"George, you're impossible. A geneticist who still believes in fortuitous breeding!"
"I'm not so darn sure we can pick 'em better any other way. We certainly haven't got all the answers."
"I agree, George, I agree," the Director's smile was still friendly, if a little strained. "This is a National Laboratory, however, and the President rang me up the other day and asked that we do the final screening."
"The President? But this is a commercial gag!"
"Not any longer, my boy. You see the Russians recently came out with a wonder drug, a sort of gene stimulator, that they claim produces highly intelligent and well-proportioned children. The Chinese now claim that, by using a controlled environment in their communes, they are producing a super race. We had to do something! Our side is going to claim that the union of a red-blooded American male and a modern capitalist female will produce offspring far superior to anything else in the world, thus demonstrating the supremacy of the American way of life."
"Dear God! Why pick me?"
"You're junior to all the others, for one thing. And besides, you'll still be around to see Boy America grow up."
"Boy America?"
"Each year there will be a new contest; a boy the first year, a girl the second and so on. You'll have to appear on colorvision of course. It will be a nice change for you, and good for the Laboratory too! New York is a grand town for a vacation."