Everyone has their Saturday-morning routines -- sleep in, spend time with your loved ones, recover from a hangover, furiously jack off, whatever. I'm not really big on mornings, so I generally skip that whole thing and wake up teenager-in-a-sitcom late.

However, almost every Saturday morning for the last two years, I've hauled my ass out of bed really fucking early so I could be at a local Planned Parenthood at 8:30 a.m. Though a few of the comments on my first Cracked article surmised otherwise, it's not because I'm the mayor of Cock Forest and thus must check in on Foursquare at the closest Planned Parenthood lest I lose my seat as Plan B Incumbent.



And who the fuck still uses Foursquare?

No, I am there because, like so many other abortion clinics in our great country, it is occasionally surrounded by idiots frothing at the mouth about Jesus and baby-killing, many of whom are there specifically to harass women or stop them from doing a thing they have every right to do.

I get that abortion is a "hot topic" issue, but this isn't about how I feel, and I certainly don't give a fuck about how you feel. That's not the point of this article. Instead, this is about all of the sad, terrifying and occasionally hilarious things I've learned escorting (yes, that's the term we use) women past abortion protesters for the last two years.