SOTW ADDRESS: THE SUPERBOWL VS. ROE VS. WADE?
My Fellow Humans,
As I write this, some 200 million people worldwide are watching the Superbowl. All manner of insane side-events clog the media, from “puppy-bowl”, its own sensation with 20 million viewers tuning in to watch cute baby dogs dressed in football jerseys tumbling adorably over one another, to the Caligula-like displays of gluttony, so over-the-top that any human being with a half a sense of decency can only wish every participant choke to death and be forced to gorge on their own flesh in some sort of Twilight Zone-like afterlife.
Gluttony and small animals notwithstanding, I do not begrudge the football people their good time. It is, after all, the biggest party on earth. Even a malcontent like myself wouldn’t get in the way of that.
But who is so monumentally humourless that they could find a way to burst the biggest alcohol and pork-fuelled bubble on the planet?
This is Randall Terry (pictured with his only friends)
Randal Terry is a pro-life prick. He’s running an ad featuring mutilated foetuses during the Superbowl for seemingly no other reason than he can’t legally be stopped from doing it, like when he used to harangue women entering and leaving abortion clinics, which he’s been arrested for 40 times. I suppose when he tired of degrading women one at a time, he found a way to traumatize them in bulk.
This is nothing more than street-level pro-life obnoxiousness on a national scale, a simple-minded sandwich-board waver given a national platform for 30 seconds
(Mr Terry’s commercial is linked to a sad little Presidential bid. But the question immediately arises: How far can a Presidential candidate get on foetus cred? Are you going to run a foetus for Vice President?
But then, and in many ways more insidiously, there’s this guy (seen here with his mommy)
Tim Tebow is a professional football player. Two years ago, Tim and his mom appeared in a cloying but harmless enough pro-life commercial where it was suggested that if Mrs Tebow had exercised her right to choose an abortion 24 years ago, we would not have a Tim Tebow today.
The inevitable question is ‘who gives a shit?’ Would a world without Tim Tebow mean anything to anyone other than Tim Tebow and his family, football fans and comedians who make jokes about that stupid kneeling thing he does?
As far as I know, he has never saved a child from a burning house or an unconscious woman from a twisted car wreck. I don’t know if Tim Tebow even tips well. In fact, I don’t know anything about Tim Tebow. Therefore; his mother having an abortion means absolutely nothing to me. I don’t really care whether or not she has Superbowl-preventing abortions.
And is the Superbowl the best venue to argue against abortion? Do people look around their living room at the mountains of greasy snack foods and empty beer cans while Madonna peacocks in front of millions of couch sloths and believe life is sacred or unique? To me, it’s like having a gun show in Columbine’s school cafeteria.
In any case, today’s garish and grotesque display of mutilated foetus’ on a Superbowl broadcast keenly serves to highlight how Randall Terry views the subject of abortion: as a game that must be won, regardless of the cost to individual liberties of the opposing team. And, like the gridiron, in Mr Terry’s game only men get to play and women either shake their asses in little skirts or stay in the kitchen and make snacks.
But Randall Terry is an asshole and I hate contributing to his message. So I’ll leave you with this:
There. That’s better. Just as long as some pro-life asshole doesn’t decide to run a puppy-abortion commercial during the Puppy Bowl.