I really need to get my DNA out there. My biological clock is ringing loudly, and it’s not so much a scrotal sensation or constant tumescence--it’s a little voice inside my head screaming loudly “YOU REALLY NEED TO GET YOUR DNA OUT THERE”.
The problem with old balls is that they don’t stop working. And so starting a family becomes next year’s thing.
When the right girl comes around,
when the money situation is better,
when I have more time.
Excuses fill the mind till you realize that you could die tomorrow and a handful of people will miss you--till they forgot you.
The problem with old balls is that they allow you to leave a legacy well until you’re gray, and wrinkled. But the more grey and wrinkled you become, the harder it will be to find your semen a good fertile home.
I’m starting today, Day 1, fucked and blessed at the same time. Fucked in that at my age, a small fortune must be spent to court the hot, bombshell 23 years my junior. Blessed in that I have a small fortune. I have given myself exactly 365 days to find someone who will carry my child for either love or money, and I am going to catalog that search in writing.
It’s Thursday night 9 pm. Day 1 starts after my shower.
