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As many of my close friends already know, I make a living from selling sperm...

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Fast forward: present day, Toronto, 2006, future.

I received a handwritten letter today. It caught my attention from the masses of fan mail that I tend to get on a daily basis because it was written by hand; people rarely use the old fashioned style of communication anymore, I've heard stories from my grandparents about how people would fashion words from a pen. But, I digress, allow me to shove my thoughts into a cohesive blob, a story if you will, of the events that followed.

The handwritten letter in the handwritten envelope was clipped to a photograph that was hand signed. The scrawly words seemed to have a sense of urgency. Whoever it was, they needed my sperm badly and were willing to send me five thousand dollars for it. I immediately set about to gather the tools that I would need for this important client.

I once read an article about a man from southern Texas who could train his sperm to leap through hoops of fire. The problem with sperm is that they are not the most intelligent creatures. My main concern was that my own sperm, would not be able to recognize the future mother. It was going to take alot of effort on my behalf to make sure that the sperm would know what to do by the time it reached the client.

The first stop was H&M, the clothing store for people who want to look trendy for cheap. I bought a floral dress, a ladies sunhat, stockings, pointy stiletto heels, a bra and some sexy revealing lace panties.

The next stop was at the sex store. I knew exactly what I wanted, a blow up sex doll, the cheapest kind; it had to be plastic, and have a realistic vagina. The more I spent on these items, the less I would make on the deal; business is business and you have to think about your profit margins. The sex doll was a good investment.

I rushed back to my bachelor love pad with the purchases and set about assembling the items. If I learnt anything while studying animation, it was that realism was important; one small detail out of place, and the effort would be wasted. I began to dress up the blow up doll in the clothes that I had bought for her. All the while I was doing this, I spoke to my sperm who slept like lions in the bossom of my testicles.

The final touch to the doll, was to stick the photograph of the said lady to it's face. I posed the blow up doll provocatively on the sofa, well, as provocative as a blow up sex doll gets. 'Meet your future, mother,' I said to my sperm, 'take a good look at her face, isn't she beautiful?' I looked at the photograph of the warty faced bitch and cringed. The plan was working, I was tricking my sperm into thinking that I was actually having intercourse with a real person!

I asked the blow up doll if they would like a glass of wine, they declined, so I ended up drinking the entire bottle. The alcohol had the effect of making me horny and I made a pass at the sperm's future mother, she ignored me. I placed my hand on her breast and gave a squeeze, her breasts were firm and hard; she let me carry on. I moved my hand up her stockinged thigh, no response. Feeling adventurous, I decided to slide my hand under her panties, no response. She wants it, wants it bad.

A few minutes later, we were lying on my bed, kissing passionately. I pulled her panties down, and felt myself slide inside her. 'Okay fellows,' I said under my breath, '... do your stuff... say hello to mummy!' I moved in and out of her like a piston inside a bouncy castle. Eventually, I felt my troops deploy and I collapsed like a sweaty pile of hot man flesh.

After a quick recovery, I started to scoop the gullible sperm out of the sex doll. This was five thousand smackaroonies in the bank...