Why I don't eat Mars Bars; Sex and science.

Within the last week I have been introducing my students to the new subject we will be learning this term: Reproduction. After much discussion on the matter and my students ever lasting ability to make me feel sorry for the future of man kind I have been very reflective on both science and sex.
There are patterns of evolution that will forever boggle my mind. The fact that we have evolved so far as to surpass natural selection both upsets and humiliates me. It is this surpassing of natural selection that has allowed stupid people to live. If natural selection had stayed the course then the whole cast of 'The only way is Essex' would be dead, clearing up one of the 200 channels that exists but no one watches. Why do we need 3 ITV channels?
Although if natural selection were to dominate then we would also loose the genius that is 'Jeremy Kyle'. As previously stated, there is nothing to make your own life look better than to watch chavs who don't own toothpaste swear at each other. However here again I am faced with something that upsets me. Many of these shows circle around D.N.A tests, after some brace-faced ginger slept with the doped-up grease ball and then his 'bottom of the barrel' friend. This can only signify one thing: THEY'RE BREEDING!!!
I could take the direction of how pitiful this makes my life, which is classified by the complete lack of breeding, but my complete self awareness and defiance to do anything about it prevent me.
So they are breeding and slowly the unsustainable population is exploding with tracksuit wearing super-chavs, pitied for their illiteracy and failure to spell 'benefits', whilst draining the pockets of hard working people. The problem is no matter how stupid you are, you always have the ability to breed. In the past natural selection would have killed stupid people before reaching sexual maturity, after their stupidity lead them to believe that mocking a t-rex's tiny hands was a good idea. However now stupid people survive and as much as stupidity has prevented them from obtaining a basic grasp on the English language, it has not prevented them from realising that their 'dingaling' fits in her 'woohoo'.
Man evolved to walk on 2 legs simply for the purpose of sex. Less energy used in the act means more opportunity to repeat the act. However this act used to only occur for the purpose of making children. Oh how I miss the days of pushing the single beds together. My life would be much better off if certain aspects of my parents sex lives has been kept from me. Learning that having sex on a sloped lawn is a bad idea from my mother did not add to my overall outlook on life but only my future therapy costs. However despite the corruption of my own innocence by the warfare that is the avoidance of my parents sex noises, generally teenage sex is seen as the real problem. At least this problem provides some comedy. Whilst my students previous anal sex comments have made me want to vomit they have also within recent weeks made up for this through entertainment. I wondered whether we were that stupid when we were teenagers and the answer is: Yes! Whilst I don't remember asking 'can you get Chlamydia in your eye'? or 'If someone jerks off in a foam party will all the girls get pregnant'?. Or may favourite 'OK so I know all about the sex part, but it's the baby that confuses me. I mean can you have identical twins where one is a boy and one is a girl?' I do remember the various rumours that spread around school during that wonderful time of the year when boys and girls were put in separate classrooms with bananas and condoms. The first form of D.I.Y contraceptive to come out of it was Mars Bar wrappers (and that's the story of how I stopped eating Mars Bars). This contraception was apparently used by several girls within my year and as several of them were pregnant by the end of the term I don't doubt it. How they finished off I'm not sure, the rustling noise would certainly put me off my rhythm. By this point I had not lost my v-plates, not only fearful of the noisy contraception and the real terror of sticky-nougat vagina, but also the advice from my friends and my own crippling mixture of intelligence and stupidity. At the time there were rumours that one girl had bled through the mattress during her hymen breaking experience, this both intrigued and terrified every girl in school.  Then my friend confirmed my fears by describing her first time as 'was all right, hurt like fuck though'. My stupid naivety considered 'hurt like fuck' and bleeding through the mattress. Then my intelligence weighed both these factors and came to the undeniable conclusion that for something that was 'all right', I'd rather wait until my tolerance for pain had surpassed the level of 'The Gay punched me in the arm and it really hurt and I could have died'.
As I write this I find myself having an epiphany. The solution to the teenage sex problem. We should tell them the truth about everything. When I say 'we' I mean their parents. Their parents should explain their own experiences to teach the next generation. I defy anyone to orgasm with the image of their parents rolling bare arsed down a grassy bank- No garden sex for me thanks.

