Friday, February 13, 2009

The Adventures of Womb Woman

Narrator: Look. Up in the sky! It’s a UFO! It’s the Goodyear blimp! It’s…WOMB WOMAN!

She’s not your average super hero. (With all that frontal weight, she can barely get off the ground and fly, anyway.) Yet, she’s able to transform 6 artificially-inseminated embryos into 8 babies. Why, Womb Woman doesn’t even need, let alone want, a man. (“They’re…like…so hairy and stuff.”)

But SHAZAM! can she carry a load in a single bound! Heck, right now, inside that incredibly ballooning repository of juiced embryos grows the nation’s future. Not a month after popping out kids 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13…phew!...and 14, she’s cooking her next bun(s).

Mild-mannered-graduate-student-welfare-mom by day, Womb Woman by night, Nadya Suleman is a former secret weapon created after an organic bean sprout experiment funded by the Democratic National Committee went horribly wrong. Researchers were hoping to create the first of thousands of organic superfoods that would drive commercial “red state” farmers out of business. Instead, the experiment went awry, and Suleman developed amazing powers to produce dozens of children without the help of a single man.

The Bush administration (rightfully so) kept her hidden in Guantanamo for fear she’d mass-produce terrorist cells in her mother’s living room (it’s only a three-bedroom house, so animosity towards a cruel government that wouldn’t buy them a mansion was inevitable). But when President b. Hussein issued the order to close Gitmo, Suleman was released…and the president quickly gave her a secret job, special counsel on child production.

Now, unleashed on America as Womb Woman, to expand the population and help Democrats redistribute wealth, she’s lovingly called -- in confidence -- “Leviathan.”

We catch up with the president and Womb Woman in the president’s secret lair: Young Jeezy’s posh Atlanta apartment. In the background, we hear the lyrics to Jeezy’s “My President Is Black.”
b. Hussein: “Leviathan, I’m confident this is going to be a good year for us both. We just got Porkulus, and I’ll sign it in the morning. We’re rolling out the National Bank of Obama next…and soon we’ll go for the Fairness Doctrine and silence all dissent in this country. With you expanding the welfare class, we can’t be stopped. But I really need you to do something…more immediate…for me. Would you…ah…be my Secretary of Commerce? I’m kind of flailing about here, looking for anyone who’ll take it. You can handle big numbers; and we know how well you manipulate the system. I believe you have something to share with everyone…so much more than helping us expand the welfare class.”

Womb Woman: “Thanks, b., but I only carry ‘em and spit ‘em out. My mom and the nanny service does the rest. You want me to help populate the country with welfare babies? I’m cool with that. But don’t expect me to watch over them and tell them where to go and what to do. Go ask Hillary to have her village pitch in. I gotta go see my publicist. I hear there’s a deal in the works for an exciting reality show called In-Vitro Survivor. I want to be in on the ground floor.”
Womb Woman attempts to fly off…but her cape gets caught around her belly. B. Hussein tries to unfurl the cloth and give her a boost from behind, but he stumbles. Her ample behind is too heavy to push, even for him. And the cape is now wrapped around her head…only her eyes show.

b. Hussein suggests she use the door instead and try to fly from the alley. He closes it behind her and wipes his brow. He unhooks his Blackberry from its belt holster, pushes the secure button, and speed-dials Chief of Staff Rhambo Emanuel. [He does not hear the silent patch that breaks into the line as a hacker hijacks his $3,300 “secure” phone and starts to record.]

Rhambo: Yeah. What is it? I’m trying to break off another finger in some Republican’s eye, so he’ll vote for the next bailout package. Umm…are we on a secure line?

b. Hussein: Yeah, cuddlefish…I’m on the Blackberry.

Rhambo: Ok, lover. I miss you.

b. Hussein: Listen, I don’t have a lot of time. Nancy Pelosi wants to come in here, before she flies off to Rome, and give me an earful about a bill that would require every American to buy two of these stupid super golfcarts we built into the stimulus for government employees…ha ha ha…Rhambo…I still laugh my ass off every time we call that thing a “stimulus”… anyway…I really should have myself checked for ADHD…like I was saying…ah…we really need to do something about Leviathan.

Rhambo: She won’t take the Secretary of Commerce job?

b. Hussein: You called it, dude. She just wants to have babies. Forget managing them.

Rhambo: I think I have something in mind.

b. Hussein: Good. We need to end this little affair. Hmmm….[licks his lips]…Can’t wait to rub your finger stub.
Click! Both men hang up. The hacker…far away…on a truly secure line…smiles.
Meanwhile, Womb Woman has managed to cross the country…after three pit stops to have her shoes inflated, her belly lubed, and her lips enhanced. She now sits in her own secret hideout, the livingroom of her parent’s three-bedroom California home:
Womb Woman: That jackass is up to something.

The Nanny: Well…he’s probably not up to 8 dirty diapers an hour. Say…I just noticed you were out. Didn’t you pick any up while you were out?

Womb Woman: Cool it, bitch. The government grocery truck is supposed to come by at 3. You’ll get your diapers. They will provide.

Nanny: Oh…yeah…the stimulus. I almost forgot. Oh…speaking of almost forgetting…you have a couple messages over there on the table. One from…hmm…oh yeah…one from Chrysler, another from GM, and 2 each from Bank of America and Citigroup. They all want to advertise on your belly. Something about tying your waistline to the size of the discounts they’re throwing at customers. I don't see why they just don't hire your PR firm if they’re all after the same idea.

Womb Woman: I don’t have time for that nonsense! Be quiet, now! I’ve got to figure something out.
Womb Woman picks up the phone and dials the number of her fertility doctor.
Womb Woman: Hey, doc. What’s up?

Doctor: Why, hell, Nadya. Nice to hear your voice. I see the government’s been paying your cable bill so you can watch Cartoon Network. By the way: How’s your next batch of kids coming along?

Womb Woman: Right as the mail, doc. Right as the mail. Hey…listen…I have to ask you a question: What would happen if I slipped some of that stuff you give me to help my embryos multiply…what would it do to a man?

Doctor: Well…if you gave him enough…and this is really just speculating…because I’m already in enough trouble over your “eight isn’t enough”…but, well, he might lose his hair, start speaking with a girl’s voice, and spontaneously grab his crotch and break into Michael Jackson’s tired ‘80s dance routines.
Narrator: Tune in next time, when Womb Woman spits out 14 more children, invites the president to a secret dinner, and tells him she’s never had a man and wants to act out the New York Times blogger's fantasy of making love to him. Meanwhile, Rhambo’s evil plot to do in Womb Woman tightens, while the Hacker goes national with his secret recordings!

Same womb time! Same womb channel!


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