Jar Babies!

I was checking the "Entertainment" section of google news looking for something inane to write about, when I happened upon this oddly-categorized gem.

I'm not sure that storing 400 fetuses in jars in your garage counts as entertainment to most people (I thought I was on the smaller portion of the pie chart of people who find that entertaining), but apparently I was wrong. Now I can continue working on the screenplay for my stop-motion, pickled fetus, musical, romantic-comedy, "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang 2: Just Like the Prequel, Except the Dick van Dyke Role Is Played By a Greased-Up Fetus." I'm planning on changing the title because it's taking up most of my cover page and hard drive space.

My favorite part of the article, though, is where it says that the fetuses date from 1999 to 2002. I want to know how they figured this out. Was it because some of the fetuses were found to have some work orders out to get their office equipment upgraded and made Y2K compatible? I'm hoping that one or two of them had a ticket stub for American Pie 2 or Battlefield Earth. By the way, if one of them does have a Battlefield Earth ticket stub, I'm glad they were never born. All this world needs is another baby scientologist--or just another baby in general. 95% of babies should never be born; it's a scientific fact.

Actually, on second thought, I think I'm going to start over on that screenplay of mine. I'm thinking of a completely marionetted fetus cast in an avant garde thriller about baby scientologists. It would all be done in one continuous take with the stage completely soaked in formaldehyde and natural fetus juices (by the way, that's all I drink with my breakfast every morning: 100% natural fetus juice) by the end. It practically writes itself.

Childbirth would be way cooler if the baby just kicked its way out of the womb. This would work two fold. First, ladies who have had babies would never try to wear bathing suits again, thus making the beach more pleasant for all involved. And, secondly, by actually making me want to watch a child being born. I'm still traumatized by the video I had to watch in sixth grade where it showed a baby being born. It sounded like somebody spilled a bucket of Shasta all over the hospital room floor. The woman's screaming as her vagina is stretched to unimaginable sizes. Now, compare this to the awesome sight of a woman lying on her back and, out of nowhere, a foot busts through like the goddamn baby Kool-Aid man. He climbs his way out and tugs the umbilical cord from the womb, snapping it off like a vacuum cord from across the room.

Interesting thought of the day:
If I wasn't a writer, I would be a hat maker. Hats are fancy.