Would you call me a creep if I told you that I keep my leftover semen in jars in my refrigerator? You would? Well, don’t worry, I don’t actually keep my sperm in the refrigerator. I keep it in the freezer.
I’m a conservationist, which means I always try to recycle my waste products. Most men would be content to throw away their extra sperm, but I understand the value of recycling. That’s why I recently tried to deposit a few gallons of the aforementioned surplus semen at a local Wells Fargo. I was determined to conserve my goods and had heard that some banks are willing to pay cash for sperm donations. Needless to say, I was quite surprised when Wells Fargo refused to accept my currency. I tried my luck at a few other chains, but it was the same story everywhere. No one wanted my sperm.
This was both disappointing and perplexing. I couldn’t understand why these banks wouldn’t take my stuff. Was there something wrong with me? Had they found out about my rickets? I didn’t know for sure, but the rejections were most unfortunate. I needed that extra money. More importantly, I needed those extra offspring.
You see, the primary reason that I started conserving in the first place was to amass several tubs of my genetic material. The plan was to eventually donate this sperm to clinics so that doctors could use my DNA to fertilize thousands of female eggs, thus creating a formidable army of loyal descendants who would follow my every command and aid me in my quest for global domination. This plan failed miserably. Now I’m sitting here with two freezers full of frosty semen. Times are tough, but I’m trying to stay positive.
One of the best things about failing miserably is the intense introspection that tends to follow. What happened? What went wrong? I’ve been constantly re-evaluating my life since the sperm debacle. This re-evaluation has caused me to realize that I had been conserving for all the wrong reasons. Conservationism isn’t about stockpiling your gametes so that you can build a huge army of children and take over the world. It’s about being sensible.
Besides, the world really doesn’t need more children. Our planet has a limited amount of resources. Each newborn baby cuts into those resources. To make this complex concept simple, think of the world’s natural resources as if they were a big chocolate cream pie. As the population increases, the pie remains the same size, but the number of mouths to feed increases. This increase necessarily causes a decrease in the average size of each person’s slice of pie.
So I suppose you could say that my failed attempt to spread my seed resulted in an epiphany: We should all stop having sex. Seriously. We should all have our genitalia removed. The population would plummet and we’d soon find ourselves with an abundance of resources. Everyone would be filthy rich. We’d all pass our days sipping champagne on yachts in the Caribbean. Of course, a mass castration of this sort might eventually lead to our extinction, but at least we’d go down swigging – champagne.
I’ve presented this drastic population control strategy to several noteworthy college professors. They all agree that I’m bat-shit crazy. Nevertheless, I continue to contend that overpopulation is a serious issue. If our population maintains its insane growth rate, then we will quickly deplete the planet and cause a catastrophic famine.
Then again, maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe a famine is exactly what we need. Sure, we should probably take steps to guarantee that we don’t completely exhaust Earth’s natural resources, but that would require boring things like hard work and sacrifice. I’m more interested in fun things like economics.
I’ve been doing my homework. If a famine were to hit, then there would finally be a market for my man-made ice cream. I’d actually be able to move some product. Maybe I could even interest you in a carton? I can’t vouch for its flavor, but I hear the stuff is awfully high in protein.
Daily Nexus columnist Nick Pasto will be outside the UCen today, dispersing packets of his potential children.