06E028

A Y chromosome is an awful thing to waste

I don’t want to be an alarmist, but I’m feeling a little slighted these days, and I believe that men all over the world should be too. The latest news from that wonderland of amusing new ideas, biogenetics, has announced that parthenogenesis (virgin births, for those who need subtitles) is now a reality.

I think the time has come to face the frightening prospect that the male component of our beloved Homo Sapiens (more sap than sapient these days) has reached a threshold (and it’s not the bedroom) where our services are no longer needed.

As a result, I’m asking males everywhere to forget their female side for the moment (yes, that means giving up charity quilts), and get immediately back in touch with your male side, because it’s about to go the way of the tail. How many of you remember the tail? We used to wag it a million years ago (when we had something to be happy about), and now it’s just a vestigial crop. Well, as far as human reproduction is concerned, we’re about to become a vestigial crop! I know you just got a card from your wife saying, “You’re the best thing” that ever happened to her. As true as that might be, it probably just means she’s about to make a substantial purchase.

The scientist responsible for this mess (I don’t want to embarrass him by giving his name) claims that some mammalian genes located in pre-mature egg cells aren’t yet sure whether they are male or female (it happens in the best families); and before these genes decide whether they prefer dollies to dump trucks, scientists can snatch them up and make the decision for them, coaching them to be more father-like than mother-like, and signing them up for hockey. Then, it’s just a matter of setting up these bogus father-like eggs with natural mother eggs on a blind date, and letting the music do the rest.

We pretended to cry at the same movies. We stayed right by their side when they ran away from that bat in the back garden. And what do they do, they go out and replace us with a petrie jar and two eggs over easy. How do we tell our sons about making babies: “Son, I need to tell you a few things about being a witness at the conception of your child?”

I don’t know about you, but I blame myself. We should’ve suspected when they started using that “Honey, I have a headache.” excuse that worse things were on the horizon.

Well, my brave brothers, the horizon has just crashed through the roof into our bedrooms, and I think it’s time you tip-toed over to thy lady’s chamber, reciting her favorite poetry, and, well, just begged her not to debase this wonderful thing called love by taking us for granted, relegating us to nothing more than sex objects, and scoffing at our renewed need for intimacy.

Because gentlemen, if we fail, we may need to start burning our cups in protest.