Of all the reasons for someone to be “famous,” the inability to cross your legs has got to be among the least legit. Breeder Michelle Duggar and her sperm source, Jim Bob, have managed to stay on the air since 2008 purely because they’ve impressively managed to keep boinking each other without any interest in any form of birth control.
Now, Duggar daughter Jill can begin the long and vagina-wrecking process of trying to catch up as she marries alliterative fiance Derick Dillard.
Frankly, if you spit out 19 kids, one of them getting married isn’t news – it’s a mathematical certainty.
Perhaps TLC should consider releasing a smartphone video game app as a tie-in: Dill-Dug. The general concept would be to direct your white-helmeted sperm into the depths of Jill until you find an egg and merge with it. After that would come a quick round of gestation, and a Pong-esque level where you catch the latest baby with a basket. Finish that process six times, and you get your own show!
I grew up hearing that the world was overpopulated, and that we humans were consuming too much to sustain ourselves in the long term. I suppose the Duggars could be forgiven for missing this lesson – they’re too busy incubating to have time for such weighty things as learning, or pondering how much of their fair share of the world they’re intent on staking claim to.
In the interest of full disclosure, I will admit that I’ve never watched the show. The concept offends me, and the only meaningful way to protest a TV show is simple: Don’t watch.
Still, someone apparently is watching. I keep seeing commercials, and they’ve reached that garbage celebrity level where even their progeny getting hitched can somehow be classified as “news.”
Once you’ve got more kids than some Western towns have residents, it’s time to switch to hand jobs and anal.
Frankly, if you spit out 19 kids, one of them getting married isn’t news – it’s a mathematical certainty. News would be something unusual – like the fact that they’ve yet to crap out when spinning the roulette wheel and pop out a kid with Down syndrome.
Not only does this not qualify as news by any sane metric, but Jill isn’t even the first member of the litter to get hitched. Josh (not to be confused with Joseph or Josiah) landed himself a wife toward the inception of the show and has been dutifully reproducing ever since. He’s a bit slow, however, and strangely chooses to wait a solid two years between duplications.
Never fear, though – he does manage to earn our loathing by sticking with the obnoxious philosophy of, “Aww, wouldn’t it be cute if we gave every damn kid a name with the same first letter?” To prove he’s his own man, with his own ideas, he did take the drastic step of switching from “J” names to “M” names. Way to go, man.
I realize we’re bored. I know we all need something to kill time and distract us from our crushing debt, empty lives, and dead-end jobs. Still, we’re talking about having kids. Something an awful lot of us do. To become famous simply because you have no sense of when enough is enough is absurd. It’d be like giving a TV show to someone because he masturbates 47 times a day, rather than the traditional three. Or because she’s gone to school and gotten eight bachelor’s degrees, and is working on her ninth.
Absurd excess is not grounds for fame. It’s grounds for psychotherapy.
There’s nothing wrong with a bachelor’s degree or two. There’s nothing wrong with masturbation. But once you’ve got more kids than some Western towns have residents, it’s time to switch to hand jobs and anal.
I can only assume the Duggars have fans, and that those fans will send me hate mail. I totally get that. In fact, I can kind of respect it, even if I don’t like it.
But let’s not give a show to the guy who sends me 115 different hate mails. Absurd excess is not grounds for fame. It’s grounds for psychotherapy. Probably group therapy, in the case of the Duggars.