Thursday, 2 December 2010

Soap Births can Lead to Infertility

Soaps and the bible are, in many ways, similar. They both have drawn out stories concluding in some vague message of morality dressed up with lots of car crashes - less so in the Old Testament - weddings, births, deaths, adultery, and burning bushes - hollyoaks STD storyline.

The danger comes when people start to take these things literally and they begin to impact on everyday lives. Point and case; my mum is soap religious. Most of her little nuggets of information or points of reference are either influenced by, or lifted directly from, the world of soap – see previous blog entry. This has inevitably meant that soap storylines have affected my existence to the extent I forget which memories are my own, and which are soap fabrications. A tad dramatic perhaps, melodramatic even, but more than occasionally soap stories have an affect on my own day to day existence.

The outcome of every soap storyline seems to be the same; Car crash - can't have kids, Shot - can't have kids, Fire - can't have kids, Animal Attack - can't have kids, Blood Transfusion - can't have kids, Abortion - can't have that kid or any future kids, Kidnapped - can't have kids, Stabbed - can't have kids, Heart Attack - can't have kids, Adopted - you find out you're someone else's kid because your adoptive parents were involved in one of the aforementioned.

Pro-creation is important to me, so I have recently been weighing up the pros and cons of having my man matter frozen. I have suffered years of psychological abuse at the hands of my mother, and I would hate to miss out on the opportunity to mentally damage my own children because of some freak accident like falling off a horse - this was how Libby's husband Drew died in Neighbours. I'm not certain but I'm fairly sure he lost the ability to have kids in the split second before he died.

I'm surprised I've made it to this stage in life with my fertility still in tact. Granted I haven't had an abortion, been stabbed, had a blood transfusion or a heart attack, but I have been involved in quite a few accidents/mishaps regarding my mangleberries. I'm not going to lower the tone of this already low-brow blog by going into these in any detail - most involve balls colliding with balls - but the bottom line is, when a man has his reproductive organs compromised IT HURTS!

If, for examples sake, you were watching a game of football and you happened to be struck in the testicles by a projectile object travelling at 70mph - in front of 2000 people - that would be a very painful experience. However despite your crippling, sickening pain, you would also have to accept that what has happened to you is – to those who witnessed it – inherently funny.

If there happened to be a crew of St John’s ambulance people who witnessed your unfortunate accident, they would almost certainly assist you and ask if you needed any medical treatment - oxygen perhaps? Would they bollocks. They’d be pointing and laughing like every other cold-hearted prick and you’d be left hunched over like Quasimodo walking into a cold head wind. You might be left to hobble home at half time, unable to cope with every painful vibration served up by the bus journey.

When you arrived home your old granny might suggest you remedate the injured area by applying some common household butter. Because apparently back in the day our fighting GI Jocks would take machine gun fire to the bollocks and shrug it off after applying some butter - that would explain why it was rationed during the war.

I am apprehensive about the effect having my reproductive material frozen will have when it comes to conceiving a child. As a teacher I can only assume that the majority of children in recent times have been conceived through the means of artificial insemination. Most pupils can’t seem to comprehend simple instructions, are uncoordinated and incapable of following simple movement patterns. Why? I don’t know exactly, but I’m guessing it’s because their brains are still defrosting.

Kids are like i-pods, they come in different shapes, sizes, colours, and-most-importantly, memory capacities – also they don’t work as well once they’ve been dropped.

This seems an appropriate time to introduce my idea for a Scottish version of the i-pod; the ‘Aye-Pod’.


Teaching children requires unfathomable amounts of patience. I run a martial arts class and sometimes you need the patience of Abu Hamza opening a jam jar to teach them anything.

It’s ironic that the only bank to survive unscathed and actually improve its income during the collapse of the banks is.....the sperm bank. Unemployment has forced many gentlemen to donate for fiduciary gain. And lets face it you may as well be getting paid for what you’re doing during the day anyway, it’s a bit like being self-employed.

But maybe having my man stuff frozen isn’t the best course of action. Scientists, in spite of their research and development, seem to have resorted to simply freezing stuff; eggs, sperm, organs, limbs and all other manor of horrible shit in the freezers at Iceland. Just because Libby, Dan, Susan, Marco, Jane, Becky, Steve, Monica and Chandler can’t have kids, doesn’t mean that it's going to happen to me.

And besides, I don’t think there’s enough room in our freezer anyway.

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