Shoot selection, Infanticide and the Master Race

I can’t stand it.  It’s like killing off one baby to ensure the survival of the other, but which one do I choose?  The eldest?  the youngest? The strongest?  The tallest?  Agony, guilt, it’s all there and finally, when you pluck up your courage, close your eyes and do the deed, there are thousands of others waiting to be cast out of the gene pool in order to achieve a vinous master race.  Cuvee Aryan here we come.  (Well it is Chardonnay.)