Breast cancer—that’s my cancer— is the hippest cancer going. It’s got races and ribbons and products galore. It’s even got its own color. Insipid baby pink.
You can’t swing a dead cat these days without hitting some insipid baby pink breast cancer version of a product that’s usually made in some less annoying color. Corporations sell pink crap, and everybody goes “awww” and automatically assumes that their charitable intentions are pure.
In fact, nobody knows how much of the pink dough netted by manufacturers and retailers and foundations and corporate sponsors actually goes to cancer research, and how much goes to product advertising and marketing, but I’ll tell you this: when I came to after my surgery I discovered that my mastectomy scar formed the word “TOYOTA.”
This week even Louisville Slugger is getting a piece of the breast cancer action; some major league baseball players used insipid baby pink breast cancer bats on Mother’s Day, and it’s all over the sports pages. Pink bats! What lunacy! That’s because pink, before it was ever the color of a hideous disease that kills thousands of women every year, was the color of little girls and Hustler pussy and fags.
“It takes a big man to swing a pink bat in a major league game,” effused some MLB marketing dweeb, in awe of the superpowers required to combat this unseemly enpussification of the wooden dick extender. God forbid the doofus homophobe carnivores at TGI Friday’s should observe Derek Jeter mincing about on national television with some faggy pink stick.
Some of the baseball players had their mothers’ names burned on the pink bats. “I want to do something to thank her for all that she has done,” said one of them. Oh the tears I brushed from my eye when I read that! If I were a mother, and I’d spent the best years of my life doing laundry and cleaning toilets, and my millionaire son put my name on a pink bat to thank me, I would just croak from happiness.
You know, mothers should be liberated, not sentimentalized. It lasts longer.
And I move we change the color of breast cancer from insipid baby pink to a dull grey, the hue of adult existential disillusionment.