So we’re officially only a couple years off from male birth control.

And… I’m still not sure I’m sold.

So let’s talk about this.

I mean, the idea seems great. In theory. Why should I have to be the one to pollute the interstitial freeways of the meat puppet I live in with side effect inducing hormones? Bishes be cray as it is. Why exacerbate the scenario by adding more of the hormone that causes that? That’s like seeing your house is on fire and adding a few logs. Or gasoline. Whatever. The point is, I was never a fan of nomming on a daily anti-offspring tablet. It made me hungry, sad, and eventually the sum of those two things: fat. But you know what else can make you fat? Pregnancy. And this was my initial suspicion about this whole thing. Seeing as I’m paranoid, I dunno how much I’d trust you *points to nearest dude to signify all men in general* to prevent that. I mean, men are good at a lot of things – like logic and task-handling. But when it comes to relationship related stuff, not so much. If you can’t even remember to pick up the eggs, how’re you gonna remember to shoot up so you don’t fertilize mine?

I’ll tell you how.

‘cause with the dude birth control, you won’t have to do it daily like we do. *Insert “Why are we not funding this” meme* We are funding this. And however late it is to America (two more years), at least I won’t have to worry about being late for the dot ever again, seeing as it has 100% success rate thus far. What happens is this polymer gel hurdle gets implanted via injection into the vas deferens. And – in essence – that means it literally cock blocks the sperm from pouring outta you and into me. Kinda. It’s been compared to a vasectomy, but with VasalGel, the only thing getting snipped is the sperm itself. It tries to pass by, but the polymer-plasm smites its ass like a quasi-Gandalf. I say “quasi”, ‘cause while it technically does pass by, it’s all dead and useless by the time it meanders past this homicidal toll booth. Totally reversible if you wanna make baby batter later on in life, but for the time it’s in there, everything past your vas is as sterile as an autoclaved bleach stick.

Which means I have nothing to trouble myself over anymore.

Except for the thought that you’re pouring hordes of seminal corpses into me when we fork.

“Girl, get over here. I murdered my own swimmers. What makes you think I give a shiz about yo damn headache?”