This city smells of sewage.
My road smells of vagina.
Vaginas thus smell of sewage.
Babies are thus born in and through a sewage canal.
You cannot dispute my logic there, however hard you may wish to try. I defy anyone to rebut that ratiocination, and if you can I don't care, because I promise you this city smells of sewage and vagina. And I have smelt both, up close and personal. Ever had a malfunctioning septic tank? Ever begrudgingly administered cunnilingus? I've had the first, and done the second. Trust me, it was against my will. No, it wasn't, that's a horrible thing to implicate my ex-partners in. It was reciprocated unwillingly simply because the whole concept made me want to vomit (which would not be conducive to sexual relations for most people), it wasn't that I didn't want to, in essence, but that doing it made me want to die. And not in a joyful Shakespearian way. As for the septic tank, that's just a boring story which involves a garden. No, more experiential evidence comes from walking past open sewage drains, on a daily basis. As pointed out yesterday, this place has a shit sewage system (if you'll excuse me...) Effluence it is not, though you would think defined by what it is... alas, no, there is no drainage here. Miasmic, perhaps. Any way, so, yes, I have encountered both. Although that implies that I once came across a stray vagina and, against my natural predilection, decided to attempt to consume it. I can promise you I have never had that experience.
As for the conclusion, well, that follows simply: I have never been present at a live birthing. I have seen things on TV, sure, and on sex-ed videos (though why we need to know about rupturing, prolapse, etc., I am unsure), but we all know what fancy prestidigitation these televisual types are capable of. No one sees Jurassic Park and concludes that dinosaurs exist, living on some far-off island. Call me sceptical but I just don't think that babies can be born in any other way. I mean, have you seen how they come out looking? Thing looks less like a human and more like a roundish blob, the kind of which you can only find in the psychologists' diagnostic etchings, "What do you see?", "A greyish blob?", "Correct, now what do you see?", "A greyish blob?", "Not... so correct..." Precisely. They could be covered in anything. Ah, but your screams nourish me so: "What about midwives, surely they could testify to the ridiculousness of your theory?"
Well, that would be making a tremendous Kierkegaardian leap. Let it run so:
Midwife.
Derived, probably, from 'mid' and 'wif', meaning "with woman", or "woman who plunges deep to grab the baby."
Women know nothing.
Midwifery + testimony = fallible and stupid.
Any one who trusts the words of a woman is an idiot. Want further proof other than my random proclamation? Let us follow from my original point: women beguile men into licking their lady parts, and men henceforth are repulsed by the very thought of them: they are the seductive sirens, alluring and deceptive. We, as sailors, should fight hard to resist their enticement, lest we be dashed on the rocks, and/or ensnared in the perpetual burning bush of woe. If they are capable of such misleading suggestions, 'you'll love it', then surely we can safely discount anything else they might have to say about anything? So, when a midwife comes up to me in the street, as they so often do, and says, 'But I have seen it with my own eyes: there is no sewage', I will not be averse to hitting them sharply around the fizzog. One should never lie to a gentleman, should they? We must condition and correct where we find misinformation and delusion. It is our purpose, as men, to do so. I feel I have dealt sufficiently with that poorly formed argument.
So, let me bring around my next line: have you ever fucking seen a baby? They're covered in all kinds of bodily fluid. And where does bodily fluid go? Yes, that's right, down the drain - into the sewer. Irrefutable, I would venture, but I will continue just for the sake of completion. Think of all the things that babies are covered in: vaginal discharge, menstrual fluid, embryonic fluid, excrement, urine, womb-juice. Where else do you find all of these things? The toilet, that's where. Who hasn't wandered into the bathroom one morning and found a congealing puddle of freshly produced womb-juice? No one, I tell you. And I know that for certain. Don't ask me how, or you will break the spell. Just think of this as the birthing ontological equivalent. But valid. Instead of insipid. The mind boggles, presumably, that we haven't stumbled upon this conclusion so far. For continuity: babies come out of the vagina crying. Wouldn't you be crying if you had fallen through a drain, or if you had been living for 9 months in a small bucket full of excrement, or if you slipped and fell into a septic tank? Yes, yes I think you would. Or if you wouldn't then you are implicated in this conspiracy: yes, you, you are embroiled in this feminist tapestry of conceit. Shocking, I know.
