What does an unaborted fetus know about the value of life?

More reader mail time!

This week's reader mail reads as follows:
As a fetus, what is your take on the recent Virginia Tech massacre? How do you feel about coming into a world where people are capable of such evil?

You know, there's something odd about a fetus that has yet to experience a day of life to give her opinions on life and death. And there's something equally silly about a lifeform that's incapable of recalling long-term memory to draw any sort of lesson from this.

At the most primate level, even as a fetus, I understand survival = good, and things that prevent my survival = bad. Ergo, killers (and The Killers) = bad.

But beyond that, I'm not sure if the facts of the case matter to me that much.

Okay, so my daddy is Asian, so for a moment, I was afraid I was going to pick up some crazed killer genes. But the thing is, there are literally billions of slanty eyed motherfuckers out there who manage to get through their lives without shooting the fuck out of university campuses, so I have to assume that the crazed killer genes are only carried by lonely Asian boys. Considering the circumstances behind my conception, which is to say, vaginal, I don't think the lonely part applies to my daddy. Yeah, he's capable of stupid crazy shit, but more stupid crazy like having unprotected intercourse.

If anything, maybe people will become afraid of young Asians like they're afraid of young black kids, so I might actually be safer.

Gun control? Well, you'd think multiple classmates and teachers reporting you for a fucking weirdos would set off some sort of alarm at the gun shop, but hey, that's America for you.

But I think the most important thing to remember about the massacre is that it's a freak incident. It takes a whole fucking lot for everything to come together. Most people simply don't reach that level of fucked-upness, and when they do, they usually lack the testicular fortitude, access to firearm and pop culture references to pull this shit through.

And forgive me for being callous, but based on the law of averages, the massacre just increased all our life expectancies by about a week, because shit like this only happens every few years. This is a one-in-a-million (if not more) incident, and we're now okay for another million. "But did you account for the possibility of a copycat crime, you stupid fucking fetus?", you might be asking. Sure I did, but since motherfuckers are going to be on the lookout for lonely Asian boys with huge arsenals and it'll be more likely that the police will take it super seriously when some fucknut English major writes Richard McBeef 2: The Electric Bugaloo, so the copycat factor is more than cancelled out.

So I'm not saying, hooray, massacre, but let's not act like the world's headed to hell in a Jimmy Choo. With advances in shit like medicine and nutrition and security, we're living longer and longer. If the price to pay for longer, healthier lives are freak occurrences like the one up in Blacksburg, that's a tradeoff I'm taking every time.

Mommy and daddy are baby-eating atheists, apparently

I've been light on the posting lately, so there's a lot to catch up on. I've started breathing classes, which supposedly makes it easier on mommy when it's time for me to pop the fuck out, though honestly, I can't imagine anything making that process easy on anyone. By that time, I'm about the size of a large cabbage, and I'm going to be stretching the fuck out of a hole that's usually not meant for anything bigger than a medium carrot.

And as hard as mommy has it, I have to go from happily swimming in amniotic fluid to having to breathe in oxygen on my own - that's a a fucking transition right there. If that's not bad enough, I get slapped by the doctor just to make me cry. At least I'm not a dude and I don't have to face the possibility of getting my foreskin chopped. What kind of barbaric culture allows this? Hopefully, I'm born into a more civilized society where this sort of mutilation isn't allowed.

Which gets me thinking, as I often do with all this free time and no iPod to while my time away with, which god am I going to be forced to worship?

A man once said, "I definitely want my son to be christened, but I don't know which religion yet." Well, that man is a complete fucking idiot, but his heart's in the right place.

We all need spirituality, since there's more shit in the world that's unexplainable than not. Religion gives a nice set of rules to live by, to encourage people to sacrifice their immediate, short-term needs for the greater and long-term good. And the rituals give followers a sense of belonging, and comfort knowing that this shit worked for their ancestors and will work for them too.

