Every day, it gets harder and harder for the male marijuana enthusiast to reproduce.

First,… Every day, it gets harder and harder for the male marijuana enthusiast to reproduce.

First, there was the whole thing about having to go find a mate. Kind of a hassle there, since it means leaving the house and speaking coherently enough to seduce a woman. Better to stay put, pondering the possibilities of asexual reproduction, like how amoebas do it, or a service that would just let you rent a baby.

Even if you do manage to woo a woman with the offer of a quick boink, researchers at the State University of New York in Buffalo say sperm from heavy marijuana smokers regularly fails to reach the egg, making conception impossible. Most people would chalk this up to laziness or a lack of direction on the sperm’s part.

But because they are scientists, the Buffalo researchers looked beyond such easy answers. They found that – in much the same way marijuana users often have bursts of energy, talking about “Hey, let’s put on a Broadway show,” only to collapse listless on the couch five seconds later – the marijuana sperm start too quickly and find themselves burnt out. Instead of pushing on to the egg, they break for Cheetos and to debate the greatness of “Apocalypse Now.”

No, wait, those are Film Studies sperm. The marijuana sperm argue about “Waking Life.” And whether or not I could, hypothetically, vibrate my body at the perfect frequency and pass right through this bong. But that’s another column.

The study reminds me of that old anti-drug commercial in which this guy is sitting around in his basement, watching TV or otherwise wasting his life away. He’s probably mid-30s. Then there’s a voice-over along the lines of, “My uncle smoked weed all the time and nothing ever happened to him.” The camera zooms in on the grizzled old pothead, ominous music swells: nothing ever happened to him.

They should bring back that commercial, but with one additional line, “This man is your sperm.”

Unfortunately, I think that’d probably be really hilarious if you’re high, so the effectiveness might be dulled precisely where it’s most needed.

Some people don’t care that this might be the last generation of serious marijuana fiends, arguing we should just let natural selection do its thing.

“So what?” they say, “After all, do we really need another generation of soul-patch-sporting Phish fans? Would the world be much poorer if we just let dreadlocked, Hacky-Sacking bongo players die out naturally?”

I’m shocked that anyone would suggest such a horrible fate. That’s like believing in the moon landings or quantum physics. The stereotype of weed smokers as do-nothing layabouts is an ugly one that the community has worked for years to overcome.

If you think potheads have done nothing for you, think about those chips that are specially made for dipping. You know, they have kind of a scoop thing on them so you always get a full dip. Do you think scientists came up with that? No. That was a bunch of stoners sitting around watching cartoons. One of their chips broke off in the dip – bummer! And, ten years later, you have your scoop chip.

It’s virtually the same thing with the internal combustion engine. And the first American flag was made from hemp, which is the fur of weed smokers. Melissa Etheridge and her partner wouldn’t have a child if it weren’t for the sperm of famous pot-smoker David Crosby. Plus, that dude wrote some killer songs, especially that one where Neil Young’s voice gets all high and scratchy.

So I beg you, normal people who’ve taken so much from the marijuana community, isn’t it time to give something back? Get out there and have a baby with your local dope fiend, before it’s too late.

Jesse Hicks liked Phish until he listened to one of their albums. Commiserate with him at [email protected].