For inculcated naysayers (driven to their recalcitrant position by leftist propaganda of the suffragettes and the like), I offer another demonstration. It is relatively simple, if crude, so as to not confuse you any further. There is a distinct and reasonable parallel to be drawn between a crap that won't flush, and a baby that won't crown. Think logistics here, people: a cervix, roughly 3cm wide, and a U-bend, roughly the same when relative to the anus or something. You work out the dimensions for yourself, I dare you (though beware of any puddles). Everyone has happened upon a malformed piece of excrement that obstinately digs its nails in whenever you try to flush it (anthropomorphic phantasmagoria aside, I'm actually feeling a little queasy at my own analogy); likewise, we have all seen and heard that babies have to claw their way out. The cervix was not made to split open for the passage of a head. It simply makes no sense. If it was, the easiest way to impregnate someone would be to ejaculate in your own mouth and then shove it up into the fallopian tubes, spitting on the nearest egg you come across (diving equipment mail order business patent pending). Hopefully there's only one egg, mind, lest you inseminate an army of sewage-covered-pea-sized-humanoids. So, there is the corollary: a toilet that won't empty its contents, and a baby desperately seeking freedom. Undeniably accurate, I fancy.
For a penultimate thought we must turn our attention elsewhere on the female. And, just for a bit of light relief, you can think of this section as being my Sermon On the Mound. Saddened as I am by our departure from vaginas, we must move upwards. Fortune favours the brave, however, as we stumble upon the tumultuous fantabulousness of the mammalian breast. Intelligent design proponents need look no further; though, evidently, their contradictory sexual repression would probably prevent them from happening on this miracle. Whence we arrive, we will find a stark binary: beauty and disgust. What happens when the baby arrives? They start leaking. What kind of sick designer would have decided that: what kind of deity would prevent their young from fucking, whilst simultaneously making their very young suckle at the teat of their mother? This is an Oedipal nightmare, surely: promoting incest in a community precluded from sexual liberation? Counter-intuitive, no? Any way, I am stretching far from my original intention. As our foray into the depths showed us: there are deep currents of intention present here - ones beyond our comprehension. My mirror is necessary, again, here. Milk, being the dairy equivalent of pear, has a shelf-life of roughly 1tp. And when it spoils, it ruins the world: the olfactory horror is of apocryphal proportions. Truly, to prove evolution, we need to look no further than our nose's reaction to the smell of off-dairy. If that is not a physical defence mechanism I do not know what is. So, milk is the devil's child, and yet it seeps from a lady? Connection? Indubitably, as our friend Holmes would conclude (although I seem to recall that this is actually a myth - I wouldn't know, not having read any Conan Doyle (much to the alarm of any non-English-literature students who assume that studying it entails reading everything in the world ever. Something I will talk about one day)). Where would you tip your spoilage? Down the sink, one assumes, or perhaps just let it solidify and throw it in the bin. Not sure why you'd take this approach, but it's a free country - thankfully; imagine a world where we weren't allowed to choose between enduring rancidity or relieving ourselves of it! The horror! Unimaginable. Let the biology continue: what would cause milk to go off? Heat. What produces heat? The body. Have you ever felt a breast? They should be called furnaces (though the delightful parody of Hell's flames must be appreciated nonetheless). The devil incarnate, evidently. So, why are we content to let our children drink this, when we would throw it away? Well, there is trickery afoot:
"For sewage thou art, and unto sewage shalt thou return."
Blindingly obvious when it's pointed out, isn't it? Allegory abounded in the long-long-ago, and here is a puerile example. So, we feed our offspring sewage because it is from whence they came. Therein we find the mystery explained conclusively. Truly, it astonishes me that it took so long to reach this epiphany. Dawkins' mountain, I suppose. A long trek through ignorance, clearing to a moment of monumental understanding. So, feeding sewage to sewage aside, we have one last issue to address. Fait accompli, you could say. Or checkmate.
Have you ever listened to a woman? They speak utter, utter rubbish. And, no, the irony is not lost on me. I don't think I've ever had a conversation with a lady that hasn't at least pounded the borders of derivative nonsense into nothingness. Not to cast an entire sex into degradation, but the generalization seems both apt and true. Endless hours spent castigating each other for being shallow, for being bitchy; years just lamenting your very existence, how you're so useless at everything, and inconsiderate, and lazy, and blah, blah, blah. Well, think nothing of it any more, as I will explain it now. If we can cast our minds back to rudimentary biology, we will probably remember the XY sex-determination lesson. Remember: men are XY, and women are XX? Think of it this way: X represents dirge, and Y represents triumph. X being extraneous, and Y being yes, I have succeeded. Women, God bless them, do not have the chromosomal equilibrium to transcend their ephemeral origins. Men can detach from their sewagey past, and woman cannot. It explains why they talk such garbage. See, the words are not lost on me: further proof. Why do these words exist? Precisely. Etymology is nothing compared to this lecture. We need it not when we 'hold these truths to be self-evident'. Which we do, because they are. Seems self-evident, doesn't it? They are truths, after all, not untruths... Further testimonial for my cause, I think you'll agree. It is a never ending circle, which feminists will attempt to square. We are born of sewage, through sewage, and end as sewage - but some, the lucky half, can escape; thanks to a genetic advantage. The only question left, for more intelligent folk than I, is 'What came first? The lady or the sewage?'
In the immortal words of Luna Lovegood: "A circle has no beginning."
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