Today’s topic is: Frozen semen

Lucky #9 in the series:

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Attn: Carolyn Hax

In the last email I alluded to frozen semen. I’ve been thinking about that topic more than you probably care to know, but I could really use your help on this one.

[Mom, this is a good place for you to stop reading. Everyone else can continue reading after the fold.]

I was mostly joking when I said that Steve Jobs’s worst decision was not selling vials of his frozen semen, but the more I thought about it, the more I got to wondering why so many guys are masturbating carelessly into Kleenex instead of trying to get some $$ for their troubles.

No, really, let’s think about this.

We can probably agree that the best part about reproducing is being a grandpa. The role of a grandpa primarily consists of “pull-my-finger” and “got-your-nose” tricks interspersed between naps, and it involves none of the stresses or pressures that accompany actually trying to ensure that this person develops into an unpsychopathic human. And you see the kid just infrequently enough that you’re still able to view their behavior as adorable instead of obnoxious. Being a grandpa, one could say, is the prize for surviving to old age.

What does this have to do with frozen semen? Everything, because donating sperm is kind of like skipping straight to the grandpa phase. Scientists say that one in three donor-conceived peeps eventually seek out their biological father, so if enough ladies choose to inseminate themselves with your frozen semen, statistically-speaking, you’ve got a good chance of eventually getting the grandpa prize without having to do the annoying work that ordinarily leads up to it.

I fantasize about the possibility of biologically fathering so many children that they eventually hold a family reunion of sorts. “The Twelfth Annual Reunion of People Who Were (Sort Of) Fathered By Justin Wehr.” I imagine rolling up in a wheelchair with a smile on my face and several grandchildren on my lap.

Evolutionary purpose: fulfilled.

The craziest part is that you don’t even have to pay for the privilege. They are paying YOU! Something like $39.95 and a complimentary porno mag. This is sounding too good to be true.

To be fair, there are drawbacks. It can be creepy to have the knowledge that your progeny might be standing next to you in the canned fruits aisle. And beyond the creep-out factor, the process can feel not unlike abandoning your children. At least it might feel that way to some people with a conscience. Luckily, I haven’t been burdened with one of those, so to me, this is still looking like a pretty sweet deal.

For me in particular, it seems like it would make so much sense to graciously donate my spare semen. I’ve come to peace with the fact that few self-respecting women who know me would want to give birth to my babies because that would be almost like an unretractable invitation to hang out with them, but to the unsuspecting woman who never has to meet me or touch me, I think I have a lot to offer. Namely, my genetic code embedded in frozen semen.

One of my best qualities might be my genome. I come from a family with an impressive, upper-middle class pedigree, including pharmacists, veterinarians, home builders, business consultants, golf professionals, valedictorians, clergy, professors, deans of colleges, great-grandparents who survived for over a century, people who brew alcoholic beverages in their basement, no criminal history, no divorces, and no creepy uncles. That’s what I call good genes. Rather than being embarrassed by my family, I am embarrassed for my family that they have to add to the list of people they created a guy who blogs about frozen semen.

That’s not to say that I’m a total black sheep. I got the tall, dark, and handsome gene along with the gene of just generally being awesome.

I sized up the competition and I don’t mean to sound arrogant but I think I compare favorably to most of these cats. Take Donor AFL9599, for example. This is a guy who lists his skills, hobbies, and interests as “Football, Basketball, and Automobiles, Nintendo, Politics.” This list is screaming with red flags. First of all, you are asked to name your skills, hobbies, AND interests, and you are only able to come up with five? One of them being Nintendo? Another one being “Automobiles”? Why not “cars,” dude? And I regret to inform you that, grammatically-speaking, the ‘and’ is supposed to precede the last item in the list. Poor attention to detail is not the way to sell your sperm.

But I’ve got to be realistic. Despite the seemingly dubious quality of the competition, it won’t be easy to even be admitted into the game. After some investigative research I learned that trying to donate your sperm is not unlike trying to get your swimmers accepted to Harvard. Less than 5% of applicants are accepted. This is ridiculousness.

Even Steve Jobs’s sperm would have probably been rejected because of his age and health history, but that’s a clear indication that something is wrong with our current system. Imagine how much one of his turtlenecks might go for on eBay right now. Now imagine how much an offshoot of Steve Jobs’s actual body might go for. And we’re not talking just any fleshy offshoot here; we’re talking a magical off-white sticky substance capable of producing little Steve Jobses. Heck, I’d probably place a bid, despite my lack of a serviceable uterus.

Women might care somewhat about the tall, dark, and handsome gene or the intelligence gene or the not-a-total-dipshit gene, but they really want to see outcomes. They want power. They want celebrity.

I’ve said before – and I’m standing by it – that a good rule of thumb for whether someone is a celebrity is whether their poop has a positive market value. If your poop has a positive market value then your frozen semen is probably going to fetch a pretty penny on eBay, at least as much as limited edition beanie babies.

Sadly, I’m not there yet. Last I checked, my poop is still going for negative $180.

But I’m not hopeless. There’s still time. I’m not so old that I have to worry about shaking my fists at kids on my lawn yet. And, who knows, maybe your response to this email will be what launches me to positive-poop-value stardom.

That was a hint, Carolyn.

Once you’ve done that, then I can get down to the business of fulfilling my evolutionary purpose and preparing my lap for grandchildren.

Thanks, in advance, for your help.

-- JW