I’m not a woman nor do I pretend to know what it feels like to be one. However, I’m fairly certain that when a woman finds out she is pregnant she doesn’t say, “Gee, I think I’ll have an abortion. I’ll invite my girlfriends. Maybe grab a salad and spend a little time at the spa before we go for drinks. It’ll be fun.”
Despite what some would have you believe, no one wants an abortion. It isn’t a cavalier decision or a comfortable experience. Myriad are the ways women come to that awful decision. It may not be compatible with what you would do or lack careful consideration of all the options, but it isn’t yours and it isn’t easy.
As a former Virginian, I’m all too aware of the asshatery that is Pat Robertson. I once lived a short distance from his colonial palace cum religious law school and occasionally saw some of his on-air “journalists” at the local Farm Fresh. I knew of him when Jim and Tammy Bakker were still producing a kids show starring gospel-spewing puppets (real puppets, not the marionettes that watch CBN). And I’ve followed his frightening career as he prayed away hurricanes and claimed the storms were God’s vengeance on Walt Disney World’s Gay Days.
His latest crusade against the Thundering Herd of Queerosity is a rip-roaring fantasy – aborting babies as a way to “level the playing field” for lesbians. He claims to speak directly with God on the celestial hotline daily, but this is more proof that God really should get a better PR man to service his temporal account.
As with all Robertsonian screeds, he fails in the simple logic his “God” bestowed on humans. Clearly the daily conversations with the Big Kahuna aren’t nearly often enough.