Kronar writes

You must read this overheated paean to his semen by a pickup artist (or if you prefer, you can have Saruman read it aloud to you). This guy literally thinks his seed is so wonderful that women ought to be begging him for it.

But, excuse my bio-pedantry, there’s one part that I found factually annoying. It reflects a fundamental misunderstanding of basic reproductive biology and genetics.

kronar

My salty essence and genetic code is a gift from my father, and his father, and his father, and on it goes.  Its the sticky genetic code of self-sufficient men who have protected and provided for family, women and children.  Its the haplogroup of men who built civilization.  I have the genetic lineage of warriors, business owners, firefighters, blacksmiths, farmers, herders, poets, politicians, soldiers, artists and even chefs.  Hard jobs that help build the world, thinking jobs that help build a culture, they’ve all been done by men in my bloodline.  My ceiling for accomplishment is limitless.

That leaves out a significant fact. Approximately half of the genetic sequence in Mr Raving PUA’s sperm comes from his mother, and from her mother and his father’s mother, etc. Half of it is from the women who built civilization. I think that’s a fine thing, but I wonder; does he believe it dilutes the quality of his semen that it isn’t exclusively passed on from father to son?

(Sorry, passing semen from father to son is a really icky image.)

Further, half of his glorious seed will generate mere daughters. Clearly, his proud man-juice is weak and tainted with the poison of femininity.

Also, for some reason, I couldn’t help thinking of the Kronar stories on Oglaf (NSFW!).

It’s too early in the morning for this

I creakily got out of bed this morning, threw some water on my bleary-eyed face, and started in on my usual pile o’ email, and what’s at the top? This.

Bah, humbug. My back hurts and my knees and ankles ache, and what stretches in front of me is a long day sitting in an office and meetings and lectures. No dancing. No dancing ever.

Your four minutes of zen

I know how to convert creationists back to reason: I’ll just show them this video. It’s Harun Yahya and his harem of dolled-up acolytes letting loose by “dancing” Gangnam style. Well, they don’t actually get out of their chairs. And they all look very uncomfortable with it.

I’m no dancer myself, but that was a remarkably joyless spectacle.

Just what they need?

I thought this story was a joke; no one could be that superficial. But a couple of people have looked at the homelessness problem, and decided that one way they can help is by giving them graphic design help on their signs. It’s really a thing!

signs

I can sorta see that they’re trying — they want to contribute in ways that use their skill set. But I seriously don’t see the benefit, especially when many of the homeless people seem to be doing this are accepting the $20 donation (the artists give them a little money and a sign), and then conveniently, somehow, losing the sign.

I’m thinking that maybe I ought to go to Minneapolis and offer to give the destitute a lecture on oncogenes, or perhaps talk to them about evolution, and give them $20 for their attention. That wouldn’t be patronizing at all, would it?

The best scene in Breaking Bad

If you did not watch the first episode of the new season of Breaking Bad last night, you missed the part where it veered into Kevin Smith territory. A couple of the low-life drug dealers had a conversation about Star Trek, and it’s already been excerpted and animated!

Oh, man, that was so much better than the last Star Trek movie.

It’s a holiday today

Today is World Cat Day. I know what you’re thinking: every day is cat day already, and why should we celebrate a bunch of manipulative carnivores that infest our homes and our internet? I’m sure not motivated to praise a cat. I will point out that cephalopods, as a measure of their relative worthiness, get a full week, but that’s not until October.

So what am I to celebrate today? I need an official reason to be happy, or I might just slump into a glum lump, you know.

Fortunately, we’re all in luck. Today has another official designation: it is Día Internacional del Orgasmo Femenino, a Brazilian (of course) holiday that has gone international. It’s the International Day of the Female Orgasm! Now that’s a holiday I can get into.

So shoo the cat into the basement — OK, you can give it a can of its favorite food or something — and get busy celebrating the real reason for 8 August to exist.

I wonder if Hallmark has cards for this event?