Why does Planned Parenthood spend money on elections when you’re worried about losing your funding?
Someone asked us:
I’ve given a lot of money to Planned Parenthood because I know politicians are trying to cut your funding and you’ve been asking for donations to help keep your clinics open. But then I found out you also gave a bunch of money to political candidates, so I guess you don’t need my donations as much as you say you do? I support Planned Parenthood, but I don’t want my money going to any politicians, no matter what side they’re on.
First off, thank you so much for your donations and support. This is a super common question with a pretty simple answer: like many nonprofits, we’re actually made up of multiple organizations — at the national level, there’s Planned Parenthood Federation of America (PPFA) and Planned Parenthood Action Fund (Action Fund), plus dozens of state and local Planned Parenthood organizations. It gets kind of confusing because many people just refer to the whole family as “Planned Parenthood,” but PPFA and Action Fund (and the state and local orgs) do different things and get funding from different places.
Planned Parenthood Federation of America works to support health care providers at Planned Parenthood health centers across the country, educate the public on issues of reproductive and sexual health, and advocate for policy to expand access to health care. PPFA has 56 independent local affiliates that operate more than 600 health centers throughout the U.S, which provide critical health care services and sex education programs. In addition, PPFA partners with more than 100 organizations across Africa and Latin America to advance the health and rights of young people, women, and families.
Both Planned Parenthood Federation of America and Planned Parenthood Action Fund do important, lifesaving work, but it’s understandable to have preferences about which type of work your money supports. The good news is, you can totally make that call by choosing which Planned Parenthood organization you donate to.
Steve Cap, someone got him to do a school visit to a kindergarten in Brooklyn. Traykor
“Are you sure this is smart?” Steve asked, as he followed the event organizer down the hallway. Bright decorations in a variety of languages welcomed him to PS.375 Jackie Robinson School. “I mean, I’m not trained to work with kids or anything.”
He’d worn his least-threatening uniform (no tac straps or supply pouches, no cowl, and no gloves) but he still felt like some kind of terrifying giant, especially since most of the art on the walls was at child’s-eye level.
“Don’t worry, you won’t have to teach a class,” she replied, amused. “You just walk into the classroom, tell them hello and that you’re from Brooklyn too, let them ask you some questions, and hand out the little history booklets.”
Steve had insisted on vetting the “LIFE OF CAPTAIN AMERICA!” booklets before they were printed, but they were harmless little comics about his life growing up in Brooklyn. Sanitized, maybe; they left out the gang wars and the worst of the grinding poverty. But still. Educational.
“We’ve had great feedback from the Local Heroes program,” she continued.
“Yeah, Spidey says he loves doing the Queens schools,” Steve agreed. “Lucky we have so many heroes regional to New York.”
“All right, here we are,” she said. “Ready?”
Steve squared his jaw. “Ready.”
Inside, a group of kindergarteners were sitting in a semicircle on a large, brightly colored mat, being read to by a teacher. Steve faintly remembered his early school years as having a lot less carpeting. He barely heard the introductions being made; by god they were so small.
“Hi,” he managed stiffly, when he saw the teacher looking at him expectantly. “I’m Captain America. I’m, um, from Brooklyn too.”
The children stared up at him silently.
Ah, hell with it, he thought, and let himself down onto the carpet, crossing his legs, boots tucked up under his knees. His shield clanked, and he took it off his back, setting it against his knee. “I grew up around here,” he said. “I was born in Vinegar Hill.”
One of the kids reached out and whacked his shield with one hand. It resonated, and there was a chorus of “oooooh”. Steve grinned, pulling the shield around in front of him, and drummed his fingers on a sweet spot. The shield let out a low whine.
“It’s made of vibranium, a special metal,” he told them. “It sings when you tap it. You wanna try?” he asked a girl in the front row, who made a tiny fist and banged on it.
“My brother plays bucket drums on the subway,” one of them announced, and scooted forward to bang out a clumsy rhythm on the shield.
Steve, before he really understood what was happening, found himself surrounded by small, damp children, banging on the shield and firing questions about it at him. He didn’t even remember he was supposed to give a speech or hand out the booklets until the event organizer touched his shoulder.
“Captain America has a few other classrooms to visit,” she said. The kids looked disappointed. “But he left some books for you!”
“Be good, read up on your history,” Steve said, as he stood and mounted the shield on his back again. The children all nodded.
Outside, in the hallway, he grinned.
“I guess it makes sense they’d like the shield,” he remarked. “Brooklyn kids like to make a lot of noise.”
Y'know the phrase "all the bells and whistles"? Where did it come from?
The year was 1886. Grover Cleveland was president, and that man LOVED to party. Cleveland’s presidency was infamous for its debauchery and orgiastic social events. In one instance he and his friends got drunk and raced horses in the Lincoln hallway of the White House, shattering several priceless gifts from abroad. In another on July 4th, Cleveland packed the White House with over 600 locals, all nude, painted them red white and blue, and rigged the ceiling with fireworks. As the painted orgy took place, a band conducted by John Philip Sousa himself played Stars and Stripes and the fireworks were ignited, blowing the entire roof off the building to the cheers of the partygoers, excluding Cleveland himself, who was busy running naked through the White House lawn with sparklers, chasing a rabbit that had wandered outside the Oval Office window during his nightly drug binge.
Needless to say, this all earned him some enemies. One of them was John Bell of the Constitution party. Bell filed numerous lawsuits against Cleveland to no avail. He ran against him with no results. He challenged Cleveland to a duel, but Cleveland was so drunk he merely vomited on Bell, covering him in no less than 5 partially digested cheeseburgers. Bell left Washington with his entire family the week after.
Another enemy was painter James McNeill Whistler, who was to have painted Cleveland’s presidential portrait. Cleveland showed up under the influence of opium and cocaine, with an unknown woman attached to his posterior, kissing his bare behind ravenously. He would not sit still for the portrait, and when asked to do so, he pulled a gun from a holster tied around his genitals and shot at Whistler, wounding him in the arm and making it impossible for him to paint again. He took his mother and left for London the next day, relocating the entire Whistler family.
Three years later, Cleveland was to leave office. He decided to have the biggest departure bash the world had ever seen. Spending a full 77% of the US National Budget on the party, Cleveland organized the greatest social event America had ever seen. And everyone was invited. Every politician, every American, and even every one of Cleveland’s enemies. According to the invitation, “All those whom hath quarreled with me, yea, even the Bells and Whistlers are welcome.”
The phrase was altered only a little over the centuries, and so to this day, something with every expense and option added is said to have “All the bells and whistles.”