Here is my final point.
"Oh, thank you God!"
About d**, about alcohol, about p**nography, whatever that is.
What business is it of yours what I do, read, buy, see or take into my body as long as I do not harm another human being on this planet?
And for those of you out there who're having a little moral dilemma in your head how to answer that question, I'll answer it for you: None of your f**ing business!
Take that to the bank, cash it, and go f**in' on a vacation out of my life.
But see, here's their argument to that, each and every time.
"But we have to protect the children! We have to protect the children."
Let me tell you something, children are smarter than any of us. You know how I know that? I don't know one child with a full-time job and children.
Yeah. They're quick, these kids. They're f**in' quick.
But where did this veneration of childbirth come from? I missed that meeting, I'll tell you that.
"Oh, childbirth is such a miracle! It's such a miracle!"
Wrong.
No more a miracle than eatin' food and a turd comin' out of your a**.
You know what a miracle is? A miracle is raisin' a kid who doesn't talk at a f**in' movie theater. That-- THAT-- There's your goddamn miracle.
If it were a miracle, then not every nine months, any yin-yang in the world could drop a litter of these mewling f**in' cabbages on the planet, and in case you have not checked the single-mom statistics lately, the miracle is spreading like f**in' wildfire.
[singing] "Hallelujah..."
Trailer parks all over America, fillin' up with little miracles.
Thunk. Thhhhhhunk. Thhhhhhunk.
"Look at all my little miracles!" Thhhhhunk.
"Fillin' up my trailer like a sardine can, lookit them." Thhhunk.
"You know what'd be a real miracle? If I could remember your daddy's name, goddammit." Thunk.
"I guess I'll have to call you Trucker Junior. That's all I remember about your daddy was his fuzzy little pot belly ridin' on top of me, shootin' his caffeine-ridden semen into my belly to produce my little waterhead miracle baby child."
Thhhunk. "There's your brother, Pizza Boy Delivery Jr.!"
Thhhunk. "There's your other brother, Exterminator Jr.!"
Thhhunk. "There's your other brother, Will Work for Food Jr.!"
Thank you very much, goodnight!
[sound of door creaking shut]
[sound of someone trudging across the tundra, a door locking]