The phrase “plan B” is quite interesting. It usually refers to a next best option if the most desired outcome does not occur. In other common usage it simply means a backup plan, should the primary plan fall through. It’s also the name of a pill you can take to stop a pregnancy from happening when you inevitably have sex without a condom past a certain point of intoxication. I’ve always thought it should be called “plan A” because if you’re using the product, it means you desperately want the current possible outcome – an 18 year-long burden of responsibilities- to be plan B. Or plan W or X, if we’re being honest. Whatever you call it, one young man felt strongly enough to override his partner’s wishes and secretly administer plan B to her– in the form of a delicious, life stopping smoothie. It never ceases to amaze me the really good choices we make for partners as humans. Nut up and die alone, pussies.
In other news, science is doing amazing things with penises these days. Never a community to rest on its laurels, the scientists who brought us boner pills and laser hair removal have finally done what we’ve really wanted all along: penis transplants. A team in South Africa successfully transplanted a wiener and, after healing, observed its full coital usage. This could open up a whole new market for whites and Asians who are tired of disappointing their wives. The hero of course would have to be black organ donors, but their massive dongs should fetch a high market price from the rest of us mediocrity-cursed phallus owners. The money could go to the donors’ families, finally empowering the black community and possibly passing for reparations since donkeys and acres of land are hard to come by these days.
Lastly, an essay is making the rounds on tumblr and other social justice warrior hotspots. This essay is to empower fat women everywhere by making them realize that fat is not only acceptable, but beautiful and desirable. I’m not sure which of the theorized dimensions the author is living in, but I know I’d like to live there. Last time I checked, we’re genetically driven to mate with healthy looking mates in order to guarantee our offspring survive. There will always be someone willing to go home with the fatties at 2am when the bar lights come on, but make no mistake- state law requires that standards officially expire at 2am.