An entirely non-directional, impartial body set up to prevent those crazed blood-thirsty witches ripping poor, innocent defenceless babies from their wombs with their own bare hands while cackling with glee at the delight of their mortal sin as they worship at the throne of Beelzebub the ever-living child-murderer and rupturer of embryos, as they destroy the victims of their depraved lusts, ripping... Oh, er, sorry, got a bit carried away there.
Anyway, we sit around planning how we can kill doctors... er, I mean, how we can offer doctors a wide range of independent life-termination options. While in prison, one of our members wrote this poem:
It happened in the month of March,
When leaves were budding from the larch,
I was forced to terminate my foetus,
Otherwise financial pressures
would eat us.
My boyfriend dragged me screaming and kicking,
Into the clinic, as the doctors were
My darling little embryo into a bin,
What a terrible, terrible sin,
A real baby with eyes and ears and
(Well actually it was my idea, but I was
They should have blocked up my mouth with a bung
For I am a woman, and so am incapable of
Whichever way you look at it, it is really quite
likely that I will end up losing.)
Shortly after that my boyfriend left,
Leaving in my heart a great big cleft,
About the size of a banker's giro,
Or perhaps a medium-sized
(One of those ones with a transparent barrel).
Oh woe, woe, woe, woe, woe, woe,
What can I do - where can I go, go,
To those nice people at B.A.B.Y.-K.I.L.L,
They my fear will clearly smell,
And invite me back to hot white
(Or perhaps even a nice cup of-
For a small extra contribution).
They will show me how naughty I have
Once their genuinely independent videos I have
And then my heart will be wiped clean,
Fresh as is a freshly freshened mountain
Or a valley that is quite green,
And my halo will shine with a sheen,
For the first time since I was
almost but not
And so I hope that you will see,
You musn't be naughty just like me,
But instead live in chastity.