NY Times). But there are some serious problems with this approach.
Firstly, life insurance. If a zygote is a person, than surely I can insure it? Heck, the minute I know I’m pregnant I’m tossing my pee-stick in a baggie and marching straight down to the local State Farm office. “Hi, there’s a person inside me – at least 32 cells worth – I’d like to take out a one million dollar life insurance plan on her…er…him. Okay, it's a bit early to know the sex, but I’ve tentatively named she-he, Jesus and I’d like to take out a policy. Can you hook a mother up? Oh, make that 64 cells! Let's make that two million. Isn’t mitosis awesome?”
Secondly, criminal law: Blastocystslaughter by Gross Negligence. As I’m leaving my local Insurance company’s office I slip in a puddle of coffee spilled by the office manager and fall down a short set of stairs. I lose the pregnancy. Sure, I collect on the accidental death clause in the life insurance policy, but who's going to pay for this entirely avoidable tragedy? Someone needs to be held to account for leaving a lethal puddle of coffee at the top of those stairs. Little Jesus shouldn’t have died so young! She-he hadn’t even made it to my uterus. She-he still had so much living to do (all of it), so much to see and experience...eventually...I mean, when she-he grew some eyes...and a brain. Someone's got to pay! I demand justice. Yes officer, I would like to press charges. That a-hole killed my zygote.
And then there's the slippery slope: Gametes in the wind. As I’m sitting in the courtroom watching sweet, holy justice being wreaked upon the godless, coffee-spilling office manager that killed my Jesus, I start thinking about the funeral I’m going to have for she-he. What will I say? What sort of service should I have – maybe Baptist? Who should I invite? What will people pay their respects to? Perhaps a tasteful picture of Jesus’ father’s balls? I could have them waxed, maybe rest them on some black velvet for a classy photo? And then it hits me – Jesus' father - that bastard has been pulling out and spraying semen, willy-nilly, all over the bedspread for months! Billions of little gametes – all dead – tossed unceremoniously into a laundry basket – all quietly gone to their final resting place – Tide country. One of those sperm might have created Jesus weeks ago! Maybe even months ago! Long before the coffee was spilled!
As I sit in the Supreme Court listening to arguments about how my former boyfriend did knowingly endanger the life of my first-conceived zygote, Jesus, by willfully engaging in copulation with no intention of procreation, and how he should be charged with Gameticide in the 1st degree along with Negligent Copulation contributing to the eventual circumstances of Blastocystslaughter, I can’t help thinking, “we should really bring back the death penalty for people like this.”