I came across this celeb website called Dotspotter (it appears to be half puff news and half celebrity stalking agent). But I about lost my milk when I saw the headline, "Happy Mother's Day Michelle Duggar! You Make Our Vaginas Hurt."
Ahh, the perfect topic for a Mother’s Day blog, don’t you think? Not the aching vagina, but the Duggars. I mean, seriously, what the fuck are they thinking? 18 CHILDREN?!?!? That’s more than were at the polygamist compound, I think.
Now, you know these people have access to birth control. I mean, they could probably shop lift it just by sending the 10 oldest children scurrying through a store. No one would be able to keep up with a few missing condoms, right? But I’m sure they only use the rhythm method.
I, of course, recommend the Bobbitt method. If I were that fertile, I’d be like, “Bring that thing near me again and I’m chopping it off.”
And how close a “family” can they really be? I know they’re all brothers and sisters, but honestly, do you think that child one and child eighteen, or more likely, child three and child fourteen, are ever even going to get to know each other? I can see them running into each other at some restaurant years from now. “Hey, don’t I know you? You look awfully familiar.”
And then there’s the storage issues? Where the fuck do you put the macaroni art of 18 children? I guess if you lived in a double-wide with aluminum siding you could hang all the kids' artwork on the exterior with magnets. It’d probably fuck up the reception on your rabbit ears, but since they seem to fuck like bunnies, I’m sure they don’t have much TV time anyway. (Can you imagine the fights over the remote?)
But who am I to judge? : )
I can guarantee you one thing, though, all those eighteen children combined couldn’t love their mom more than I do mine. She is a sweet ol’ southern belle. A true steel magnolia. Sweet Tea with lemon. And there is nothing—NOTHING—that makes my mama happier than her babies.
As she’s gotten “on in years” as we say, she has become even more colorful and flighty. But there has never been a moment, not a nanosecond, that there was any doubt I was loved. I’m proud to be a Mama’s Boy.
So Happy Mother’s Day to ya, Mom! Glad I’m the fourth of four and not the fourth of 18.