Holy Sheet: Coming from rags to riches

3/7/08

By Jordan Royer
Critic Collunist

I took the fall semester off in 2006 and moved to Spokane, Washington to house-sit for my old brother Joseph while he was overseas.

I went to Washington with intentions of eventually transferring, maybe to Gonzaga or another local college in Spokane. My first task was to get settled in and then find a job to hold me over until the spring semester opened.

I applied to a few different places but didn’t show a whole lot of interest in getting a job. I much preferred sitting at home watching movies, porn included. I had saved a pretty decent chunk of money before moving so I was living on my slowly dwindling bank account.

I made some pretty unwise decisions with my money (bought a whole wine making kit) and soon enough I discovered I either needed a job or needed to quit going to comedy club up the street where they served the best beer I have ever tasted, Alaskan Amber.

Well, since comedy and beer are two of my favorite things, quitting that was out of the question. So the job search kicked in to high gear. This is when I came up with a brilliant idea- I was going to be a sperm donor. Genius, I know. I mean, I was feedin’ the geese anyway, it might as well be in a cup for cash.

I filled out a 20 page questionnaire about myself, everything from eye color to drug use from number of sexual partners to intelligence. The last task was to give them a sample of the goods, and unlike popular belief, I didn’t have to go into a little room with magazines, I got to go home and do it and then bring it back the next day.

I dropped my milk jug off the next morning and then played the waiting game. After about a week I got a call saying my sperm was good, but I wasn’t what they were looking for in a donor. Great, the one thing I am good at and I won’t be getting paid for it after all.

When I told a friend about trying to donate sperm, he formulated this wild plan that eventually made me more than happy that I was denied. Think about this for a second: My sperm goes to a woman and she has a baby girl. Twenty-one years later “my” daughter is in the same bar I am, but we don’t know each other. Me, being a good looking man of 43, picks the young lady up from the bar and brings her home and, shazaam, I just had sex with my daughter. Not cool.

So my initial thought of turning old rags to riches might have seemed like a great idea, but put that idea in your pants and forget it. You might as well just stick to masturbating for free.

Position of the Week- The slinky