religious leaders who are the leading experts in women’s health to testify before his committee. Those with uteri were told to stay out of it. The experts said things like:

“Women–boo!!”

And:

“Obama–boo!!”

And:

“Jesus–yay!”

When asked about their comments, Jesus stated “I don’t know these guys, man.”

There is so much I don’t understand.

First, why did God kill Onan when Onan spilled his seed on the ground rather than in his brother’s wife (Genesis 38:9)?

Second, why is a woman unclean for seven days after giving birth to a male and unclean for two weeks after giving birth to a female (Leviticus)?

And lastly, why did I jump the gun on handing out my Turd of the Week™?  Please accept this turdendum.

And God said to the turds: "Be fruitful and increase in number."

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21 comments

  1. That turd’s coming out of Darrell’s nose. Maybe he can see what it’s like to give birth to something you’re forced to without your consent–like a giant turd out of yoiur little nostril. (Does it hurt alot Darrell?)
    Too bad he didn’t have a choice. Why should someone have a choice with what happens to their body? That would be ridiculous, right Darrell?

    1. I know! I think a panel of men who base their decisions on religious texts written thousands of years ago know way more than I do about my family planning choices.

  2. Doesn’t Jesus speak through Darrell? And Rick? And Newt? I thought Jesus was coming right through those guys. He certainly speaks through Rush….no? And Palin? – no wait, she doesn’t have a penis. Does Jesus speak only through penises?

  3. another fabulous award. a uterus is not a clown car. thank you for recognizing this. were you there when the council of bishops also got their collective periods? and did you tell them they would someday brainwash and control women’s decisions in a jim jonesish kind of way? i’m just asking because i see a trend. on another note: because i love your turd awards more than money (well, possibly just as much), i awarded you the Glitter E. Yaynus award. http://monica-adayinthelife.blogspot.com/2012/02/im-kind-of-big-deal-and-i-am-serious.html.

    1. Congratulations on your award and thanks for sharing the accolades. My only issue is I have 4,503 items I would like to stick in my junk trunk and will not be able to limit to five. Please advise.

  4. Oh my God, this was funny. And I mean “my God,” the one who allows women to birth humans whenever they damn well feel like it. The opening to this was just brilliant — and I mean that in the true American version of the word which means a work of genius, as well as the British version of the word which means really awesome. Next time I have menstrual cramps I’ll well up with pride and remember this post.

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