In the words of Rousseau: WHO THE FUCK CARES?

Above: two has-beens.

Britney Spears is pregnant again. Not to spoil the mood, but here at the Yatsushiro Radio studios a resounding cry of "who the fuck cares?" has reverberated around the building all morning. Honestly, folks. What the hell? What kind of horribly sad attention grab is this?

Say what you will about my constant mental spank fight of the sprightly, beautiful BoA versus the depression "probably-fucks-like-Bon Scott-after-a-good-show" festival that is Mika Nakashima, but I doubt either one of these J-pop stunners would publicize every move their vagina makes.

(No matter how much I wish they would)

If anything, the whole Britney Spears thing just proves the same adage that I have been kicking around since junior year of university: when former pretty girls "while out," my friends, DUCK. They will go from the iron-bodied and blonde-haired type of teenage party girl that wouldn't spit on you if you were on fire to a first-class bar skank of epic porportions. This is especially true for southern girls, who go from "bomb" to "mom" so fast that your penis can't even recede into your intestines before you go "arrrgh, God no."

Never you mind the "let's bring up my DEEPLY personal life" line of logic that these people seem to swear by. Why do we need to know? WHY? Who holds the curiosity anymore? You cracked one out. You're about as hot as an icicle now. Wholesome mom? We've got that footage of you with a snake.

What does this mean? It means that even before you start screaming about every detail of your own personal life in very public forums for those few of us who haven't stopped caring... your kid is FUCKED. Your first child was probably screwed by name alone. Sean Preston? Did you find that in the Big Book of Future Frat Rapist Names? That kid's going to fucking jail. Better name the second demon right. And don't publicize the shit.

That's right.

No press releases.

No pictures.

No US Weekly.

And no fucking statues.

I just don't get it. I just don't follow and I just don't get it. I wouldn't want to be a parent if it involved living in a solid gold house. It's too much to handle, and there's too many assholes/pedophiles/rapists/murderers running around.

In all honesty... I know we have readers from all over now. I know that. I know a lot of you are also around my age (mid 20s), have a lot of the similar interests of the staff (I know big J is killing it with the movies and music, and if you look at any of my link updates you know I'm OBSESSED with the "rawk"), and lead a similar lifestyle (unattached flirts, skipping from girlfriend to girlfriend, not really trying). OK? We're probably on the same page, if not a similar one. Awesome.

But do any of you have kids? Any of you fire one out of the flesh-o-pod? Was it intentional? Or did it just spring up on you like "eh, I'll take care of it?"

I can't fathom being a father. I can't. I'm not equipped for it, I have an adversarial relationship with a lot of the world, and with wages being what they are for what they do I've got no options if a kid comes along. I'm dumping about 12k into long-term savings in September, and that's going to last me into my 30s. If a kidling comes around (Thank YOU, pulling out!), what are my options? How can I raise a kid that's not a sociopath?

And even if I did manage to bake one from my ball batter, I wouldn't put the poor thing through a public pregnancy. Or drink publicly at parties to try and throw off the press.

I'd be at home, doing push-ups, cleaning my gun, and learning judo. Just to make sure nobody ever even LOOKS at my kid the wrong way.