Saturday, June 30, 2007

Sudden, unexpected, and altogether strange.

“Hey, you wanna come down here and beat off into a cup?”

An odd question, to be sure, especially piped in over the telephone line at 2PM on a Tuesday afternoon. It was my friend, M, who worked for a fertility clinic. At first glance it would seem like a perfectly reasonable question given the source…nope, still weird.

“Come again?” I asked.

“That’s what she said. [snicker] Oh man, that never gets old. Seriously, are you busy?”

“You really want me to just jump in the car, head up to where you work, and beat off into a cup? Do I at least get some porn?”

“I don’t think we have any. You can’t do it without porn?”

“What am I, 14?”

I might be able to round some up for you, but it’s a long shot. Remember where you are….?

“Boise. Fucking mormons.”

“Right-o. So can you?”

“Why? You haven’t even told me why.”

“We’re training one of the nurses here and we’re out of practice samples. C’mon, you’ll get tested for free. It’s actually a pretty expensive test, it might come in handy.”

“I have always wanted to contribute to medicine….”

I hung up the phone without stating outright that, upon brief reflection, I would have done it if for no other reason than it’s not often that one has the opportunity to abuse oneself with official sanction. It was almost as if the benevolent faces of the AMA board up on their cloud were looking at me, nodding, all placid and benevolent-like.

And with that, I took off towards the clinic ready to dash several million little soldiers against a cruel plastic wall in the name of progress. Not that the issues surrounding the biblical and serious “spilling of seed” was a big one for me, it just happened to cross my mind while driving. After all, to say I hadn’t launched similar initiatives for progress in strategic locations all over my apartment would be a dirty lie.

Twenty minutes later I was back home on the couch. Indeed, I have never been one to lollygag in the pursuit of official business. I was especially proud that the job had been completed successfully in spite of the complete absence of porn and/or what polite society might call “manual assistance.” Surely this was a testament to the veracity and effectiveness of previous military training. We’ve done so much with so little for so long we can now do everything with nothing….

The phone woke me from dreams where I was populating wide swaths of earth. It was M with the test results. It was only now that the question crossed my mind. Blanks? Empty Goop? Lazy soldiers? Oh boy….

“Well, my friend, looks as though you’ve got another bullet point for your resume. You’re in the top 5% in terms of, well, everything. Count, motility…If I sound a little amazed, it’s because I kind of am. We don’t see this type of thing too often.”


“Okay then, I gotta go. Be careful out there…seriously.”

Most would just laugh but I knew this was a serious admonition. We were, after all, in Boise. Which is in Idaho. Which means that if you have a boner and sneeze at the same time while too close to an indigenous female you’re going to end up with a shotgun wedding and a career path of cosmetology and/or construction. There’s a reason some of these guys end up with 17 wives….

Bullet points, indeed.


Armed with this knowledge, I and my lady have endeavored, lo these many years, to observe a stringent Reproductive Security Plan. Many fences and barriers, both physical and chemical, have been erected and maintained—I’m sure there’s some kind of mocking diatribe having to do with right-wing nuttery and The Global War Against Islamofundist Terror in there somewhere, but now is not the time, other than to say that the news I received yesterday serves only to further reinforce the fact that there is no such thing as Total Security.

Which has little to do with anything, really, but stay with me and I’m sure I can reign in this train wreck and bring us all safely to the point. Which is, that, well….my friend M seems to have not known or simply forgot to tell me what the real results were from that long ago test.

My sperm is evidently weaponized.

“Area effect” was not taken into account.

Pregnancy has manifested. Little Head has slogged the Fallopian Trail and will be taking a well-deserved rest (8 mos, or so).

Chaos and all things strange are expected from here on out.

Here is a very rough draft of what the kid's first t-shirt may look like: