I cut my nuts and liked it.

  I have won the Darwin Award, and lived to tell about.
  I haven’t died, and I’ve no plans to, but I have taken myself out of the gene pool. I’ve had a vasectomy.
  Some well-meaning souls cry, “But why? You’re tall, handsome, talented, hung…”
  Oh, stop. I’m blushing!
  Many of my reasons for getting a vasectomy are very personal. That’s not to say that I won’t share them. (You already have intimate knowledge about my sex organs, so why stop there?) I mean that there are factors most specific to me.
  My priorities are unusual. There are only so many hours in a night. I’d rather spend my evenings and energy on the arts than on childrearing. Of course, I’m still driven, as most humans are, to leave something behind. Let my legacy be my work.
  As visceral as that can be, some things run deeper, well beyond my control.
  High-pitched noises, especially the sounds of a screaming child, set my teeth on edge. I’m not just talking about an inconsolable teething infant, or a toddler throwing a tantrum. Even the sound of childish voices raised in happy play grates on ears like nails on chalkboard. Incidentally, hypersensitivity to certain pitches is also why I can’t take the twang of much Country music. I’m not saying that the genre is all bad stuff- (I will sometimes put on a little Johnny Cash-) nor that loud kids are necessarily a bad kids, just that they literally hurt my ears.
  Children are also messy, destructive, and unreasonable, but it’s not their fault. I gather that the portion of the brain that handles critical thinking and impulse control isn’t fully formed ’till the mid-to-late twenties. Not that all my own puzzle pieces are in the right order. My little slice of madness manifests in part as dogged attempts to reason with those who are patently incapable of grasping cause and effect. I’m simply too impatient with illogical people. (This is also why I don’t date Republicans, and should probably skip even the most well-meaning mystics, and anyone under thirty as well. Give me a grown up liberal with a grasp of rigorous scientific method any day!)
  Now that I’ve alienated just about everybody, I’m going to boo-hoo a bit about my own childhood. No one is sick of that sort of thing, right?
  I suspect that one of my bio-folks had some of the same issues I do, a hypersensitivity to noise, and no patience for the fact that kids can’t help being kids. I was often struck and verbally belittled, essentially for being a child. I don’t mention it now as a plea for sympathy. My point is that I wouldn’t want to lose my temper and do the same to offspring of my own.
  Many friends assure me that despite my Mephistophelean persona, I am a really nice guy. I deny it categorically! All too close to the surface, there is rage in me that would be outright evil if given leave. The Strange Case of Doctor Jeckyl and Mister Hyde resonates with me for reasons. I’m just one dose of comics-logic Gamma rays away from Hulk-smashing the nearest puny human into a fine powder. The one and only absolutely certain way that I can break the chain of abuse is to refrain from reproduction.
  I’d mentioned earlier that many of my reasons for the vasectomy are personal. There are also arguments that could- nay, should stop many other humans from creating more humans. These shall be the subject of future text.
  In the meantime, not having a child demanding my attention, I can get back to the art work.
  Here’s to creation, rather than procreation! And cheers to the medical professionals who cut my nuts! They’ve performed a fine service for this not-so-humble artist.

Master Nick Roberts © 2012

Pictured above: One detailed glimpse of
Acrylic on 24″ x 30″ panel

  Come again for more of the beautiful and bizarre!

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