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In which I parody the abortion debate!

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Chapter One

Morgan lights a cigarette for the last time and says:
—Listen, hombre, I just want to know where the nearest abortion clinic is.
—Porque? asks the little Mexican dude who’s been trying to sell him a shitty little lighter for the past fifteen minutes.
—That’s none of your damned business. Where is it?
—Pero, señor, I no believe in abortion.
—You kiddin me? That’s all you Mexicans are good for, is trinkets, hard labour and cheap abortions.
—You buy lighter and I tell you.
—I don’t need your damned lighter. This is my last cigarette.
—I sell you more.
—I’m tryin to quit smokin, you little greasy bastard. If I buy a lighter, I’ll feel tempted to smoke again.
—Then adios, señor.
The little Mexican dude walks away and disappears into the throng of little Mexican dudes all walking around trying to sell each other things that they don’t need. Women with babies in their arms wail under cheap and colourful parasols for money; chubby pickpockets wearing conspicuously heavy raincoats for this tropical weather run from passerby to passerby attempting to stick their hands into their preys’ pockets, only to grab an odd penis or two and recoil in horror; opaline kites manipulated by smelly little children cut through the sky like barracudas in water so blue you could piss in it and it would not turn green, at least not the way it did when I last peed into a river on a beautiful Sunday morning after making love to the household maid; and so on, and so on.
—God damn it!
He realises he’s been standing in front of an abortion clinic the whole time. Perfect. He puts his cigarette out on his kneecap and winces, suddenly aware of the pointlessness of existence, then reads the sign on the door of the clinic: CHEAP ABORTIONS WHILE U WAIT. The place appears to belong to a chain of abortion clinics called ShouldaGuzzled©. A brief history of ShouldaGuzzled© is printed on a bunch of leaflets flying around, one of which lands smack in Morgan’s face. Seems ShouldaGuzzled© was first introduced to the abortion-oriented public in 1983, to great acclaim. Its affordable rates and customer-friendly staff set a new precedent in the abortion industry. Women of all backgrounds migrated en masse to the nearest ShouldaGuzzled© centre, booking months in advance of their pregnancies to ensure the best possible service. Soon the CEO of ShouldaGuzzled© Enterprises, one Vince “Ghetto” Rodriguez, expanded his franchise and opened three hundred new ShouldaGuzzled© centres in Mexico, France and Outer Bangolia. It is a remarkable story of hard work, overcoming personal obstacles and ruthless big bizniz.
So now Morgan is walking into the clinic, already trembling from the lack of nicotine in his body. A cute receptionist with the kind of tits you just want to slap with a giant salmon greets him:
—Hello, señor! How can I help? Here at ShouldaGuzzled©, we are committed to helping you dispose of your unborn children in as unproblematic a fashion as possible. Whether you’re just too lazy to take care of a kid or you’re a slutty teenager who’s fucked one horny college student too many, we’re here to improve your life without the dangers of coat hangers… Always gotta watch out for that rust!
—Yeah, says Morgan. Look, my girlfriend, she, uh, she’s pregnant with my steed. I mean, seed.
—That’s what we’re here for, señor!
—Yeah, but here’s the thing. Ever since they illegalised abortions in America, she’s been reluctant to have an abortion anywhere else, since, you know, American abortions are usually the best and all that.
—A common misconception, señor. Here at ShouldaGuzzled©, we take great care to provide the kind of experience that you’d have found in any clinic in America before the great ban. We offer a wide range of different abortions, from the French Kiss Abortion, in which a highly skilled prostitute licks the foetus out with her pierced tongue, to the Thai Massage Abortion, where a fat lady stands on your back and squeezes the baby out.
—So what about a, uh, normal abortion? You know, something not involving hookers or fatties.
—Ah, the Abortion “Classique”. Always a good choice.
The attractive receptionist with the type of boobies you’d simply love to paint black and pretend they’re shrunken heads takes a pad of paper and draws a cat.
—This is a euphemised vagina, she says.
—No shit.
—During the procedure, our specialists will insert our trademark friendly suction tube into the womb…
She draws a straw going into the cat’s mouth.
—… and suck out the foetus faster than your girlfriend can say, “Oops, I should have guzzled.”
She draws a smile on the cat’s face.
—Okay, how much? says Morgan, who really didn’t need a visual demonstration, no matter how censored. He doesn’t wait for an answer, but takes out his cellphone and dials Tanya’s number. He’s the type of guy who’ll type in the entire number instead of just putting people on speed-dial. Just that kind of guy. —Hello, babe? Hey, you can come out of the car, I found a place that’ll do cheap abortions of various sorts. Lock the car, though. I don’t trust those Mexicans (no offense, lady). And yeah, padlock the steering wheel. Meet me at ShouldaGuzzled©, near the bar where they served us tequila without the worm. Those bastards. Okay, see you soon.
To the girl with the hot tits, he says:
—Now I need you to use your charm and convince my girlfriend to go through with this. We can’t have this baby, baby.