Monday, March 22, 2010

My Genes Know Where They're Not Wanted

This man is my nemesis.

Last week I read a disappointing article about how women living in countries with high rates of disease and low life-expectancy prefer “masculine”-looking men to their “feminine”-looking counterparts. The belief is that a child with healthy, hunky genes has a better chance of surviving than a child with wimpy, clarinet-playing genes.

Great.

It looks like a certain someone I know is going to have to rethink his wife-hunting trip to Sierra Leone. What a nightmare! Those stuck up dames won’t give me the time of day, and I finally know why. I bet they didn’t even listen to all those Smiths mix CDs I mailed them.

I’m also going to have to tweak my domestic mating strategy, based on this sentence: “A woman in an unhealthy, germ-laden environment may prefer a macho man….” Well, thanks for the news bulletin, ladies! Do you know how many moonlit nights I’ve spent strolling the dump in my tux, hoping to find a sweetheart? Do you know how much money I’ve spent buying drinks for women who live in the Filthy part of town? Do you know how many times I’ve unsuccessfully proposed to a bag lady in an outhouse?

This wouldn’t happen to me if I were tall, dark and handsome.

I guess it’s my fate to be attracted to women who live and thrive in squalor. Too bad these Dirty Dianas don’t care about my scarf collection or all the poems I’ve written about the pink-billed lark. I’ve been wasting my precious time.

From now on, I’m only going to pursue women who live and work in antiseptic environments (surgeons, meat plant inspectors, tattoo artists, etc.). In their eyes, I look as virile as Wesley Snipes. And, when I finally have a child with one of these super-clean women, our baby will make it into the Guinness Book of Records for having the weakest constitution in the history of mankind.

Take that, Mother Nature!

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