Joanna Angel & Tommy Pistol
If you're on the fence about getting that abortion, you should weigh things out and be honest when asking yourself, "Do I like people more than I like sleep—or vice versa?" Because, as I'm sure you've heard a million times, once that child comes prancing out of your pussy you've made a deal with the devil and agreed to never again get a sound night of rest.
My wife and I haven't slept in five years. We've already made a reservation at the Waldorf Astoria for September 11, 2027, when our son will turn 18 and move out of the house. We'll celebrate our first night of uninterrupted sleep in nearly two decades. Like prisoners counting the days, we Sharpie our white bedroom wall with hash marks.
We all know of the unspeakable experiments the Germans performed on prisoners during the Big One. Perhaps lesser known is the next-level cruelty the Japanese administered to our boys, like wrapping wet, pliable bamboo around naked POWs' testicles, staking their arms and legs to the ground, and then betting on how long it would take for the bamboo to harden and force their balls to shoot out of their scrotums. The awful acts of past wars make modern interrogation methods such as waterboarding seem like an afternoon at Disneyland. And yet I feel if we really wanted to force our enemies to give up information, or simply torture them for sport, putting them on the same sleeping schedule as a new parent would trump any wartime suffering. Every mom and dad knows that parenting is the torture to end all torture!
Before I came to accept the fact that I would never sleep again, I nearly killed others and myself in a car wreck. It was my first week as a parent, and in my delirium I passed a road sign with a truck painted on it. The image of the truck was instantly burned into my retina. A quarter mile down the road, I slammed my brakes, thinking I was going to T-bone the sign's imaginary box truck. As I swerved into oncoming traffic, the cars behind me either smashed together or careened off the road into a ditch.
In the years that followed, no matter where I traveled, my internal alarm clock would go off at 4 AM local time for fear that some small human would be waking me up by inserting one or multiple digits into my ears or nostrils. And not just to the knuckle! Oh, no—they can get their little fingers in deep, right down to the hilt! These days I've got a better handle on it. It's something like addiction, I suppose. I've admitted that there is a problem and finally accepted that I am powerless before it. I know my senses have dulled. I know, from years of practicing in a mirror, how to disguise the deer-in-headlights look that all zombie parents have. I know if you are speaking to me I am not retaining a word you're saying, and I'm OK with that. Most people don't say anything important anyway.
The tagline for this Walking Dead porno parody is "A jizz shot was the only sure-fire way to return these undead creatures to the grave!" It reminds me of some advice I was given in my youth on how to avoid impregnating girls: "You can't get a mouth pregnant." Perhaps if I'd heeded that warning I would sleep better tonight and maybe even remember writing this review.
So choose wisely. I'm pretty sure abortions are cheaper than a night at the Waldorf.