The vasectomy is now mandatory in Canada for any male who has reached the age of 50. This Law was introduced in the North American Free Trade Agreement as a measure to ensure that our general population collapses and makes it easier for the Americans to invade and take all of our fresh water and maple syrup.
The vasectomy was first introduced by the Vandals when they ‘sacked’ Rome in 455. These first attempts were crude in execution and the Italian preference for singing Opera in a Falsetto was born soon after.
Following a precipitous plunge in population the Vatican relented and prescribed the rhythm method as the new form of birth control. The rhythm method being that a man and a woman were rhythmically conjoined at the same speed, on the same day and in the same general vicinity: usually every second Wednesday Night.
Although the Priests, sworn to master..I mean celebate lives, were unaware of the mechanics of heterosexual reproduction, however they accidentally discovered that a Bull who had been whacked in the scrotum with a large, blunt, shovel, was unable to runaway as fast when it was time to be ‘milked’, and for whatever reason it could no longer reproduce.
This opened up all sorts of possibilities.
Of course these days a vasectomy is a ridiculously simple ten minute procedure that can be performed by a drunk, blind, chimpanzee armed only with a rusty lid from any number of canned goods found in the local grocery store.
The most important aspect is to ensure that the man’s ‘swimmers’, tiny miniature versions of the man with tails for motility, are all blocked from escaping a special containment area which extends down into both legs and a large portion of the man’s belly.
Two thirds of the sperm is useless anyway because they are exclusively designed to kill the sperm from other males which may have been deposited in their wife’s swimsuit area while he was at work.
Since most couples both work outside of the home and are too tired to have sex this is no longer a concern.
To ensure that the swimmers are blocked from ever escaping (they eventually degrade and become brain cells that are used exclusively to store scores from sporting events) extreme measures are taken to count the swimmers in the man’s test sample.
These samples must be made prior to the operation and subsequent testing is done manually or orally in the clinic for a few weeks to ensure that the man is now legally infertile, emasculated, and completely useless.
Here in our extremely cold environment, special precautions are taken to gather these delicate samples within 30 minutes. Exposure to oxygen and cold temperatures are a death sentence for the swimmers so special organ transplant teams are flown in by helicopter to collect the samples. Naturally the men are generally too tired after depositing and will either have a nap or start looking for something to eat in the fridge.
Two thirds of these samples are sold to pharmaceutical companies or turned into Instant Pancake Batter. The remaining portion is tested by hundreds of dedicated professional lab technicians who have been rescued ..er recruited, from Eastern European Brothels.
According to Urban Legend, these skilled professionals, or ‘pros’, can count the number of swimmers on their tongue and ‘guesstimate’ the number of actual impregnators. Though the actual methods are closely guarded trade secrets, rumors persist that the killers and blockers are apparently drawn to the cheeks and tonsils and that it is pretty much a no-brainer.
Either way, once a large hole has been drilled and sliced into the scrotum and the second brain has been removed, it is safe for the man to resume conjugal relations with his spouse, mistress, or favorite lab technician, within hours of the procedure.
The chance of impregnating any females or other bipedal relatives is greatly reduced by the painful swelling , odd discolouration, debilitating self loathing, and incessant chafing incurred by the drooping scrotum.
So I’m sure that it will be a great relief to finally quit thinking about sex. I will finally have a lot of free time on my hands for Blogging. WooHoo!
Oh-oh, I can hear the Helicopter landing on the roof… gotta go!