You better enjoy this column. It took a long time to produce because I was following the federal guidelines to the tee. I washed my hands after typing each word. So you at least better chuckle.

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I am terribly disappointed. Another year, another loss. This is why I’m so bummed. Thirty-three-year-old British actor Robert Pattinson has been selected, according to scientific analysis, as the most handsome man on earth. That’s according to cosmetic surgeon Julian DeSilva. He analyzed Pattinson’s face and concluded that the actor was 92.15% perfect measured by the Greek Golden Ratio of Beauty Pi.

My response to that crowning is, bah humbug! What chance does an old Italian guy like me have when they’re using a Greek Ratio? If the men were measured by using my Uncle Nunzio’s Cannoli Ratio, there’d be a whole new outcome.

According to that phony Beauty Pi thing, Bradley Cooper came in second with 91.0%, Brad Pitt got a 90.5% for third. Just as a side note; on some good days, Brad Pitt could win the Miss America contest.

David Beckham got seventh place despite being awarded with the most chiseled chin, near perfect nose size and lips. George Clooney has slipped from the top 10 because that know-it-all Julian De Silva says the he has lost volume because of age. That volume probably abandoned his face and took up residence in his belly.

The whole measuring process of facial features is unfair right from the beginning. For example the distance from the bottom of one’s nose to the bottom of the chin should be the same as the bottom of the nose to the spot between the eyes.

Then the distance from the spot between the eyes to the hairline should be the same. But my hairline starts at the back of my neck so I’m out at the start of it all. My other ratios could be perfect but that hairline one craps out around 0.001% perfection. Actually, on second thought, my nose ratio may only come in a bit higher compared to an aardvark.

As long as the Greek Pi Ratio is the rule, I’m out of the running. On the other hand, if I was on Saturn, I’d be considered a real hunk. They have some oinkers with hairlines that start just above their snout.

My dear wife tried to cheer me up and sent my picture for the Mr. Saturn contest and I did come in fourth. At least it’s better than being named Super Oinker of the Year.

What’s really bad is that year on Saturn is longer which results in your ugliness is more persistent than on the earth.

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How sad is this? According to a new poll, 67% of millennials find that taking care of houseplants is challenging. And 20% said they would rather have a root canal than tend to a tulip, no less tip toe through them. (Tiny Tim, where are you now?)

A house plant wears them out. Can you imagine what challenge taking care of a baby would present to some 28-year-old guy living in mommy’s basement? He’d be battling the kid for his pacifier.

In my never ending crusade to help my fellow man, my vast research staff and I have a few suggestions for a typical millennial and his challenge of house plant keeping.

We suggest that he should start with some simple plants and work up to something as complex as a cactus. We suggest that he begins by nurturing a one-celled algae. This is the first step in the quest for mature gardening.

(Let’s say a guy named Bunky is our millenial). You know what an algae is, Bunky, right? It’s a piece of pond scum. It shouldn’t be too hard to keep alive. If a plant is called scum, it can’t exactly be the most beautiful Plant Queen of the Universe.

So here we go, pay attention. Where do you get pond scum? Perhaps you can get one cell delivered from Amazon but I doubt if they’re into pond products at the moment of The Great Toilet Paper Shortage.

So to get pond scum, you’re going to have to do something without your phone. Scary isn’t it. It might cause you tribulation but perhaps mommy will go with you. You have to go to a pond. And the real bad news is ponds are outside. Where’s outside? When you go upstairs to the fridge, it’s that place that you can see-through the windows. That’s outside.

When you’re ready, walk to the pond in your trail slippers, of course, with an empty glass. Here’s a warning; you might see scary things along the way. I say scary because you live in your mom’s basement amidst virtual scary-things.

The things in the outside can’t be deleted by punching a key. For example, you might see a little furry thing running on the ground and then up a tree. That’s a squirrel. He’ll probably climb a tree when he sees you; he won’t kill you. Squirrels eat nuts, so, even though you qualify, you’re out of his league, so relax.

You might see something fly in the sky above you. That’s a bird. They usually won’t dive at you and peck at your head for nest products. You’ll probably be alright.

When you get to the pond, you might provoke a splash in the water. That could be caused by a frog. They eat insects so he won’t eat you despite your attraction due to a lack of a recent shower.

Bend over when you get to the edge of the pond, scoop some water, and there should be some algae cells in that glass. Walk back to your basement to recover from the trauma of being outside and take another nap.

When you awake, but a microscope online so you don’t have to get out of your pajamas. Being only one cell, you need not worry too much about the water level in the glass. Keep your scum moist and you’re on your way. You can use the microscope to check on it each day to see how it’s doing. Green is good.

Next, how about giving your pond scum a name. So you don’t have to exhaust your mental capacity in doing so, I and my staff have two suggestions. Since we’re prochoice, how about either Al G or G-G. We prefer the former but, we’re with you in whatever you choose. It”s all part of the maturing process, so have at it , Bunky.

Your cell should be doing alright. You don’t have to feed it because as long as it has water and light, it makes its own food. Of course it might have a problem getting enough light if you’re living in your mommy’s basement so take it upstairs into some sunshine. Be careful not to trip on your pajama bottoms, spill the water, and kill your tiny one-celled friend. That would really be discouraging which could set you back to your binkie.

If you do a good job of keeping the glass, water, and the one celled scum in the sunlight, there could be one day in the future where you might see a second cell attached to AL G or G-G. That, my friend, would be a magical day. You will have achieved fatherhood in the microscopic world of protoparents.

You’re a dad so pull out a microscopic cigar and let’s hear it with a rendition of Happy Birthday. But play it at a fairly low volume: you don’t want to be rude and wake mom.

You did it, Bunkie. You kept a plane alive. After a few months of tending to your scum successfully, you’ll be on your way to the next exciting level of Fun with Fungus.

Well, my friends, I hope you chuckled at least once or twice. That’s the nonsense for today. Now go wash your hands.

Nin Privitera is a Fredonia resident. Send comments to editorial@observertoday.com