"It's 'Character building' Kayleigh"

Before the hidden-penis-man-flu took hold we had the 'describing Optimus as comfortable' event which I alluded to last time. Some people might call this event catastrophic or even cruel, my parents would describe it as 'Character building'. Through the years my parents have used this phrase to cover all sorts of misdemeanour's. This phrase covers their preferred language of sarcasm mixed with witty banter. They also recently used it to cover their insistent need to make me vomit as a child, by feeding me jacket potatoes. I hate jacket potatoes, it's like the hell of boiled potatoes encased in dried mud. However my parents constantly tried to feed them to me. It's like when parents try to feed their children sprouts. There are hundreds of other vegetables out there so why do parents think it's clever to feed them the one thing all children hate. I assume it's some sort of wicked vengeance  After many sleepless nights it must be quite satisfying to hear that special kind of gulp a person does when trying to swallow something foul, whilst keeping down the urge to vomit. However as far as I'm concerned feeding me jacket potatoes was child abuse. If I had been allergic they would have been imprisoned after my mouth closed over causing inevitable death, (something that would have been preferable to eating a jacket potato). However forcing me to eat the vomit inducing food without the side effect of death results in 'Character building'. If this was true then I would be running the world by now and Nicole Scherzinger would be pelted with dictionaries. She needs to learn it's not acceptable to put 'Sh' as the beginning of every word to mark ownership like a dog pissing on a tree.
I was subjected to my own 'Character building' just 20 minutes after walking in the door at Easter.
"When you get a boyfriend or girlfriend" my mother asked, completely stone faced and unblinking. 'OR girlfriend' mother, 'OR girlfriend'? What do you think I'm just waiting for the perfect pre-op so I don't have to choose? Or is this just your subtle way of asking if I'm a lesbian? When I commented on this sentence it was followed by Optimus; "Well you can't afford to be picky". Yet again Optimus proves once and for all she is a clone of my mother.
Get the dictionaries ready my character is building quickly.

I can't find my hidden penis!

I must apologise for the lack of writing within recent weeks. After visiting the family for Easter I returned with such an horrendous cold my nose still resembles Rudolph if he was left out in the sun for too long. I've never believed in man-flu. Man-flu is for men who can't handle the common cold. However I am now searching for a penis on my body, as for 5 days I experienced this phenomenon. I suspect it's either on the back of my neck or knees, the 2 parts of the body you can't see without a mirror.
This hidden-penis-man-flu saw me spending 5 days in bed damning my family to hell. I don't know for sure which one of them is responsible but I would rather they all suffer than none. These 5 days led to writers block, well not so much writers block more laziness. It has become very difficult to move from my bed. I love writing but bed loves me back, bed never judges, bed understands and is there for me no matter what. I am actually writing this from bed and considering America. America is the obese capital of the world, bizarre that it is the home to both Brad Pitt and the one-tonne man. I have always enjoyed judging these people and questioning how good it could really be to use a big mac with lettuce as a side salad. How do these people become obese? Bed knows. Bed has the answers to obesity. These people aren't really that bad. Let's face it most of them are growing new civilisations between their fat folds. They are gods! Also let's not forget 'real women have curves'. Circles have lots of curves. Obese people are made up of lots of circles; Gods.
I don't have curves. Therefore I am not real. I am constantly searching for the re-set button that must be built into me, it's probably next to my hidden penis. I am also apparently not comfortable. My Dad made the mistake of describing Optimus as having a 'comfortable build'. Optimus was not happy. Have you ever seen an angry, pregnant transformer? I have.
So I am begging you bed, make me a god and make me comfortable.