It's the great debate: is analog, with all its particular variables subject to user manipulation, superior to the rigid lockstep of precise, digital technology? Billy Walshe has argued the former, and I traditionally side with him. But I have found a group of people who won't: twenty-five percent of all women.
"1 in 4 women misread a pregnancy test.
That's why there's Clearblue Digital."
Clearblue television advertisement
Is this sort of thing really necessary? In the history of human evolution, the billions and perhaps (depending on where your definition of human draws the line) trillions of people born and died to get us here did not need any kind of test. Then the pregnancy test came out. It was a great chance for us modern folks to say, "Oh shit." Just like in the movies! What a novelty. But now we have become so dependent on authentic usage of what is already an unreliable pregnancy test that we have taken it to another level, and claiming it's because a woman doesn't read it correctly. No, you know what? Let's be real about it. From personal experience, I can tell you right now that there are actually adult women who don't know what ovulation means and therefore have no idea what the point of a period is. "Wow that's a lot of blood! I must be expelling a
ton of eggs right now." They'll piss on this thing before you even have sex.
But let's be fair to
Clearblue. They wouldn't say that in a commercial if there wasn't some merit to it. Someone probably did a very biased study, but I'm sure it was a study nonetheless. So I beg the question: what are these women
doing? Are they delusional? Are they seeing shit that isn't there? A positive plus sign where there is actually a minus?
This is not an IQ test they got off the internet. This is an important test that could affect them for the rest of their lives.
Are they just glancing at the strip to get an idea of what it might be and then throwing it straight into the trash before they're certain?
"Well, you know doctor, I looked at it, I used my eyes, I waited fifteen minutes. I even listened to the litmus paper to try and hear whether or not the urine was absorbing through it in a determining way, but I just couldn't tell what the damn thing said. The instructions on the paper were Greek to me. I sat there for hours, just waiting for it to come to me, but I honestly could not grasp the difference between the plus sign and the minus."
Who are they polling to get these statistics? Blind, illiterate women?
If these women are genuinely fucking up the pregnancy tests and reading them improperly, then maybe they need bowel tests, too, to know whether whatever just passed through their midsection is a child or dinner from this weekend. Simplicity. "Yep, it was just shit." Or, "Just as I suspected: a baby. And
you wanted me to get out of bed."
Because you know most of these women are fat, too. I'm talking about the dumb ones who can't operate the piss-on-a-stick pregnancy test unless it's beeping, displaying words, making announcements and congratulating them out loud. If they won't look for a plus sign, they aren't looking at the Nutrition Facts on the box of Hamburger Helper either. That's why they're fat and that's why they need bowel tests. Am I pregnant? Have I always been this...sick?
So we don't know, they don't know if the baby inside them is coming or going. Maybe they just ate it. They look down at themselves and they can't tell if they're pregnant. They can't even tell what sex they are. Eventually these morbidly obese piles of skin forget their
gender because it's been so long since they saw something besides tits above their knees, so even some really fat men have been found taking these digital pregnancy tests, pissing and then listening. Their diets are so unhealthy that when they stop bleeding from their rectums, they think they're missing a period and they start to freak out. But they are the most regularly-relieved people in the human race because they're never pregnant.
The most relieved, with the exception, of course, of our beloved and very brave chronic masturbator,
Bill O'Reilly. Well, to be fair, this guy
actually physically spanks it just once a day but the relief he garners from it and his sense of accomplishment is unrivaled by any primate. That's because for all those people that he fires each week of each month of each year, who for whatever reason does not meet his standard of devoutness in their pledges to limit freedom of expression, another packet of sperm is oozed into his scrotum via wormhole from a better, perhaps more heavenly dimension, as part of Mother Nature's attempt to balance out the lack of decency in his soul. Except this egotistical fuck is so thick with evil, like the bile/liver-combination Hitler was probably throwing up as he committed suicide, that there is a firewall so technologically-advanced that Clearblue had to come in and install this thing under his desk in New York to prevent the already-reinforced foundations of Fat Fucking Government-Asshole-Sucking Media Mogul Headquarters from buckling under the sudden pressure of the resulting seismic wave from his orgasm.
In an interview with his spawn point,
Mrs. O'Reilly - who really exists - the still-glowing mother revealed a sudden burst of pride felt and the inherent certainty she took on, as though it were knowledge she'd carried since her own birth, when she looked down at the little minus sign and knew she was pregnant with who would later become the biggest jackass of all mankind, her son, the laughing-stock of the logical universe, whose show is sponsored by the alleged stupidity of the women watching his program.
Rest In Piece, Leona. We all loved you.