I've gathered enough intel from my parents to know that they don't really believe in god, at least not one that's officially sanctioned (which sort of explains why my bastard fetus ass is here in the first place). But I don't see them going around robbing motherfuckers or fucking everything that walks, so I can't say absence of religion is the worst thing in the world, on an individual basis, anyway.

But really, God couldn't possibly give a fuck if you ate bacon or prayed in a certain direction or put up stockings by the mantle, right? Maybe that's some shit that's too complex for my feeble incomplete mind to wrap itself around. Wait, did I say bacon? And wrap? Shit, I'm hungry again.

Living la vida vagina

First off, happy Dead Jesus Day, everyone. Hope you're having fun painting Jesus Eggs and eating bunnies.

Now, being stuck in this small, albeit quite wonderfully warm and placenta-y, womb all fucking day and night, I simply don't see much excitement and it's easy to run out of material to write about, even if I'm only posting 3 times a week. So I appreciate any questions or requests that you may have.

"Betty" asks,

Can you post more posts about what dating is like in the womb?

Sure, Nurse Betty, I can talk about dating. Except there is no dating in the womb. I mean, I can always count on the umbilical cord to stick around after a night of intense cuddling, but it's not exactly Mr. Personality. And like I said, I don't get out much, so it's not like I'm meeting other fetuses and playing the field.

And that's a damn shame, because every time mommy and daddy see a baby when they're out, they're always saying how I'm going to be way cuter. I can't say I disagree - you should see my ultrasound. I'm really depriving the world of my hotness, but shit, what can I do?

The story of my life, before it's even begun

Seriously, this pretty much fucking mirrors my life. Other than the dad being way more attractive in the movie, this is EXACTLY HOW IT HAPPENED. In fact, there's even a gag about the dick scaring the fetus during pregger fucking (you'll have to catch the full-length R-rated trailer that keeps getting pulled from YouTube). It's like Apatow read my blog, went back in time and wrote this movie. I should be getting executive producer credit on this shit, at least. Otherwise, I'm suing the motherfucker as soon as I'm out of this bitch.

Oh, and the penis thing - it's been over a month since I wrote that post and the dynamic has changed a bit. I've grown bigger than the cock, and the sight of my dad's manhood is slightly less disturbing now that I know I'm a girl. And you gotta be packing some San Fernando Valley-caliber heat to come anywhere near my swimming lane.

Still, there's really no way of getting used to the pounding and the awful grunting sounds mommy and daddy make. I'm just fucking glad I don't have to see their O-face.

I'm your hell, I'm your dream, I'm nothing in between

I apologize for the inaction on this space in recent weeks. I discovered my feet a few weeks ago and I find kicking to be the most fucking fascinating thing, ever. Plus, with my memory not yet fully developed, every fucking thing is new every time. It's awesome being a fetus.

I mentioned earlier that I would be finding out whether I was a girl or boy, and guess what? I have a vagina!

I can't say it was the most comfortable experience. They poke around with the machine making sure I have all my parts and measuring my shit, including my labia. Shit, I've already posed full frontal and I'm not even born yet.

As you can imagine, mommy is thrilled since she can get all girly buying all kinds of pink clothings and home accessories. Daddy is crestfallen like a motherfucker, since his plan was to train me to become a college quarterback so I could get a scholarship and he can put my would-be college savings towards beer and weed. Now, the only way I can earn a college scholarship is if I turn out lezbo. Plus, he won't be able to trust anything with a penis within a mile of her.

Say, which is worse for a father, for a daughter to turn into a slut or a lesbian?

Anyway, now that they know my gender, they're furiously coming up with possible names for me, especially since "Cletus" ain't gonna fly.

Boys grow up to be quarterbacks, girls grow up to be figure skaters

This is a pretty fucking big week for me. Why? Because later this week, a doctor will poke inside mommy and see if I have a penis or a vagina. Or an incredibly elongated clitoris.

