Typical! You practice fifteen years on your rock poses and still look like a complete idiot on stage. While your son, who is only one month old, pulls a perfect Jim Morrison. Maybe we should have named him ‘Alain’ or ‘Hendrik’ instead of ‘Otis’.

You know those situations when someone tells you about this ‘friend’ that has a very important question and maybe you could give him some advice? YOU know there IS no friend. HE knows YOU know. But you both keep pretending this friend really exists.

It happened yesterday during lunch. Out of the blue a colleague starts talking about a ‘friend’ that has some vital questions about donating sperm. Are there special clinics? Where can you find them? How much does it pay? And so forth.

I was in the middle of a delicious flan caramel when another colleague sees the perfect opportunity to compare my dessert with a bowl of fresh negro spunk. Very funny. Too bad for him it’s extremely difficult to gross me out. Especially since I specialize in eating chocolate mousse while changing diapers.

Anyway, the imaginary friend of my colleague needed some answers. But I had no idea. I have never visited such a clinic. Though it didn’t take long before we came up with some other questions on the subject at hand (no pun intended). Maybe even more vital questions, although not so frequently asked.

For example: on what basis does the clinic stipulate how much money you get? Do you get paid per task, per hour or per volume? I’m sure they have several magazines lying around. But do they have subscriptions? Or do they send some bozo to the press shop every once in a while? And what’s the point of view of the Vatican in all this. Sure, they’re against masturbation, since every sperm is sacred. But in this case no seed is spilled, right?

This last question led to an interesting hypothesis: maybe these clinics already existed in ancient times. Maybe Mother Mary visited one. Talk about Immaculate Conception! On a slightly different note: you keep hearing about all those Jesus silhouettes appearing in moist stains on walls, buttered toasts and hairy breasts. Maybe there is something like the ‘Handkerchief of Turin’? A relic cautiously kept secret by the Vatican. Let’s find out!