December 10, 2012

Brothers, gents, countrymen, and assorted randy lads and bucks galloping like centaurs through fields of feminine flowers and wantonly squirting their seed the world over, I regret to inform you that the worm has turned on the world’s sperm. Our gonads face a crisis of historic proportions. A Spermocaust is unfolding a mere three feet beneath our very eyes.

“€œFrench men not producing as much sperm,”€ trumpets the headline to a Reuters article written by”€”haw!“€”Andrew M. Seaman and citing a study released last Wednesday by the journal Human Reproduction. The study, thought to be the most comprehensive of its kind ever, scrutinized the jizz-production of 26,609 Frenchmen from 1989 to 2005 and found that the number of insouciant, beret-wearing tadpoles in their semen decreased by nearly a third during that time period. The study also found a “€œsignificant”€ decrease in the quality of the sperm, which I presume was achieved through rigorous taste-testing.

One might rightfully ask, “€œYes, but who counts the sperm-counters?”€ and for that I truly have no answer, nor do I deign to fabricate one merely to please you. And yes, it is always a mistake to project the experiences of Frenchmen onto the world’s non-Gallic male population, but other data suggest a similar trend. An Israeli sperm bank recently bemoaned a similar drop of viable sperm among its donors. A 2001 report in the British Medical Journal concluded that men born after 1970 coughed up 25% fewer sperm per wad than men born prior to 1959. A groundbreaking (ball-breaking?) 1992 meta-study by a Danish endocrinologist revealed that from 1938 to 1990, global sperm counts had plummeted a scrotum-shrinking 42%.

“€œGentlemen, the time is nigh to reclaim your balls. Don”€™t just grow a pair”€”grow a quartet.”€

The disturbing dip in sperm counts is apparently coinciding with a trend of declining levels of the Evil Male Hormone testosterone.

In response to the new French sperm study, the website, which like so much of the new soft-dicked Goddess-compliant press seems on a menstrual mission of minstrelsy to publicly geld any man who exhibits any manliness, asked, “€œWhy are men so bad at making sperm cells?“€

If they”€™re truly seeking an answer rather than an excuse to randomly swing hammers at testes, part of the problem appears to be environmental. The much-maligned bisphenol-A (BPA) has been linked to decreased sperm production, as have agricultural pesticides and the rampant use of antidepressant drugs among the world’s depressed and pretend-depressed males. Electromagnetic radiation from wireless technology also reputedly turns sperm into toast. So does smoking and overindulging in alcohol or caffeine. So does obesity”€”yes, I”€™m talking to you, all you muffin-topped quasi-males polluting the horizon with your incessantly flopping man-boobs.

Speaking of diet, soy protein reportedly turns he-men into she-males. If you”€™re seeking to enhance your sperm count and testosterone levels, it’s suggested you eat a lot of animal protein, take Vitamin A and D supplements, swallow oysters, nibble on dark chocolate, and chew the occasional walnut. You should also get some sleep, lift weights, and try not to be such a sissy.

Although correlation does not imply causation in scientific or logical terms, it should at least permit the fanciful scribe to employ it as a metaphor. This ongoing evaporation of sperm and testosterone coincides with an accelerating cultural devaluation of All Things Male.

I rarely watch television but recently had cause to subject myself to Dancing With the Stars in conjunction with an article I wrote on Chaz Bono, who I quickly realized is by far the most masculine man on modern TV. I”€™m reasonably sure that a mere hour’s worth of exposure to the ongoing runway parade of bird-chested, faux-hawked, machismo-free zeta males that pass for men on television these days caused a significant temporary decline in both my sperm count and testosterone levels which was only alleviated by climbing a mountain while blindfolded and wrestling a gator with my hands tied behind my back.


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