Baboons, fornication, and Krispy Kreme

I recently stumbled across Terry Lin’s webpage, someone I haven’t seen or spoken to since high school. Those were good times – hanging out in the library during OAC Day 1 spares, playing StarCraft and watching movies on prom night [1]. Seems all that time he had some serious issues that no one knew about. C’mon, suicidal due to lack of attention from girls, not having cool hair or clothes, not being popular, and being a virgin at age 20? I don’t know the full story and I don’t mean to trivialize things, but it sure sounds like he should suck it up and get in line behind the other hundreds of millions of “sufferers” on the planet.

Then there’s this. I think somebody’s been watching far too much pr0n. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard the “men are programmed by mother nature to spread their seed” thing before, and it probably makes sense to follow that instinct…. if you’re a BABOON! Let’s think about this logically for a second. Say you’re a regular Don Juan and in the prime of your life are able to charm and bed thousands of women. Good work sir, you’ve spread your seed far and wide – into thousands of condoms. Lot of good that does. Wait, what about the small fraction where there was no contraception? Congratulations, hope you can keep up with those support payments. Here’s a secret: wealthy people don’t have children. Reproduction is for chumps.

Why would you choose to give into an instinct that in practice results in a complete waste of effort, or if you “succeed”, is very likely to send you to the poorhouse? Why, the pleasure of fornicating of course. Sure, but everything in moderation.

See, it’s kind of like Krispy Kreme doughnuts. In fourth year, Tim and I used to make runs to the Ottawa Street location in Kitchener, where we’d each get a dozen Original Glazed, and scarf half of them (plus the one while waiting in line), right there in the store. Add to that Tim’s Original Kreme frozen drink (which can only be described as half-and-half whipped with crushed ice), and let me tell ya, it makes for a bad scene.

Fond memories, yes. Good times, yes. But it’s not like I spend every waking moment thinking of how I can get my hands on another dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts. In fact, that’d just be gross. QED.

[1] It’s not like I didn’t want to go, or didn’t try to buy tickets. I even put down the deposit for a tux, but alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

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