By now you've undoubtedly read about a scheme to market the reproductive eggs of drop-dead gorgeous babes that a California man, er, hatched.
As if it wasn't confusing enough already in a supermarket. White eggs, brown eggs, medium eggs, large eggs, extra-large eggs, jumbo eggs. Now they've thrown in supermodel eggs! Where do you look for them--in the dairy case, or the Health & Beauty aisle?
Welcome to "Let's Make a Test Tube Baby With Daisy Fuentes!"
Oh, pick me, Monty! Pick me!
By the way, what music do they play when they collect the eggs--"Ebony and Ovary"?
Supermodel eggs don't come cheap, of course. They may technically be called "donor" eggs. But there's no donation involved. This ain't the Red Cross, pal! One model reportedly set the minimum bid for her eggs at $50,000. For that kind of dough, why would you waste the egg on making a baby? Why wouldn't you have the thing mounted and displayed like a Degas? Or set in a tasteful brooch?
What a golden time for supermodels. For a few months now they've been all over the TV selling Lite beer. Now they're selling eggs. What other food groups are they going to get involved with? Meatloaf? (Food . . . groups . . . Get it? Hahaha.)
My smart friend Martha reminded me that last year there was a similar story. There were couples seeking to buy eggs from women who were at least 5 feet 10, athletically built and scored 1400 or more on their SATs.
Martha said at first she thought this was an evil idea. "But all of a sudden I counted," Martha said proudly. "I had two out of three. Tall and thin, those are life's two essentials."
What about the high College Board scores?
"Oh, those. I was hung over when I took those."
Not everybody is so open-minded about conducting genetic auctions.
"It screams of unethical behavior," screamed the spokesman of the American Society of Reproductive Medicine.
You want to look at screamingly unethical behavior? How about a dietary movement founded by a 43-year-old Australian named Ellen Greve? Greve invented something she calls "breatherianism," which teaches that you don't need to eat any food--stop eating now--all you need is divine light nourishment. Drop the chalupa. You heard me, drop the chalupa.
Greve has, according to news reports, developed a 21-day process she says will permit people to "nourish themselves from crystals in the air," which apparently works sort of like photosynthesis. I guess you know it's working when you turn green. (Or is that your flesh rotting?) Greve claims not to have eaten in five years, but not all the dieters celebrate that milestone. Three have, oops, died. Greve said of one, "Perhaps she didn't have the right motivation." Or, perhaps she didn't have a freakin' sandwich!
The tie-in with supermodels is obvious. They don't eat anything! Look at them: implants on a stick.
Which brings me, oh so smoothly, back to the pros and cons of supermodel eggs.
The pros are:
1. You're helping supermodels in their time of need. (Not that any of us really know what supermodels need $50,000 for. Certainly not dinner. And the clothes and drugs are free.)
2. The eggs have far less saturated fat than chicken eggs. Hell, they have less saturated fat than celery. Wait, what am I talking about? Nobody's gonna eat them!
On the other hand, what about:
1. Quality control.
Did you ever see those mother-daughter supermodel stories in magazines like Cosmo and Vogue? Did you look carefully at the mothers? My God, they look like bridge trolls! Where are my guarantees that my supermodel child will spring from the womb with true supermodel features--with silicone breasts and capped teeth and hair that always appears wind-blown? Let's say I make a baby with veteran supermodel Kathy Ireland. What if the baby gets MY LOOKS AND HER BRAINS!!! Where am I then? Out 50 grand is where. (And I'm not even going to consider the possibility that my supermodel child would be . . . a boy! Fabio Irwin Kornheiser? Are you kidding me?)
2. Birth anxiety.
My friend Tammy points out: "I'd be worried about giving birth to a 5-foot-10 four-pound baby."
3. Immediate gratification.
For $50,000 wouldn't I rather have the supermodel than the egg? (Hey, guys, come on, which comes first, the chick or the egg?)
4. Delayed gratification.
If I have a supermodel child, isn't that child more likely to run off with some Eurotrash hockey player, and not take care of me in my old age? Aren't I better off with a kid whose head looks like a coconut?
5. False advertising.
What if the rumor going around the Internet is true, and on delivery you discover the egg contains a pair of pantyhose?
6. Nature vs. nurture.
Let's say you are an average-looking couple in the process of aging badly. (Oh, like, this won't happen to you?) And your supermodel child begins dating. Boys come over, they take one look at the mother, with her hint of a mustache, padding around in a housecoat you could cover your deck with, and they wonder in horror: Is this what I have to look forward to?
The only way to solve this dilemma is to make your kid wear a sign that says: "My Other Mom Is a Supermodel."