Some controversial issues in American life are lightning rods, generating invective and rhetoric for decades. Thankfully, the contentious debate under discussion here was solved to everyone's complete and final satisfaction conclusively in 1973. And again, in 1989, 1992, 2000, 2003, 2007, 2011, 2013, etc. Is there one place Americans can turn to for a calm and rational discussion of the issues surrounding this crucial question? Somewhere that frames the controversy within the familiar context of a shock-ending suspense story that wears its biases on its sleeve? Why, yes there is.

Who are these strange beings? Well, one of them is creator of Captain Electron and Mr. Computer, Jay "Lance Carrigan" Disbrow. Judging by the distinct and different faces, we can safely assume that another artist was also involved, because Jay only draws the one face, and that's all he's doing. One thing is certain - this entire enterprise is a heavy-handed metaphor already stretching the bounds of literary license!

Hurry up, they have a termination quota to reach and a record to set here at Planned Hideous Alien Exterminationhood!

Their evil plan is to exterminate useless, inconvenient parasites that are of no consequence! And then AFTER they're done with Congress, they'll get on to exterminating the REST of the human race!

I hope their evil plan is not time-sensitive, because doing this extermination thing one useless person at a time, that's gonna take a while.

The suffocation chamber, the rotating blades, these alien exerminators aren't choosy. Whatever gets 'em to the alien happy hour faster, that's all they care about.

The shocking spectacle of elderly mom and dad signing the termination papers for their very own son, well let's see, this guy, he's middle aged, probably got laid off, divorced, no job, living in the basement, running up the internet bills, won't help out around the house, can't say as I blame 'em. I don't know that they need to go through all the trouble of alien-administered suffocation chambers, though; just give him a carton of cigarettes, a prescription for Oxycontin, and let him buy all the liquor and handguns he wants, and this problem will solve itself!

Wait a minute, those aliens are just regular humans enjoying a regular human trip to Flavor Country! And remember, their victim is only 39, so technically he's not really alive, and technically this weird comic story is turning into Reverse Logan's Run, or maybe Alien Wild In The Streets. Of course, it is great to finally see abortions now permitted up to the 159th trimester.

Look pal, this whole panel of dedicated professionals, including Arthur C. Clarke and Whoopi Goldberg, has determined that your time is up. Who are you to argue?

Oh sure YOU have a right to live, but what about the blades? Don't they have a right to whir?

AHHH it was all a dream! Aliens *aren't* herding all of humanity one by one into suffocation vats and rotating knives, leading to horrifying and inefficient slaughter.

They won't believe this one when you tell them all about it at... THE CLINIC! You know, the basketball clinic you run weekly down at the youth center, teaching kids how to shoot hoops and talk trash on the court. What? You thought this guy worked at an ABORTION CLINIC and that this guy would be talking up his alien murder death dream while... writing prescriptions for birth control pills and doing pelvic exams? That this was all some kind of ham-fisted attempt to equate a woman's bodily autonomy with the extra-terrestrial wholesale murder of functional adult humans? Well, that would be silly. This guy is DEFINITELY a basketball coach.

And now that we've cleared that up, I want to ask you guys, you sophomore dorm guys hanging around the dorm late at night asking each other deep, philosophical questions that shake the very foundations of your assumptions and sound really mind-blowing after a few bong hits, I want to ask you guys... what if JESUS'S MOM had ABORTED JESUS? HUH?

Kinda makes you think, doesn't it? I know it makes ME think a lot of things, mostly about who exactly they considered dopey enough to give this "thought experiment" any credence at all. Cue Rod Serling to wander over, tell us who exactly was compiling poverty statistics in first-century Palestine, and then light up a Chesterfield and vanish... into... the Proselytizing Zone.

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