This Week on The Editor’s Desk: Sperm

 
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    May 23, 2012 at 6:00 am

    Helo, I am Evan Hoovler. I’m the new Editor-in-Chief here at EgoTV. I am glad to have this position for many reasons, but the main reason is that it gives me a platform to talk about my sperm.

    Recently, I’ve been trying to conceive a baby with my wife. Unfortunately, my attempts haven’t been taking. Some of our friends have said, “good! Now you get all the fun of trying more!” This isn’t true. It’s not fun.

    Trying to conceive when things aren’t coming along naturally isn’t good either. It involves peeing on things, and in things, and just generally handling your own urine. The purpose is to test the urine to see when the prime time for knocking her up, is. That way I can be fully prepared to send in my best runners.

    The problem is, I don’t really have the slightest idea how to prepare. I have vague notions that sobriety is key. But if that’s the case I probably screwed myself decades ago when I decided to have my blood permanently replaced with Tequila (I was in college).

    Other than the “stop pissing pure agave” tip, I really have no idea how I’m supposed to be training my sperm for action. I guess I want fast, strong swimmers that are pretty spermy-shaped, but how I’m supposed to set that up is a mystery. It’s not like my sperm are any help either:

    Sperm 1: Where are we going, why are we here?

    Sperm 2: We have to fertilize the egg. Be careful, it shoots atomic death rays at us. Also, I have no idea what it looks like, nor do I even have eyes.

    I get three days to “prepare my goods” before taking each sperm test. In a blind attempt to train my little men, I have been studying pictures of sperm under a microscope. From my research, I have learned that sperm are all kinds of different colors. I tried Googling “what color sperm is the best” intending to eat lots of similarly-colored food. All I could find out is that a lot of messed-up people have semen (not sperm, mind you) that’s some other messed-up color besides white. They obviously need more practice training their semen.

    I spent three days studying for my sperm analysis test. You know, doing things that mimicked the act of fertilization: Running face-first into an inflated beach ball, boarding subways when a huge crowd of passengers is debarking, playing pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, etc.

    As medical tests go, sperm tests couldn’t be any easier. As awkward interactions go, it couldn’t be any worse. First, my doctor explains to me the process. Already kind of redundant, this was further hampered by the fact that my doctor was too embarrassed to say, “ejaculate,” so instead she would hum. Her instructions came out like “You have to take this cup and… hmmm hmmm hmmm, be sure to not get any on the outside of the cup when you hmmm hmmm hmmm.” Now every time I hear a singer hum, I picture them ejaculating. Thanks, doc.

    The next step in the process is a solo effort by me. There’s no “room with porno mags,” either. I just go home and put a sample in the cup. After that, I go back to the hospital and awkwardly hand my cup-o-spooge to a nurse’s assistant. A few hours later, the results of my test are emailed to me, and that’s when I find myself even more confused.

    Sperm are judged on three main categories: Shape, number, and speed. My shape and number were okay, which makes sense because I am good at mathematics. Turns out I have horrible “motility,” which means a lot of my guys (or, I guess some are girls too, weird) are slow swimmers. That makes no sense, I swim every day and I hardly ever sink to the bottom.

    I also get a bunch of other stats about my sperm that, so far, serve no purpose except to humiliate me. The volume of my ejaculate is slightly less than normal. I was sure this was a mistake: I have been practicing taking this test for decades, no stupid “average man” is going to have more fluid than me. So I signed up to receive another cup from the humming doctor. Turns out, it takes months to make sperm, so I couldn’t retake the test, then, anyways.

    Now, when I jerk off, I feel a lot of pressure. Not just the physical pressure associated with the act: I’m playing mind games with myself. Crazy questions fly through my head in the space where I should be picturing naked flesh:

    “Am I doing it right?”

    “How would a normal guy do it?”

    “Is it gay that I’m jerking off while thinking about how normal guys jerk off?”

    And so on. Now I’m starting to have issues even doing the act. Solo performance anxiety exists, people, it’s no longer an oxymoron! I really never thought I would be questioning my ability to do this. Stuff doesn’t come to me naturally: It took me 3 years to learn to ride a bike. But this… this “hmmm hmmm hmmming,” I thought I had a natural ability. Turns out I should’ve been doing something different. But, just like the problems I encountered with training my sperm, I have no idea how to prepare any better.

    After internet searching repeatedly turned up horribly dirty pictures, I decided to seek information from a professional. One advantage to living in Southern California is that there are a million qualified doctors everywhere. Through a trusted professional, I learned some valuable information:

    Fertility doctors don’t give a crap about my sperm.

    Thanks to modern technology, I just have to make, like, one good sperm. They can take that sticky ball and run with it. This made way more sense, I absolutely knew there had to be nothing wrong with my juice.

    After all, evolution runs in my family.

     

     
     
     
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