Baby's Love Cancer!

I'm on a charity committee at my company, and last night we decided how much to give each organization that applied for a grant from us. Everyone makes their case and there is much discussion and arguing. It's all kept very civil and polite. But how can you be polite when you morally object to the very premise of one of the organizations?

That organization shall remain nameless, however, the point of the organization is to educate and assist people who have been diagnosed with cancer and still want to have the option to have children following their cancer treatment.

So, you're taking people who already have cancer and you're harvesting eggs or vialing sperm so that these people can later reproduce . . . and have a kid who will be genetically predisposed to have cancer also! Wow, thanks mom and dad, that's some gift! You're already bringing the kid into the world with one strike against them. Way to go!

How about educating these people on the fact that since they have cancer they are bad for the gene pool and should, oh, I don't know, maybe adopt one of the countless unwanted kids who might otherwise end up thrown into our shitty foster care system--where, after most likely being beaten or molested by a series of fine people, the child eventually will give up hope and turn to a life of crime and/or substance abuse? (You can put it in nicer terms when you tell them, of course.)

Here's why: Because people want their OWN baby. Because people feel some kind of primitive animal belief that their DNA is so amazing that it absolutely must be carried on. Which is clearly bullshit or else you wouldn't have cancer, now would you?

Would you love a child less if it were adopted? If it didn't grow up to look just like you in 20 years? If it didn't squeeze out of your own womb?

Pregnancy only lasts nine months. The whole point of raising a kid isn't just to say you punched one out of your vagina and were done. Birthing a baby is the easy part. The purpose of having a child is to raise a decent human being. And what lesson are you teaching your kid from the very start: That rather than help out a child who is already here and needs a loving home, you were so selfish that you needed to have your own progeny even though that offspring will most likely have to face the same life-threatening, painful disease you had to.

Chemo is so much fun you just have to share it with your kids!

Yeah, that's just good parenting.

Eostre Candy

I finally get what all those snooty Europeans have been talking about calling our chocolate junk. I am now one of those snobs. My palette has grown too used to high-end dark chocolates from all over The Continent. I am now ruined (forever?) from enjoying Eostre candy.

It's all just so goddamn sweet, and, dare I say, lacking nuance. Real chocolate--the kind where you pronounce the second o (chock-o-laat)--has a natural complexity to it, a life. Once you get up over 58% real chocolate you can start to sense something going on. You let it sit on your tongue and reveal itself. Hints of strange fruits or spices that are infused in the bean, dusty notes as you get up around 78% (any more and you cross over into the realm of baking chocolate). Where it was grown actually means something to dark chocolate.

Good chocolate tells you a story. A delicious, delicious story.

For Eostre I had a King Size Reese's Peanut Butter Egg, a chocolate and almonds bunny, and a Cadbury Cream Egg. You want to know what kind of "story" those things told me?

Here's a big wad of sugar in your mouth! Now shut the fuck up!
The End.

Dear European Guy in the Gym Locker Room,

How about covering your dick?

I'm already in a bad enough mood when I walk into the gym after a shitty day at work, knowing I have to spend 30 minutes sweating my own balls off on the elliptical when what I'd really rather be doing is lying on my couch with a bag of Pepperidge Farm cookies and watching Paranormal State. The last thing I need to see as I'm being bombarded by the putrid reek of musclebound sub-verbal XY's is your uncut wang dangle. It's kind of hard to miss, what with it being surrounded by that massive bush you have.

And that's another thing: Could you maybe do some grooming so if I absolutely have to see your cocksmanship, at least it doesn't look like an uncooked bratwurst poking through a giant slice of Black Forest cake? I happen to like bratwurst and Black Forest cake, and your donk is ruining both of them for me.

Cover your dick!

Thank you

PS - Guy in the locker room who lotions his junk: Why do you lotion your junk? Seriously, I'm totally in the dark on this one. The only other guy I ever saw do this was Jamaican, and I assumed it was like the problem black people have with dry elbows. I mean, really, nobody wants an ashy johnson. But you, you're a white guy. If you're longfellow gets ashy, who's going to notice? And anyway, why isn't your dork getting enough moisture? Are your nethers the only nethers that don't get enough moisture? In that case, may I suggest corduroy pants?