Tree Mishap Leaves Prolific Sperm Donor High and Dry

BIRD-IN-HAND, Pa.—The mind-blowing streak is over. Twenty-two consecutive years of three times per week deposits at the Miss Conception Fertility Clinic came to a tragic end last Monday when, thanks to a freshly broken dominant arm, Jack Kinghoff was unable to complete the task at hand. His massive, über-muscular left arm in a cast from mid-biceps to the tips of his fingers, Kinghoff sadly came up dry when his weak, bony right arm and hand failed to deliver in the clutch.

Kinghoff, Seemon County’s three-time Man of the Year and America’s only full-time professional sperm donor, collapsed into the arms of the clinic’s crisis counselor immediately after his heroic, but unsuccessful, two-hour donation attempt. Clearly devastated and in shock, Kinghoff numbly lamented,”For years, I’ve been telling myself to switch hands. But, you know, life-long habits are just so hard to break.”

When Jack stumbled into the clinic again on Wednesday, as if on autopilot, the counselor wisely took him aside and tried to pump him back up. “So, Jack, what’s your secret?” the counselor asked. “You’ve had to be Superman to deliver such an enormous quantity and quality each and every time, three times a week, for so many years.”

Wistfully, humbly, then proudly, Jack responded. “First, I’ve got to thank the good Lord in heaven for having blessed me with this talent. Second, I’ve always believed in giving unselfishly to the community. It just breaks my heart that so many lovely, luscious ladies have difficulty conceiving. I’ve gotten tremendous inner satisfaction, a rush, to be honest, every single time, knowing I was helping them achieve their dreams and fantasies.”

After pausing to wipe a tear from his eye, Kinghoff continued. “Third, I’ve religiously followed a very strict fertility diet. Lots of creamy liquids, huge sacks of nuts—ever so slightly salty, only the freshest Rocky Mountain oysters, and tadpoles. Live tadpoles. Drink ‘em straight down. For strong erections, it’s T-bone steaks and hard candy. Lots of hard candy. It’s tough, sure, but I’m not doing this for me. It’s for the ladies.”

“The fourth is no secret at all,” Jack confided. “Porn. Tons of porn. Internet porn. Videotape porn. DVD porn. Magazine porn. Twenty-four-seven, pretty much, except for sleeping. The hard part is self-control. Absolutely no premature jerking off. Gotta build toward those Monday, Wednesday, and Friday appointments. Gotta deliver the goods to pay the piper. Oh, and no wet dreams, either. Hafta wear a weenie sensor that wakes me up if I even get a woody.”

Kinghoff then grew visibly upset as he pondered five more interminable weeks out of action while his broken arm ‘Tina’ heals. “Look at me,” Jack implored. “I’m already a bloated, short-tempered, morbidly depressed wreck. I’ll probably have E.D. by the time I get my business hand back.”

With that, Kinghoff began to cry. “Oh my God. My 35-year career could be over. The perfect job. Gone. Getting paid so well to do what I love to do. Maybe never again. How could I have been so stupid? Climbing that rickety old tree outside the nuns’ “Just As I Am” nude prayer vigil, just to get a peek. They’re all like eighty years old. What the hell was I thinking?”

“And then,” Jack moaned, “that damn priest just had to fall from higher up and knock me out of the damn tree. Jeezus!”

08.03.10