Sperm Living

I feel very sorry for sperm. They are such little puppies running around in circles for eggs--prancing around like crazed demons on a demon egg-hunt. And some of them die inside the seminal vessicles...without even getting expelled. That's the saddest thing of all. They didn't even get to run around looking for the egg. Just sat there in the old testes and waited.

If I were a sperm I'd take life a lot easier than my fellow sperms. I'd be the one that people pointed to and said, "Look at that lazy sperm, son. He'll be poor his whole life."

I'll be the sperm who's always saying, "Relax, life is too short to run around looking for an egg. In fact, that egg can come to me, I don't need to chase the egg. The egg can chase me for awhile. My merit is not in finding the egg, I am the egg. I am the sperm. I am both halves and you worry too much." I would even add a Koo Koo Ka Choo at the end if I were feeling especially giddy.

Most sperm would scoff on me--even call me a member of the liberal media, but I wouldn't care. I'd be happy. I'd skip Saturday workouts, even. You don't need to be buff when the egg rolls to your door.

I'd stop and smell the roses. Many people don't know that there are roses in the prostate gland. Their scientific name is Rosatia Prostatia which means simply...Prostate Rose.

In fact, once when I was having a prostate exam my doctor pulled out a delicate rose petal and showed it to me...like I should be surprised there was a rose petal on my prostate gland. Why should I be surprised, I put it there.