Nancy Aborts

There was a knock at the door. Nancy, six months pregnant, looked through the peep-hole, saw two policemen and opened the door. “Good morning, officers. What can I do for you?”

“We were informed that you plan to have an abortion. We have come to stop you.”

“Why?”

“Your fetus has the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. To kill it would be murder.”

“My dictionary says that murder is the willful killing of a human being with malice aforethought. Since my fetus is not a human being, I will not be killing anyone. Is my fetus somebody you know?”

“No, we don’t know him.”

“How do you know it’s a ‘him’?”

“True. We don’t what sex it is.”

“What do you mean by ‘it’?”

“Well, the fetus.”

“What do you mean by ‘the fetus’? It’s not just ‘the fetus’; it’s my fetus. It’s not yours, is it?”

“Oh, no! Say, what are you doing with that hammer?”

“See where your hand is, on my doorhandle? I’m going to hit it with my hammer.”

“Whoa! Wait a minute; that’s MY hand!”

“Okay. I guess I’ll just hit my own hand. Aren’t you going to try to stop me?”

“Lady, if you want to hit your own hand with a hammer, be my guest.”

“But my hand is part of me. If I have rights, surely my hand has rights, too? Aren’t you going to protect my hand?”

“Look, your hand is a part of you; without you, there would be no hand. It does not have a separate, independent existence apart from you. It does not have its own rights. And if you want to hit it with a hammer, it’s up to you. But you can’t hit my hand, my hand is mine. Mine—–do you understand the word?”

“Oh yes. My body; my hand; my fetus; my life; mine. Excuse me now, officers. I’m going to get into my car and drive to my doctor’s office for my abortion of my fetus. Please do not violate ‘mine’.” Remember, I still have this hammer.”

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