• My mother has three daughters.
• I live with two other women, making three in our household.
• My heterosexual boyfriend has had three sexual partners.

In all these cases, I am the one in three. I am the statistic – I had an abortion. 

One in three – with odds like that, you don’t expect taboo. You don’t expect lies, shame and moral outrage. One in three women. I’ll say it again, until the message gets through. One. In every three. 

Think of the groups of three that you know. Three sisters, three friends, three generations. Now I’m not saying that in each sample you would find the one in three that I am, not at all. But that’s how common we’re talking. One woman, in every three. How many women do you know? Do the maths, think it over. How many women do the statistics say have had an abortion, out of the people you know? And how many would ever, ever talk about it?

Being against abortion pits you against one third of the female population. Is it any surprise, then, that the pro-life movement is seen as inherently misogynistic? I can believe that some naively, but genuinely, think that they are doing good – but not most. Most are actively seeking to remove rights from one in three women, to punish that one in every three for her sexual freedom, for her ambitions, hopes and dreams, and for her choice.

And they get away with it. They get away with it again, and again, and again. They say that God is on their side, they say that all human decency is on their side. What they don’t tell you is that one in three women are not on their side – more, really, but at a bare minimum the one in three who made that choice for whatever reason, some easily and some after great internal or external struggles. They get away with it because we stay silent, because we let them dress us up in shame and guilt. Because talking about your abortion just isn’t done. 

I’m in the UK, things are better here, but that doesn’t mean that Stupak-Pitts doesn’t scare me. I’m scared for the women I know in America, I’m scared that this bullshit will cross the Atlantic and fuck with my rights, and the rights of my friends. But more than that, I’m angry. I’m goddamn furious. That a group of people (mostly men, I notice) get to vote on the rights of women to choose whether or not to go through a dangerous and painful nine months (followed by the even more dangerous and painful experience of childbirth) in order to create a child they do not want and cannot care for. That a group of strangers get the right to choose for us whether or not we get to continue with our lives, or have our whole world turned upside down by a piece of random chance.

I’m pissed, and I’m not staying silent. I was recently 19 when I had an abortion. If I had not I would have ruined my body, my relationship and my career. If I hadn’t had the abortion? I’d have given birth this week. I’d be an (almost certainly) single mother, with no job prospects. I would be homeless, I would have absolutely nothing. Here in UK, the National Health Service paid for my abortion. It cost me nothing at all. Because of that, I have everything I have ever wanted. I will soon move into a flat with my boyfriend, I have a wonderful job and great friends. I also have a fantastic body, not gonna lie. The only thing I don’t have? Guilt. That I do not have and do not want. The pro-life fucktards can keep it, can rot in it for all I care. Perhaps if we stop caring what they think, if women who are not ashamed and will not live in regret begin to feel able to talk about abortion honestly and openly, we can shut them down once and for all.

A Christian, a Jew and a New-Ager walk into a crowded auditorium in Mexico and are confronted with three of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse…

The joke practically tells itself!

I’ve never seen a three-way philoso-rape (not to be confused with philosoraptor) before, but this was most entertaining and, dare I say, enjoyable.  It’s also as long as most feature-length movies, so you might want to click through, load it in high quality and pop some popcorn before you commit to watching the violent assault of three morons by three bloodthirsty debate-machines.