Archive for the ‘Fiction’ Category

Little Boys in the Pink

In Fiction on January 6, 2010 at 10:51 pm

By Mercy

This story is one of observation. It holds little to no scientific value. It is mostly just a compilation of my opinions regarding small children and their relationship with balloons.

Children have simple opinions. Oliver, for instance, believes pink to be superior to every other color. No contest.

Rose would quite agree.

For a few years I worked at a grocery store that had balloons tied to every register. Part of my job was to hand these balloons out to any child that asked for one. I suppose in an effort to teach children to be decisive or to live in satisfaction of knowing they had gotten exactly what they wished for in a world where not all wishes come true; we, the parents and I, would bombard the child with the question “which color do you want?”

To some kids color mattered very little. Weather given blue, red or brown these children would hold tightly to their new prize with wide smiles. To others color had a much greater baring. If they didn’t see their desired color they would start to cry and I, the store clerk, would have to ring a bell three times and yell to a fellow employee that I needed a red balloon stat or we would have a child, red with rage, on our hands.

No color inspired so much decisiveness amongst these youngsters as the color pink. I don’t know what it is about this pretty pastel hue that inspires such intense emotions. Very few important things are pink. The earth isn’t pink. The sky isn’t pink. Nor is the sea. Nor are your mother’s eyes unless she happens to be Albino. Though, come to think of it, most pussies are pink. Wouldn’t I love it if that was the reason little girls loved pink? Because they love their own vaginas so much that they want to see it’s properties reflected in everything they own?

A normal occurrence in my days of balloon handling was for a little boy to request for—or be left with no other option then—pink. Oh, the awkwardness. Sometimes this situation would illicit nervous laughter or some joke about how funny effeminate boys are. Sometimes parents would coerce the lad to choose something else. Other parents would flat out refuse. Either they should pick a different color or none at all. One time a boy quickly explained he was actually intending to take home one for his sister. Nice recovery kid.

If I don’t understand why pink is so much fun to look at, I can only guess why so many parents would rather see it anywhere but for on their boy’s body. I imagine it has something to do with sexuality. See it is too often assumed that if a child does not act according to their assigned gender then they must be gay. You would think by the look on their faces that their son had not said “I like pink more then blue.” but rather “I like to take it up the ass.”

I’ll tell you right now. Homosexuality is not caught by exposure to a shade whitish-red. I have no studies to offer you on the subject. Just my own assurance that this is true. There is a condition that does seem to spread from parent to child and if not given the proper treatment can become quite serious. Homophobia is 70% more likely to develop in men who were ashamed to like colors as children.* And homophobia is what your boy will most likely get infected with if humiliation is avoided in regards to pleasant emotions this color might elicit. So please, keep your little boys safe from this raging epidemic. Get them the pink balloon.

*(Fictional statistic.)


The Second Sexual Revolution

In Fiction on December 14, 2009 at 10:19 pm

by Andrew Douglas Campbell

In a dystopic future, eugenics rule reproductive practices. This came about in the most feared but often expected way. Those with money and agency were first to set the terms of reproduction; it was their tastes and desires that set the stage for the future of mankind. This started with simple seemingly benign gestures: breed in higher intelligence, greater strength, and of course more beauty. But, as time passed, and altering the course of human development became more comfortable and commonplace (the aesthetic of the master race had long since been established), darker inclinations of heredity arose with more aggressive means of enacting them. Criminal sterilization was amongst the first – justifying it with arguments of the greater good. Then came sterilization of the disabled – piously claiming that the suffering of children is being avoided with a series of implants and injections; that is how the sterilizations took form – needles and implants – claiming that surgical sterilization would be barbaric. Eventually the masses became so complacent in the face of forced sterilization that below average inelegancy became grounds for the loss of reproductive rights. It was not uncommon for the national intelligence average to shift a few points in one year. When this would happen thousands of people already with families, or even pregnant, would be inclined to sterilization. You could find yourself desirable stock one day, and the outdated model the next. On rare occasions, the national intelligence average would drop. People that were previously undesirable stock should then have been reintroduced to the breeding population. But sterilization is permanent; no apologies were made. Even through the storm – selective breeding and forced sterilization – the human genome and social structure are persistent. They are a storm of their own and would not be controlled. Inconsistencies – as they were called – continued to arise. Brown hair grew on a child that came from an all blond family, five generations back. In school, the nature of the lessons would develop, but the shape of the learning curve was static. Despite the best efforts of the wardens and chemists, crime still occurred. Homosexuality persisted. Though it was not discussed publicly, homosexuality was one of the great hurdles. Genetic testing for homosexual tendencies was standard along side tendencies toward obesity and deficiencies in spatial relations. A history of homosexuality in the family was often the grounds for rejected marriage proposals or requests for donor parents. And through it all homosexuality persisted. Though the homosexual was never publicly labeled undesirable stock, they were treated as such; they were a taint in the gene pool. Maybe it was because the policy makers were reluctant to admit an existing bias against the homosexual, maybe it was simply from ignorance, but either was the homosexual was never subject to forced sterilization. In retrospect this was a great oversight by those building their ideal humanity. Gay bars doubled as speakeasy fertility clinics, offering help to those in need of seed. The queer community, aware that they were fertility limbo, took advantage of their position. Basement and backroom clinics started to produce children for those who deserved children but were denied. The hand that rocks the GAYdle – as the movement was called – set up its own standards for reproductive rights. These standards were based more on the ethical standings of their applicants, rather then the rigid statistical guidelines of the mainstream model. Couples that – due to poverty – grew up without privileged education could have a family. The wrongfully imprisoned was no longer destined to loneliness. The disabled, the overweight, the dyslexic, all were welcome to continue their bloodlines, pass down their experiences, and enrich the world. And that, my friends, is the story of the second sexual revolution.