Jul. 15th, 2010

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One of the stories I love to retell is regarding my days as a homeless teen making a deal with a women's clinic. In exchange for medical services, exams, antibiotics or God forbid rape kits I would be spending my Friday and Saturday mornings in their parking lot making sure the pro-life people didn't throw paint onto the cars in the lot.
When the imperial wizard of the unborn: Terry Randall showed up, the whole place turned into surreal carnival. There were a myriad of indignities I bore from the pro-life folks: shouting, spitting, prayers for my destruction, and sailing photocopied bible passages folded into paper airplanes. "Jeremiah 1:5" hit the bullseye one afternoon right into my cup'o'noodles.
The most bizarre of these antics was the rubber unborn babies they would pelt at us. There were two kinds, the ones that were soft and pink like a dog toy. These had squeak boxes in them that wheezed out some version of "ma-ma" when you crushed them between your fingers. The second were the hard rubber kind we really hated; they left a mark if they hit bare skin but when they hit the asphalt they would bounce high like creepy super balls. The clinic said it would pay $5 for each rubber baby we managed to retrieve but usually they just bounced right into the sewers.
Every time I tell that story I wonder if person I am telling it to thinks I am lying about it because sometimes it sounds like utter bullshit even to me. Then I saw this story: http://rawstory.com/rs/2010/0715/roswell-high-school-students-sue-confiscated-rubber-fetuses/

Those are the exact damn things that used to get thrown at me! I wonder if the school knows they can go downtown and $5 a piece for them.

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