The reason why there are so many syringe-wielding fiends with handbag fetishes in Aberdeen is because people want money and they want it badly. Our local friendly scag-heads need to put smack in their arms like Russell Crowe needs a smack in the mouth. And if they don’t go out there and start nicking Burberry bags, it ain’t gonna happen. I also need cash, though my intentions are much more honourable. I need to buy flowers to put on war graves, carrots for old ladies who can’t go to the shops and meatpaste for teenage girls who are too embarrassed to buy their own now I’ve convinced them that everyone knows what women like to do with the sticky stuff. Like Sleazy Bob’s sex-life, the longer I go without, the more desperate I get. Plans for a humble cleaning job at an all-girl school quickly evolve into elaborate bank raids in which I am clad only in stockings and a g-string. That’s what poverty does to a man. It also reduces him to recycling the same glued-together porno for weeks until the gorgeous transsexuals contained within have turned into dirty old men with bad make-up and even getting a semi becomes a gargantuan struggle with a very small tool. My latest job-creation scheme occurred to me while watching a movie on Sunday nite. Only this idea was more about blob-creation. The film was Road Trip and yes, you’ve probably guessed the idea already; sperm donation. Getting paid to do you what you love best and what you were going to do anyway. Like a threesome with my girlfriend, it sounds impossible, yet I knew I had to give it a shot. Several shots, even, if that’s what they wanted from me. Honourable masturbation? Even your dad doesn’t do that. They probably give out medals after the queen’s speech for performing ‘Life-creating services in a time of need’. Well it was certainly a time of need for me, both financially and sexually. I’d never ejaculated with the intention of making babies before, but for the sake of my country I was prepared to squeeze out every last drop into that cup. But where do you find out about such work? You can’t just go into the local doctor’s surgery and ask the 22-year-old receptionist about shooting your wad while keeping a straight face. In the end, I turned to a friend that had seen me through some of the hardest times in my life - the Internet. I went to AltaVista, typed in the magic words and 10 seconds later, there was sperm everywhere. Even I’m not as fast as that. The first link I tried led to the Department Of Obstretics and Gynaecology at Aberdeen University. It basically means they look at vaginas, just like a paedophile with mirrors on his shoes, only these people don’t have to worry about getting arrested. In the next ten minutes, I learned more about love-gravy than I had in 21 years of jerking off. If I was to get my sweaty hands on that elusive porn, I would have to meet the following criteria:
‘Sperm donors should be healthy men and of normal intelligence and fertility with no history of mental disorders or genetic or inherited diseases. The donors should be between 18 and 55 years old.’
Well I could answer yes to at least two of those - I’m the right age and I’m extremely fertile. (I’m the only guy known to have gotten a family member pregnant while deep-throating them.)
‘Preferably, they should have had healthy children of their own.’
Again, no problem - I’ve had loads of kids. It’s just that I’ve never actually met them any of them. I know they’re out there though, judging by the amount of Child Support letters I get every month. In case I had any doubts about how my precious tadpoles would be extracted, the following paragraph set the record straight:
‘The donor produces a semen sample by masturbation. After liquefaction, the semen is mixed with special culture medium to prevent the semen from being damaged during freezing. The mixture is then loaded into plastic straws. These are uniquely coded and sealed. Thereafter the straws are frozen in liquid nitrogen at -196 C and remains in storage until required.’
Well that all made sense, except for the straw bit - what were they gonna do, felch it out of the cup? Like female masturbation, some jobs are best left to machines. In exchange for my precious cargo, I would be offered counselling if required. I’ve never felt guilty about flushing the sticky stuff down the toilet before; I think I’ll be able to perform one more time without suffering too much emotional trauma. It amuses me to think of men in white coats looking at my salty mouthwash through a microscope. Even my girlfriend doesn’t get that close to it. It was at this point that I discovered a fault in my mastur-plan - I wouldn’t be getting paid for canning the cum.
‘The sperm donors in the United Kingdom are altruistic volunteers. This means no financial gains to the donors in donating their sperm, they are only paid reasonable expenses.’
In America you get paid, but not in sexually-retarded Britain. Having gotten this far however, I decided to keep going until the sticky finish - it still involved jerking off, didn’t it? Free porn was just too good an opportunity to turn down. I downloaded the sperm application form and splodged all over it with my pen. ‘I am interested in becoming a semen donor and I would like an appointment to discuss this further’ it said. At the bottom of the form, it continued ‘Please note any specific requests here - we will try to accommodate you’. I couldn’t resist it, so I asked for Asian porn and then posted it off. I’d probably just ruined my chances of getting an interview, but my mother always said that honesty was the best policy, and I thought I would test her theory out. Whatever the out-cum, one thing I certainly won’t be holding is my breath.