Last week Lou Reed turned 68, which means it’s only a matter of time before he’s dead.
I’m not being morbid, I’m just planning ahead. I need to steal his sperm before he dies.
I was in junior high school the first time I heard a Lou Reed song. By the first chorus I knew I wanted to make lots and lots of chubby babies with him.
It was his voice.
It’s always the voice. Some woman are attracted to a nice ass or washboard abs. Those qualities are nice, but a sexy voice gets me every single time.
Now that he’s getting older it’s time to make those babies. I’m no spring chicken myself.
I haven’t finalized my plan yet. I know, I know… I’ve had a zillion years to work on it, but I’m a procrastinator, even when it comes to man juice.
Oh. My. God. I just typed man juice and giggled. Maybe I AM a spring chicken after all.
So far my plan involves a flight to New York City and some master stalking skills. When I find him I think I’ll just be frank with him and say, “Hi, Lou, my name is Sarah and I’m here to steal your sperm.”
Just in case he’s not down with it, I’ll have a concoction of Rohypnol and Viagra ready. The plan isn’t perfect yet, but it will be. It has to be. I need those babies, because God forbid my offspring inherit my voice.