In light of recent events, I’ve started to question my no kids policy. Sandy Bullock looks so joyful on the cover of People Magazine. Very Roots that photo. And Angelina Jolie is one smart cookie. If Brad left her now, he’d be the biggest asshole on the planet. That poo poo platter of kids she’s got has bought her some insurance, a Don’t You Dare Leave My Tattooed Ass policy.

With all the horrific tragedies–earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, floods, Sarah Palin–it’s easy to come to the conclusion that now is not the time to be procreating. But as I’m gay and partnered, it would be impossible for me to have a child the old fashioned way. And since there are literally millions of unwanted African babies from Malawi to Madagascar, I might as well pick one out before black babies go out of fashion.

You might think that as a Latino, I would prefer a Guatemalan or Bolivian baby. But you’d be wrong. My partner is white and he often says that one brown person in the family is enough. Bastard. I haven’t thrown a dish in months!!! And I swear, those bodies will never be found.

A white kid is out of the question. There aren’t as many of those and they’re so unfashionable, the Wall-Mart of adoptable babies.

As we live in Hong Kong, an Asian baby would be too obvious. Besides, I wouldn’t want anyone on the sidewalk mistaking me for a male nanny, especially if I had to beat the kid with my shoe. I’d be arrested.

No, only a black baby would do.

We’d be the Benetton ad of adoption: A gay Latino and white couple living in China with a black baby. Hell, Oprah probably has my number on speed dial and is just waiting for me to choose a child.

Oprah: How hard was it for you to make the decision to adopt an blind, armless, autistic Ethiopian girl?

Me: Oh well, Oprah, you know, I have a lot of love to give. I’m a lucky man in a loving relationship with a great guy. It was the easiest decision I’ve ever made.

I bask in the glory of my own saint-like selflessness as the audiences rises to its feet and applauds. Oprah wipes a tear from her cheek and pats my shoulder.

Your turn, Madonna.

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