PURE LARD: LITTLE MIRACLES

D.J. Kirkbride writes this Pure Lard column every fucking month. He just does. A while back, he asked Wayne if he could put it in tastes like chicken. After several bribes of Guinness, Wayne said, \"Why the hell not?\" So, on to the good times.
FROM THE PURE LARD ARCHIVES - CIRCA 1986
Back in the Stone Age, monkey mommies-- just like the advanced catalogue-ordering mommies of today-- wanted a record of their child\'s birth (as if some little goofball rugrat running around pooping and peeing at will wasn\'t record enough). Some Neanderthal, usually the father, would want to do the recording. So while his mate was pushin\' that furry critter out of herself, monkey daddy would be chipping away at some big slab o\' stone, trying to capture the agony mixed with the joy of childbirth. More often than not, the resulting picture looked less like the miracle of birth and more like some baby-fied chicken scratch. The monkey daddy, hoping his woman would placate him with grunts of appreciation for all of his hard work during her trying time, was almost always shot down by her shouting, \"Goop grr grawl!\" (Roughly translated: \"What the hell’s that chicken scratch?!? Watch the baby! I\'m going out with the girls!\")
During the Renaissance, such greats as Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo-- all the Ninja Turtles, really-- would oft be hired to record this truly amazing moment in the lives of rich aristocratic types. Unfortunately, this was rarely the easy money scheme the artists had hoped for, nor was it the living room centerpiece the birthing couple had expected. To wit, Michelangelo took forever. The kid would sometimes reach the marrying age of ten before Mikey\'s perfectionist-ass was done painting. The colors were spectacular, but mommy always looked a little mannish. And that Leonardo da Vinci would always get off to a good start, but quickly lose interest and quit before he was finished, sometimes just leaving a well-drawn spread eagle shot of the mother that, when rejected by the new parents, was often put on sale at Ye Olde Local Adult Stores around Italy.
So quickness was a factor. This was finally realized in the 20th Century when courtroom sketch artists would hire themselves out in-between court dates as birthing sketch artists. It was usually quite successful. All the major players were spotlighted-- the mom, the dad, the baby, and even the rascally doctor! Yeah, courtroom sketch artists were in much demand for awhile. Until the advent of the moving picture, that is.
While not affordable to the average Dick and Jane, the wealthy were able to hire a whole film crew to record their child\'s birth. Small scale, sure, but the delivery room still got quite crowded. Legend has it that Charlie Chaplin used his whole crew from The Great Dictator to record his sixth child\'s birth. There wasn\'t even space in the delivery room for the doctors and nurses, Charlie taking on their roles himself. But this type of birth filming faded quickly as the unionized crew got in the way of the doctors and made the compromisingly-positioned mommies nervous.
Now, with the video revolution upon us, damn near anyone can tape damn near anything-- births included! All a happy couple needs is one person with a fairly lightweight and comparatively affordable camcorder to capture every pained expression and bloodcurdling scream-- picture and sound at once!
We\'ve sure come a long way since Urg the Caveman was chipping away at that piece of rock with a sabertooth tiger tooth, haven\'t we? And who knows what the future of childbirth recording will hold? In the far-flung future of the year 2004, might families watch holographic images of their children\'s births? Will a young boy or girl actually be able to witness his or her slimy head popping out of momma\'s insides like so many pieces of toast from a toaster? The possibilities are, as the old adage goes, um... big. Real big.
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