“Hell is Only a Word”

Last night, Event Horizon (1997) popped up on my Netflix queue. Quick summary: A space ship with experimental engines accidentally opens a gateway to hell.

This was my second screening. The first occasion was at least 20 years ago. I remember enjoying it, but back then, youth conferred upon me a naiveté that made it difficult to appreciate some of its darker moments. Here’s the two best quotes:

Where we’re going, we won’t need eyes to see.

Hell is only a word. The reality is much, much worse.

This morning, I came across this story about “Britain’s first transgender mum and dad.” In 1997, this plot would’ve been as fictional to me as any other sci-fi/horror flick. In 2020, the only thing that surprised me is that it hadn’t already happened.

It was my faulty presumption that we’d already run out of firsts. Perhaps, as a subconscious coping mechanism, I’ve assumed that it’s all going to burn anyway. I can assure you that you don’t want to pick the brain of a man like myself. Never give me a drink and get me talking.

What I find viscerally disturbing is that this kid is totally screwed right from the start while being too young to commit any transgression whatsoever. After being sliced out of a “surrogate” she is going to be raised by a father who is actually a woman and a mother who is actually a man.

Here’s a chilling excerpt:

Millie is genetically linked to Jake by eggs he had harvested when he stopped taking testosterone for six months several years ago, knowing he’d want to be a parent some day. He chose an anonymous sperm donor to fertilise the eggs and the resultant embryos were stored for five years.

Jake had by then met Hannah. They married in 2018, and last year an embryo was implanted into the womb of a surrogate they’d found through the National Fertility Society. Nine months later, here Millie is.

Every stripper has no father on her resume. Likewise, the prisons are full of the sons of single mothers. This girl? I shudder to think of what life holds in store for her. Parents offer a great deal of predictive value for what the lives of their offspring will become, usually.

My parents don’t share my opinions at all. They’re affable people who think I’m simply a typical racist, right wing lunatic with military training. My family thinks that my dinner table rants are funny without even realizing that I’m being completely serious.

While they’re laughing, I sometimes stare at them, wondering how they can be so delusional. I’m just a stereotype beyond their comprehension. You’d be shocked I have the same DNA as my siblings. One of them assures me that I’m an imbecile, so I took an IQ test and he refused to read the results. It’s always been my contention that I’m much better attenuated to reality than the rest of them, but they’d argue quite the opposite.

Although it’s been pointed out to me that I’m a man who seems possessed of a fathomless pessimism, I’m generally pretty upbeat and always polite. This might stem from the fact that while my lingering suspicion is we’re totally screwed, it’s not a certainty. I really hope that’s the case for this poor baby.

Tom Shackleford

I’m proud to officially announce my candidacy for the office of Dogcatcher.