In the world of human events, what passes for information on the 24 hour NEWS cycle can either lift us into a state of euphoric bliss or bring us crashing down to the depths of despair -- depending upon the caliber of one's politics. With that said, the ubiquitous Sandra Fluke, much like the vexatious Justin Bieber, remains "a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." Indeed, in becoming liberalism's grasping archetype of sexual entitlement, the word had made its rounds (if the word can ever be trusted) that Ms. Fluke was of a mind to throw her well-worn IUD -- er... hat into the ring, so to speak.

But within days of this political sounding, it now appears as if a Congressional seat is perhaps not in the cards for this Progressive daughter of the hypocritical paradox: a confused feminist who waxes righteously that while government must not encroach upon or profane the hallowed sanctity of her boudoir, still it remains the contractual obligation of civil society to fund the upkeep and disposal of her copulatory proceedings. I am sure that from her perspective this is a great gig, if you can get it. For in truth, the art of getting "fluked" and getting paid to do so by the confiscated labor of others is, I should say, no mean accomplishment.

Rightly or wrongly, Sandra Fluke has become the Left's Poster Child for the expansive state's project to cement its foothold into the once private sphere of sexuality; and in assuming the heat under this spotlight, she has become a lightning rod attracting scorn for entitlement promiscuity, self-indulgence, and the eternal childhood that accompanies the volitional state of learned helplessness. Moreover, I wonder if she is even cognizant that her symbolic advocacy lowers the bar exponentially for the cause of autonomous feminist independence? Fluke represents an agenda that, in essence, crawls to the regime with tin cup in hand -- begging for alms so that the art of rutting and the fruit of one's careless coupling can be accomplished with hardly a thought as to the consequences that strong mature women plan and even agonize over. In truth, Ms. Fluke and her followers want no less than to hand over their own biological accountability to others so that they and their consorts can trip the light fantastic with the confidence that -- if things ever go south, (and they generally do when you are a nimrod) "they won't be punished with a baby."

And if, after a series of indiscriminate parleys, chemical science or state-subsidized prophylactic measures break down and a human life proceeds despite our dilatory Humanist mastery over nature, well then, Leviathan too will step in and suck the little viscous blob into a grinder. Either way, one need fear no consequences or reprisals -- except the joylessness of one's incrementally seared conscience, which if left unheeded, will eventually be silenced also. From this unique vantage point, one can proceed untouched and unbidden while descending into the moral province of mere animalia. To quote Shakespeare, "what brave new world, that hast such people in it!

Glenn Fairman writes from Highland, Ca. He can be contacted at arete5000@dslextreme.com and at www.stubbornthings.org.