Let’s exterminate all the children. And then we can cement women’s reproductive systems. So that those filthy little pigs, indeed even lower than pigs, those “future brigands” of a “despicable race”, “cursed”, “evil” and “impure”, a race of “monsters” and “animals with a human face” “that must be annihilated” (this is the phraseology used in writing to justify the genocide of the population of the Vendée between 1793 and 1794), never come into the world again.
A child, according to Vogue, equals dirt, pollution, scarcity of food for others and that whole series of deadly sins that have now pulverized every other decalogue.
Even parasites are better than children, for whose sake we banned DDT. Even dogs are better, dogs that lead us on a leash, servants who no longer kneel before anything except the excrement of our masters which, once collected from the street, we lovingly guard along the sacred path to the first available trash can. The ragweed that grows luxuriantly from the cracks in the sidewalk is better than children. Nettles are better. Even COVID-19 is better because, though it’s not healthy, it is (Beijing maintains) at least “all natural.”
As I become more and more convinced that only the given promise will save us from the second flood, I wonder if there has ever existed, on any planet, another mass suicide of civilization like the one in which we all cheerfully witness every day.