Christ Weary of Terri Schiavo's Mouldering Corpse and the "Power" of Prayer:
By the end of her balloon-smilin' life, Terri Schiavo was, more or less, a zombie. In fact, if her gelatinous muscles and bones had been able to create mobility, she probably would have risen to eat the brains of the opportunists, hucksters, and losers gathered outside her hospice to pray for her recovery. Oh, what a glorious scene that would have been, the welcome, open arms of Randall Terry embracing the staggering Schiavo as she ripped his scalp open with her teeth and dined on the yummy goo within. God workin' in such mysterious ways, you know.

But, no, Schiavo died today a year ago. And it's particularly sad to note the ways in which right wingers are memorializing her (or, indeed, that they are memorializing her at all, as if she belonged to them). 'Cause, see, it ain't the living Terri Schiavo that's bein' remembered. It's the bed-bound pile of goo that Schiavo was when her body finally shut down after her feeding tube was removed that's gettin' all the flowers and accolades. And that's a damn shame, because she wouldn't have noticed at all. Apparently, these people never read the autopsy or they simply don't believe in science.

The most odious use of Terri Schiavo's corpse is by those who want to turn her into a martyr for the rights of the disabled. Says Daniel Allott at Human Events Online (motto: "Proudly Licking Our Own Taints"), "What Terri and all persons with disabilities offer is something invaluable in today's world. They can show us how to love, and thus, how to live." Allott blathers on about artificially keeping a dead person alive so the blood-pumping corpse can make the living feel good about themselves: "What do persons with disabilities have to offer? They will change us. They will call us to be people of mutual trust; they will help us to learn how to listen. They will call us out of our individualism, break down our prejudices, and help us sustain our relationships."

Now, see, read Allott's essay and replace "Terri Schiavo" with "rutabaga," and it pretty much means the same thing. Terri Schiavo was not disabled; she wasn't teaching anyone anything; she wasn't asking for a goddamn thing. She simply wasn't, as in the big "was not." And to call Schiavo's soupy brainpan-topped body a full person is to insult disabled people, especially since non-sentient bundle of flesh Terri Schiavo was treated better and with more passion than almost all of the functioning, conscious disabled people around the nation. When the energy devoted to the deadheaded jellybag Schiavo is directed towards the real disabled population, then maybe real, not rhetorical, good can happen.

All the good Christian fundamentalists are makin' sure that the day doesn't pass without some commemoration. Anti-euthanasia activists who wanna make sure that people like Terri Schiavo are kept alive until they rot in their beds are markin' the day, like Senator Sam Brownback, who said, more or less, "The Terri zombie was fundraising gold for our cause. Prop that dead bitch up, motherfuckers." Hell, there's even a movement to get March 31 declared "Terri Schiavo Day," a national holiday where we'll all celebrate by staring blankly around our rooms, shitting ourselves and forcing our loved ones to blow all their savings on our futile existence while we just hope the day gets over with as quickly as possible.

Yeah, they're all gettin' their freak on over with Terri Schiavo's corpse. Meanwhile, in the real world, a just-released study says that prayer does jackshit in helpin' someone who's undergoin' heart surgery, and may, in fact, cause life-threatening stress to those who know that the whole church congregation is wastin' time prayin' for their recovery.

But like the masturbatory glee with which Terri Schiavo's corpse is being trotted about like a trophy, made to dance like a bunraku puppet, as long as it makes us feel good about ourselves, fuck, it doesn't matter what it does for anyone else, it doesn't matter how much energy is devoted to useless methods for useless causes while so much other sadness goes on unabated. Just like God would want.