Sex and death — there’s just no separating them, is there? I mean, sure, one is fun and the other most assuredly isn’t, but it’s an awareness of our own mortality, and the fear of same, that elevates the sexual impulse in humans to something beyond the mere biological imperative of the animal kingdom. Rightly or wrongly — and I would argue it’s more the latter — humans view the act of producing offspring not just as a continuation of the species, but as a shot at some kind of personal immortality for themselves : a chance to prove that they existed, that they mattered, because they weren’t just passing through life, they actually left something behind.

Message for any kids who might be reading this : next time your parents try to convince you that the act of raising you is some inherently selfless or noble thing, tell…