Lately Meg feels like she is trapped in the seventies:
She feels like this chick:
What the hell, politicians and pundits of America? All of a sudden Generation Y are a collective bunch of sluts. Does that make us older Baby Boomers one of these?
We’ll get to Rush Limbaugh in a minute, but let’s take a spin around the country and see what our various legislators are doing to create jobs:
The Utah state Senate passed a bill Tuesday that would allow schools to drop sex education, prohibit instruction on how to use contraception, and prohibit discussion of homosexuality in class,The Salt Lake Tribune reports.
Legislators passed Senate bill HB363 19-10 after a short debate during which many senators expressed their belief that sex education is meant for the home, not school.
The Arizona Senate on Tuesday approved a bill that would allow doctors withhold information about prenatal problems if it could make the decision to have an abortion more likely.
Republican state Sen. Nancy Barto introduced the measure to protect doctors from so-called “wrongful birth” lawsuits. Barto’s proposal passed the Arizona Senate 20-9 and will now go to the state House.
“…The Virginia Senate adopted a revised bill on Tuesday that still requires doctors to perform an ultrasound on women before they have an abortion, but also says that women cannot be forced to have an invasive vaginal ultrasound.”
You get the picture. So a creepy bunch of old guys have decided that ALL THE ULTRASOUND laws in the United States must be changed swiftly, dramatically, and posthaste.
Then we have the kicker, Limbaugh himself insulting the well spoken and intelligent Sandra Fluke, the Georgetown student who testified before Congress about birth control availability for college students. I’m sure you can find his tirade on the interwebs, and I refuse to put him up on my website. But since he apparently had dead “sponsor free” air on his radio show yesterday, he has groveled and backpedaled more than any married man I know. At least one that’s been married 4 different times.
Shall we end with a name that can set it straight, namely my fake husband Jon Stewart?
Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna find my petticoats and slap on some red lipstick so I can be the best durned old hooker I can be when my husband gets home later on today. That is, if I don’t burn my bra first.