Some bullshit inspired by Delicious Tacos
“It hurts, they teethe,” some have said. That’s the whole point of breasts, boobs, knockers, milkers. They are to be milked. But women don’t want to be milked. In China, families spend more on imported milk formula than they do on rent. Don’t milk your milkers! Ask the cow and her suction cup gizmo of gadzetkan gadgetry how she feels to keep your storefronts stocked in hearty gallons that sell for more than gasoline. Oh, but almond milk? Almonds be sucking more water than babies on a fat titty.
This brings one to the joy of swimming swimmers. By some twist of fate or anatomy, some men are shooting blanks. Man’s true purpose, the biological imperative behind his “morning wood,” is gone. His only option for fatherhood is for his wife to incubate an egg fertilized by an anonymous “john” who’s living out a fetish of cuckoldry and world domination. Like a cowbird laying eggs in the nest of a mockingbird. We mock others who raise our young. For someday, said stud may tap into a biohack device of 2042 to activate his progeny and beckon to his calling. An army of minions to serve distant daddy on a tropical isle with a spit of sand for a beach not yet covered by sea-level rise. There he harbors a plan for cross-cultural takeover.
But for now, dad-to-be strolls in, recently shaved, sweater vest over a collared shirt, to avoid the awkward tuck-in. Fucking shirts are made for fatties these days. Gotta leave “altdaddy” at the door, and normie it up for a paycheck. Dad-to-be approaches the counter, flashes his ID to confirm the appointment and takes paperwork from a pink-scrubs clad woman who smiles and points to the aisle where he can sit and fill out the forms.
Dad-to-be assesses the paperwork, which was nothing longer than seeing a limp wristed cuck medical professional. With some pen wizardry, he makes his way through the stack. He’s glad there isn’t another Dad-to-be in the waiting area, where they’d be forced to make an awkward joke about getting paid to whack.
Nope, it’s all good, sexual partners in last year, can’t remember, let’s say 3, that’s fair. When you were with them? Assign 4-month intervals. Great, okay, next one. Alcohol and drugs, hmm what would Chadbusinessbro assign? 10 drinks/week? Not too much to raise flags, but enough to be social, liked, accepted. Drugs, in the past five years, mind you marijuana is legal.
None, nope, none, not ever. This is a sales pitch after all. Cucked husband and mommy are buying your sperm and they ALL WANT CHAD.
Family history, easy enough no rare genetic disease. Traveling countries in a lifetime, not a good time to mention sexcapades. Um a few countries mentioned. Several omitted.
Done, finally, done, go back to the front desk, ring the bell, for another encounter, this time a lab tech, light-skinned Asian, 5.5/10. She takes paperwork and instructs him to sit. He’s glad no other Dad-to-be have entered the waiting area. There are snacks. Cheetos and Nutri Grain bars and whatnot? Do they want Chadstock to get fat? Is this a ploy? Dad-to-be considers taking some for his backpack. They are free after all. He decides that he is cutting weight and doesn’t want the calos. Another fem this time latinx 4 /10 comes to take paperwork, do they not want the milked men to get hard? Must be another part of the liberal plot. She leads Dad-to-be to an actual office, reviews questions and explains the policies.
She smiles and asks clarifying questions. Confirm yes, 10 drinks a week, no history of drugs. This is going well. She reaches into her desk and retrieves an envelope $50 AMEX card. Yas Queen.
Then it’s time for the specimen collection room. It’s not like the movies. There’s no assistant with a latex-gloved hand for some additional “help.” That being said, the room is like a mini-hotel. There’s a sink, TV, ample hand sanitizer, and soap. Instructions are written on “sample collection” policy, daddy-to-be tries not to laugh. There is a seat cover one is to use. What kind of Chadstock, can’t rub one out standing up? They need to work on their marketing and facilities management. TV has an assortment of porn in a TV guide sort of way, takes some time poking around, but there’s the whole spectrum. Dad-to-be continues searching and contemplates if they log porn selections. He settles with something french vanilla but really could only be turned on by furry hentai orgies. Sample collected. That part was easy. Dad-to-be-or-not-to-be drops the jar off at the desk.
There’s no awkward “There’s Something About Mary” scene in which cum is dangling from his ear. The 4/10 just tells dad-to-be to have a good day. He walks out of the lab with a grin. There’s a guilty perversion as he walks among the wage slaves trying not to focus on the moist spot in his boxers and but rather what rental daddy will do with $50 of NEETbux.
They don’t call him back.