Okay, I like the whole “awakened consciousness” stuff as much as the next person.
But I gotta draw the line somewhere.
That’s why when I saw this video of some dude who sounded like he was living in a mountaintop trailer, broadcasting daily about the grey astral immigrants who abduct him on a semi-regular basis, my eyebrows did an involuntary raise. I try not to judge. Some people have just done lost it. So we do our best to pat them on their tinfoil hats and say “There, there. All will be well…” But what he was saying was just “you can’t make this shiz up outta thin air” enough for me to at least plug in the allegations to my Google machine before slamming down the insanity gavel on him. Here, you try (video below). I couldn’t get through the whole thing. But the idea was essentially the title iself:
“Women can carry the DNA of their casual sex partners around for life.”
(Did you get through it? I couldn’t with his voice…)
Actually, I’ll be honest. I didn’t even look it up right away.
It wasn’t until today when this article (published in SciAm) on microhimerism popped up, that this weirdo’s claim bubbled back from out of my sub consciousness like a demon from the deep recesses of hell. Basically, microchimerism is a phenomena where I suddenly end up with these male cells (identifiable by “Y” chromosome sequences chicks don’t have) that are obv. not my own. These cells hit all different parts of my body. Even my brain. The article posits that these microchimeric cells probably come from female pregnancies, because that sac through which we exchange body stuff is apparently a two-way street.
And what are the effects of this?
Well, while the presence of these microchimeric cells has been associated with good stuff for the mom, like a reduced risk of breast cancer or Alzheimer’s (they even act like pluripotent cells – dashing to heal whatever current injury you might have)– it may also cause bad shiz. Colon cancer, Multiple Sclerosis, and other immune disorders were just a couple things that showed up tandem to high levels.
Okay, so there’s more research needed before I get to the lab and distill these boy cells into an elixir and douche with it. So, what does that one dude ranting above have to do with any of this? Why’s some nut think I’m gonna carry around a piece of each lover? Am I really gonna spend my life paying a penance for the sins on my
scroll short list of intimate trysts? What does he know?
Apparently there’s a yes-and to this study that looked at chicks who’d never been knocked up.
And these foreign male cells were in them too.
No pregnancy had caused it.
“Male microchimerism was not infrequent in women without sons. Besides known pregnancies, other possible sources of male microchimerism include unrecognized spontaneous abortion, vanished male twin, an older brother transferred by the maternal circulation, or sexual intercourse. Male microchimerism was significantly more frequent and levels were higher in women with induced abortion than in women with other pregnancy histories. Further studies are needed to determine specific origins of male microchimerism in women.”
So the hypothesis thus became that it was likely the genetic remnant result of previous bedmates – just like the village nut ranted. To be fair, we would need to delve deeper into that bit about an older brother possibly passing the cells down to younger sisters. But, either way, it does suddenly make girl-kind rethink sexy-time for far more important reasons than the morality or guilt. Now it’s about survival and emotional protection.
By raising our standards the way we do with fashion.
I mean, this officially transcends former concerns about getting knocked up or catching the clap. Now, we gotta make sure you’re someone worth catching cancer from at worst and having to be connected to physically like some Einsteinian spooky connection life sentence at best. Because, first, I may be upping my chance of one those diseases where my body eats itself after we knock boots. Second, I have to know forever that I never, truly, actually get to get rid of you when I shame-traipse home – even if I was numbed by chemicals for the duration of it. You’re there, invading my DNA. Forever.
And third – well – there is no third. But there are questions. Many questions.
Like, can I use it to remotely locate and read all of your minds like The Riddler?
(Actually… I was thinking more in terms of passwords? PIN numbers? Draining you like a remote controlled sugar daddy)?
And what happens when the DNA from boys A n’ D encounter each other in my body?
Am I a human voodoo doll puzzle, ensuring these strangers bump into eachother and become bros?
And – this one’s for the boys: What if we do learn to supernaturally use this to our advantage and mind control you?
You sure you still wanna make a potential-puppet deposit in this cray-bae?
(When we do learn how to do this, we should def call it MC-Ultra. Get it?
Microchimerism? And it’s like… that government experim-… Nevermind)
Wait – what if it’s the other way around?
(Where the dudes are like Area 51 officials implanting Svengali-esue chips in us?)
Also – are they gonna redo this test on life-long virgins?
To rule out other possible means of “Y” contraction?
(Man, that party was almost as good as the one I went to with the masks and the sex and Tom Cruise.)
And what about amorous mouths?
Are they a point of entry we should be more discerning about too?
Sigh. This rabbit hole of wonder is endless.
But it certainly gives a whole new meaning to “mind blow”.
Still, as ever, I’m all about solutions. So my answer to jettisoning unwelcome genes will have you refer back to the original preggo lady part of the study. In that study, it showed one-time moms had high MC (my abbrev. for microchimerism) levels. Multi-babied moms, on the contrary, seemed to not have the MC levels so much – presumably because they pass those newly acquired cells onto baby number next. So, the answer, my fellow heathens looking for a loophole, is to lose your MC love cells the same way moms do when they eject multiple kids from their wombs. In this case, it’s also the same way they suggest when you really wanna forget an ex:
Go get you some strange.
That way when you dump Jimmy, you’ll really be rid of him.
Right after you dump Jimmy’s genes off into rebound dude’s jeans.