I am a big fan of flowers on special occasions. I know, as a guy I am likely supposed to have other interests, and I do, but I have always appreciated the form and color of these natural little bright spots courtesy of “Mother” Nature.
With that in mind, what could be more natural than to celebrate motherhood and Mother’s Day with such a gift?
This year, I have some suggestions for the mothers of the world for a socially conscious twist this weekend; something to do with all those flowers that will surely be coming in. In keeping with White Ribbon Campaigns, Walk a Mile in Her Shoes Marches. Slutwalks, Take Back the Night Rallies and all other manner of celebrating men by painting them all as literal or potential villains, may I suggest a campaign just for you?
Daffodils for Dumpsters
To all you mothers of the world, please give your Mother’s Day flowers and give them all generously. Most importantly, give them where they will do the most good. Place a bunch of daffodils at a dumpster near you, perhaps one in which one of you, or one of your kind, has tossed an unwanted baby, leaving it there to slowly die alone in a pile of trash.
Perhaps you could lay a single rose at the base of a bridge that has been used by a mother to throw her baby into an icy river. Perhaps you can lay it there with hands that have beaten or shaken a baby to death.
Do you need a video for inspiration? Here, Dear Mothers, let’s help you out with this one.
I don’t want you to be as short on motivation as you are on compassion and respect for human life. Look at empowered Mommy!!
Inspired? Good. Now perhaps some of you could place large, colorful arrangements at the abortion centers where women go to have children cut out and laid to rest in those colorful and attractive biohazard containers that are all the rage in the clinics. Perhaps while you are there you could encourage them to quit calling the procedure an abortion, and start calling it what it is for most of those wonderful mothers that go there…birth control.
Maybe you can lay virtual flowers at your computers to honor all the children that you and your sisters have pimped out to pedophiles, or perhaps the blossoms could be placed in your child’s room, which also doubles as your preferred place to abuse your own.
Perhaps you could place some geraniums at your local fire stations, where the babies that managed to dodge the dumpster get dropped off for whatever life awaits them at the hands of strangers.
This is not a request for some mothers, or a percentage of them, but all of you. In fact, you don’t even have to be a mother. If you have a vagina, the blood of all those children, who are abused far more at the hands of women than men, has stained your skin and caked around the cuticles of your fingers.
If you are a mother, particularly one of the many abusers, or just one that has remained silent as your sisters have beaten, choked, stabbed, burned, drowned, abused, neglected, dumped, tortured and otherwise done the unspeakable to the most defenseless among us, then I hope to see those flowers in your murderous hands, paying homage to those that have been unfortunate enough to be placed in your path.
What is that, you say? You have treated your children and all children well? You have never done anything at all to harm them and never would?
It doesn’t matter. This is the age of equal opportunity for collective guilt. If I were a male college freshman at Hamilton College, I would be marched into an auditorium on day 1 where I would attend an orientation lecture called “She Fears You,” a class that lets all men know they are potential rapists, and that they are being watched. The only qualification for mandatory attendance is a student I.D. and a penis.
In Daffodils for Dumpsters the gash gets you in, and you don’t really have a choice.
Seriously, isn’t it time we herded all women and girls around a model dumpster and made them paint “No Babies Here!” on the side, over and over again? Maybe we should get them all engraving kits on Mother’s Day, and have them spend a day at a surgical supply manufacturer engraving “Not for Babies” on the blades of scalpels? How about we walk up to you on college campuses and ask you, as a woman, to wear a black ribbon to protest all the young life snuffed out at the hands of people in your group? Remember, black goes with anything, so it might even become a fashion statement!
If this seems a little harsh, I will pass it on the next fellow I see wearing a pair of high heels and a red dress, marching down the avenue with a sign protesting violence against women. Or maybe one of his White Ribbon wearing companions will listen and hear a little more about the group of killers he is “protecting.”
Remember ladies, you do the killing, you pays for the flowers. It’s all about your empowerment.
Now, do I really mean all this? Yes. It is not that women deserve to be collectively regarded as child abusers and killers. Most aren’t. Most are actually very good to their children and can even be trusted with the children of others. But that truth is not what is important here.
What is important is the children, or the principle, or whatever other bullshit we make up to convince ourselves it is not about demonizing women when that is exactly what we are doing.
The fact is that mothers are more dangerous than fathers where it concerns children. They always have been. It is only a few percentage points in that direction, but of course in a White Ribbon way, it is more than enough to justify pointing a finger at your entire sex and feeling superior as we watch you atone for the unspeakable acts of a minority.
So, suck it up ladies. If you knew about White Ribbon and said nothing to object to it; if in general you have remained silent or actively participated as the image of the male half of the population has been reduced to that of a depraved threat, then step up and get your flowers. You deserve every last petal, stem and thorn.