(Although groveling without shame surely takes all the fun out of it, no?)

Meanwhile, at another branch of government, our lawmakers have declared that a limitless number of children may be conceived from a single sperm donor. So as Agence France-Presse reported this week, some sperm donors “have anonymously fathered dozens of children”:

Starbuck, a popular Canadian comedy released this year, told the story of a perpetual bachelor who accidentally fathers 533 children by selling his semen for quick and easy cash.

“Popular” apparently means something different in French, because this is the first I’ve heard of it.

In a stranger-than-fiction twist, Toronto documentary maker Barry Stevens has used his experiences—born in Britain through a donor who then went on to sire some 500 to 1,000 children during his three decades working with sperm banks—to fuel his own work.

I misread that at first and thought the filmmaker donated to sperm banks to fund his movies, until I remembered a) our clinics don’t pay for sperm and b) our filmmakers don’t raise their own budgets. Independent American directors are, by necessity, pretty ingenious: Kevin Smith and Robert Townsend maxed out credit cards, for instance, although none ever topped Melvin Van Peebles, who basically performed the Tuskegee Experiment on himself.

Our creative types aren’t universally unimaginative, however, because some actually have to compete in the marketplace. To that end, an Ottawa radio station has cleverly combined the national aversion to messy biological realities with the Canadian passion for free stuff; next week the winners of their latest station promotion will “Win a Baby!”—that is, $35,000 in fertility treatments:

Four hundred people, including same sex couples, single women and cancer patients, entered the competition and they have now been whittled down to five finalists. Each couple must now convince listeners and judges, who include fertility experts, why they should win.

That’s right: Heroin and abortions (and movie budgets) are “free,” but when it comes to artificial baby-making, you’re outta luck.

Public education is free, though, so when that baby gets old enough, maybe they’ll star in a soft-porn “young adult” novel written by high-school teacher Jacques Tremblay—yikes!—a (now former) Teacher’s College big shot and his wife (and their, er, friend). Who all live together on an island. From which, via the Internet, Tremblay also sells solar panels and organic produce, along with videos “in which he dons various costumes to rhapsodize to the camera about…how carpenter’s glue reinforces one’s self-esteem.”

Thus concludes this review of one week in unappetizing Canadian sex news. My vagina snapped shut about 600 words ago. Although that old canoe is looking hotter all the time. Blame the beer goggles.