Isolated Baby****ing

I don't want to write this. How can I possibly write this?

There's a phrase I'm going to have to use here... no, you know what, I actually don't have to use the phrase, or word, or made-up word, or whatever fucking horrible sentiment I've decided can be playful enough for me to arrogantly expound towards another questionably humorous, insightful, or even remotely necessary point.
Yes, what is the point? Do I need to have one clearly in mind before I begin? I bet you're wishing that I did about now, and maybe I do. But I also like to discover it along the way. Part of the joy I find in writing these... things, are the epiphanies and opportunities that pop up unexpectedly throughout the neurotic voyage. You never know when the right progression or joyful understanding is going to arrive. Those surprises are often the defining gifts of life.
So that's my attempt at a pleasant introduction that simultaneously compliments the miracle of childbirth and prepares everyone for the babyfucker discussion.


I was recently reminded that I once proclaimed "babyfucker" to be one of the seven worst words in modern usage (http://hencemyselfloathing.blogspot.com/2010/06/new-se7en-dirty-words-and-gay-tangent.html). The problem here is that nobody ever uses that term, because it's too terrible to even mildly consider. Why would we ever say that? The only point I can make is that it's obviously worse than "motherfucker", hence it's placement on the list.
I'll prove it. Imagine an historical figure, someone decent. Let's go with Lincoln. We can all still back him, right? So let's say we uncover some fucked up national treasures (I don't know, like a horse & buggy confession show, or those old-tymey photos maybe?) that prove that Abraham Lincoln had sexual intercourse with his no doubt statuesque building of a mother.

"Aww, fuck man, Lincoln? Really? In the log cabin and everything? Jesus... well, alright."
It would be tough, but we'd have to deal with it, right? Give him the mulligan.
Now, just barely imagine, if you can, that Abraham Lincoln had... intercoursed, a baby.

There aren't enough vampires in the world that you could kill in order to erase a single act of babyfucking.
That's game over, man, for anyone. Even Hitler's stock would go down with some uncovered- I don't even want to say the word anymore. It's that bad of a thing. We would think less of Adolf Hitler if we discovered his propensity for, or even momentary indulgence in... no, babyfucking is the only way to say it.
And how could we possibly think less of Hitler? He's our barometer for ludicrously evil. He's so awful that he's sort of cartoonish now. I guarantee there's been more lampooning of Hitler than actual representation, and I understand why. It still feels good to take the dead piss out of his rotting, mutant-possum-with-the-Se7en-strap-on-fucked corpse (absolutely appropriate).
We love to stick it to him.
It's a bit of a turn on our initial reaction though.

"Who? In Germany? And he's doing what now? Holy shit. Hmm... Jews, huh? My, my my. Let's wait this one out a bit."

That's overly simplistic and not at all a fair representation of what probably happened, but it's rooted in enough truth to make me laugh in my underwear in that playfully anti-Semitic, American way.

But isolationism doesn't work. You can't shut yourself off from the world and expect not to be sucked back into its problems. Sure, you can get a hotel room and close the drapes and ignore texts, but that's not going to stop the Japanese from bombing the shit out of you (with housekeeping knocks, or whatever).
You've got to be involved. You have to go out, meet people, interact, and yes, occasionally make babies.
Because as weird as they are, and as lost as you can get within the existential dilemma of their stares, babies are alright.

Usually.
Hey, even Hitler was a baby, right? And you know what, maybe he was babyfucked. Maybe that's exactly what happens when, that, happens...

You see where the mind goes when it's tucked away from humanity? Jerking off through a haze of troubled thoughts and questionable ethics that are shouted down by your better angels for recognition of the ever-looming optimism inherent in everyday victories and pleasant sights and sounds and strangers, flaunting their simple grace in extended perfection as you're reminded of why the extremes of newborns and Hitler are worth the often muddled middle, regardless of the confusion your analysis of it may bring, because the expansion of life, thought, and community, the greater numbers within the argument towards a greater life, the basic symbolism of meaningful progression through procreation, is always stronger than these babyfucking Nazi agendas.

So I guess you should fuck and vote, or something.
Whatever you want, I shouldn't be making decisions.