The Weekly Screed (#537)

The incorporated womb
by David Benjamin

BROOKLYN — There is no more passionate anti-abortion crusader in America than my old buddy, Dr. Wilhelm “Fearless Fetus Fighter” Bienfang. Of course, I should note that Dr. Bienfang is not an M.D., per se. His doctorate is in Entrepreneurial Arts. He is, by wide acknowledgment, our nation’s foremost “idea man.”

Soon, Bienfang will be riding the crest of the biggest pro-life tsunami in history. Republican-dominated legislatures across America have written 371 new anti-abortion laws. Most seem certain to pass. Florida has 18 on its agenda, West Virginia 30.

These wide-ranging, ingenious bills include insurance gimmicks, longer pre-abortion waiting periods, the re-definition of “personhood,” white-glove clinic raids, forcible sonograms, and requirements that doctors read scary pro-life propaganda scripts to every girl with a fertilized egg. In Ohio, any fetus with a heartbeat will be deemed alive and inviolate. In some states, a “viable fetus” will be even more broadly defined. In Texas, all it’ll take is a set of ovaries, a fifth of tequila and a wet-t-shirt.

In Georgia, each miscarriage will require a visit from the homicide squad. And in Arizona — where nobody had actually thought about it ‘til there was a law against it, and hardly anybody knows what the hell it is — eugenic abortion is now illegal.

Bienfang was ready for this development long before the GOP’s success in the 2010 vote. “When Republicans start saying things like ‘deficit cutting’ and ‘job creation,’ I know what’s really going on. They’re talkin’ gay marriage bans. They’re talkin’ about bringing their AK-47s to church. They’re talkin’ Roe v. Wade, baby,” said Bienfang.

“And now, they’ve got the power. I figure by next year, every female in the U.S. will have to go to the Post Office and register her womb as a potential vessel for God’s handiwork — just like boys have to register for the Draft,” said Bienfang. “And she’ll have to keep re-registering every few years, from her first Kotex to her last hot flash.”

I thought of one difficulty that might well frustrate all these pro-life dreams, but Bienfang was way ahead of my misgivings. He uttered the key word: “Enforcement!”

He said: “That’s where I come in. If even half these wonderful life-saving laws pass, we’re looking at the most massive invasion of privacy in human history. Not that it’s not justified. But to make these laws both fair and fearsome, we need to mobilize a sort of sanctity-of-life Gestapo, a nationwide army of pro-life Pinkertons. And then we’ll have to build a few dozen new prisons. I have blueprints, by the way.”

Presciently, Bienfang has obtained venture capital and incorporated a crack non-governmental constabulary whose mission is to assure that every sperm is sacred and every zygote good.

“It all comes down, really,” said Bienfang, “to technology. We can do most of our enforcement from our HQ in Virginia Beach, unseen, unheard, unintrusively. We have the equipment — all we need is the legislation — to install 24/7 audio/video surveillance in every office or examination room of every abortion provider, gynecologist, obstetrician, nurse practitioner, shrink, pastor, rabbi and high school guidance counselor in any town, any state. Plus, we can tap every landline, satellite link, cellphone, iPhone, laptop, desktop, tablet, PDA, server farm, e-mail account and e-reader in America. We have state senators, U.S. Congressmen and presidential candidates who are right now chomping at the bit to break down doors, wire bedrooms, shred the bonds of doctor-patient trust and turn every woman’s womb into must-see TV — because sustaining America’s culture of life requires a little sacrifice from all of us, especially the broads.”

Currently, Bienfang’s new venture is the only organization with the capabilities to enforce America’s emerging state-by-state hodgepodge of anti-abortion laws. “We have seen the future, and it is us,” said Bienfang. “Once our network is up, running and legal, no fertile female in America will be able to go commando to a disco, or flush a tampon down the toilet, without triggering an alert at the local precinct of the U.P.”

I asked, “U.P.?”

“That’s us,” said Bienfang, “the Uterus Police. Right now, we have the technology, the manpower and the will to assure that every fetus, every egg, embryo, sperm cell, ovary, womb, Fallopian tube, vas deferens and epididymis can walk the meanest streets of any neighborhood in America without facing the horror of a dark-alley D&C.”

Although proud of his current operation, Bienfang is more excited about future breakthroughs. “It won’t be long, with simple implanted devices, before we can monitor every little thing going on in your daughter’s body from puberty to her first Pap smear, to losing her virginity, to her wedding night, to menopause, hysterectomy and death. And that’s just for women. Hell, with microchips, we can also be the Penis Police. Soon we’ll be launching a pilot program in Florida which… well, if it works, we’ll have enough sensors implanted in so many private parts and intramuscular cavities — male, female, etc. — that we will literally be able to see, feel, hear and share every menstruation, ovulation, orgasm, ejaculation and wet dream from Pensacola to Key West.”

Besides earning well-deserved profits for Bienfang, the Uterus Police could finally secure total victory over Roe v. Wade. Bienfang agreed but offered one sobering caveat.

“We’re still de-bugging our mass-production implants,” he said. “One nasty side-effect that keeps popping up, unfortunately, is that their electromagnetic field tends to trigger the spontaneous rejection of an embryo bonding to the uterine wall.”

“You mean,” I said, “an abortion?”

“Well,” said Bienfang. “We prefer to call it a short-circuit.”

I realized this could ruin everything. I even began to suggest solutions. But, as I spoke, I could see that Bienfang’s great mind was wandering. “Maybe not,” he replied.

“Think about it,” he said, a familiar glint in his eye. “Remote-control abortion — any time, any place, any trimester — without drugs or surgery, without anyone knowing. Just push a button — zap! And then… you flush the little bugger the next time you pee.”

“Whoo-ee!” said Bienfang, licking his lips. “This could be worth millions!”