Actually, it's a bigger deal for mommy and daddy, since they can start picking names and buying shit that's going to reinforce some arbitrary society-mandated gender roles. Me, I know what I am. Well, that's not true. I have no idea what I am, and I won't really give a shit until I'm in kindergarten and other kids start calling me homophobic slurs.

And gender roles, if you think about, isn't all that artificial. See, girls and boys are wired differently. Specifically, they tend to find their self-worth in different ways - boys want to be scored, girls want to be scored. Let me explain:

• Boys = quarterbacks
  How do men measure each other? I mean, other than taking a tape measure to the dick? By comparing stats. Nobody gives a shit whether one quarterback's more talented than another, but everybody cares about the numbers - total yards, touchdowns and Super Bowl rings. Similarly, guys are compared by their paychecks, the horsepowers on their cars, the number of girls they've fucked. No one cares about the qualitative shit, it's all hard numbers. Quality be damned, it's putting one in the "W" column, or the sperm in the vagina that counts.
  


• Girls = figure skaters
  Chicks are different. Sure, she can do a triple lutz, maybe she can skate faster than everyone else, but what did the Russian judge think? What bout the French judge? While the male psyche operate on pure numbers, the dick-size mentality applying to pretty much everything in life, it's not enough for women to simply do well. They need acknowledgment that they're doing well. That's why you see an otherwise intelligent, attractive girl worrying about what some douche thinks of her. It doesn't really matter where it comes from, girls need validation.

Of course, thats all details. If I turn out to be a boy, I'll sleep with anything with a pulse that gives me the time of the day because, fuck, thats another notch on the bedpost, and if I'm a girl, I'll sleep with anyone who will come over and talk to me because, shit, someone values me!

Take gambling tips from a fetus

Tomorrow begins March Madness, or what daddy tells me is the real Black History Month, which sounds more than a little borderline racist, but hey, he's my racist daddy.

Anyway, for the next three weekends, daddy's going to ignore me and spending all his waking hours getting drunk and yelling at the tall people on television. I figured I'd bone up on this NCAA Tournament shit and see what up the fuck. And you know what? Shit's pretty fucking simple. If you want to win your office pool, here's basically what you have to know:

1. Pick an upset at #5 vs #12 or #6 vs #11
   #1 through #4 in each region are generally quality teams, but #5? They tend to be teams that got by on their reputation or did okay in a weak conference, but had some glaring bad losses, sputtered down the stretch, or did merely okay in a weak power conference. #11 and #12 are usually quality mid-major teams that got fucked because of a loss against a quality team or had some off games.
   
   My upset pick? Winthrop (11) against Notre Dame (6). Big East is fraudulent. Big South? Whatevs man, don't sleep on the mid-mayj.


2. Time zones, motherfucker
   You're talking about college kids who aren't used to traveling cross-country, playing in arenas they've never been in before. Yeah, it's not enough to cause jet lag, but the body clock is still a bitch. So it sucks to be Arizona playing what amounts to early afternoon games in New Orleans or George Washington playing late night in Sacramento.
   
   Which is why you gotta pick Gonzaga (10) over Indiana (7).
   
3. Go with the guy with the balls
   Moreso than in the regular season, you gotta pick the team with a transcendent star. This is different from picking a team with a very very very good player - see: Duke with J.J. Redick, Illinois with Deron Williams. Motherfucker's gotta be transcendent. We're talking Carmelo, Noah, and, to a lesser extent, Sean May.
   
   Yeah, there's Kevin Durant, Tyler Hansbrough and Greg Oden, but I'm thinking Wisconsin with Alando Tucker. Why? Because I'm also picking Butler to beat Florida in the Sweet Sixteen game.

So here's what my Final Four picks are going to look like:
East: North Carolina
South: Ohio State
Midwest: Wisconsin
West: UCLA

Semi-finals:
North Carolina over Ohio State
Wisconsin over UCLA

Final:
Wisconsin over North Carolina

There you have it. Go put down your $200 - you can't lose. I mean, if you do lose, what are you gonna do, come kick a pregnant lady in the belly?