EXCLUSIVE! The secret diaries of Jayden James!

OK, readers, this is it...my breakthrough acquisition! Stupid & Contagious is about blast into the stratosphere and join the ranks of such power blogs as Slashdot, BBC World Edition and Duct Tape Marketing. Through sources I will not reveal (and from here on will be referred to as "Mr. Blonde") and via 100 percent legal means, I have obtained documents far more coveted than even pre-birth emails from the Cruise-Holmes fetus (sorry, Suri): the private, bombshell-filled diaries of Jayden James Spears Federline! I wasn't even sure if this kid actually exsisted, but he does and today I reveal to you—and the world—the shocking inside story of what life is REALLY like behind the walls and in the nursery at Britney's multimillion-dollar Malibu mansion. It's like being there without having to worry about catching herpes simplex two! So now, without further ado, here are some juicy world-exclusive excerpts from these revealing documents. Proceed with caution, because what you're about to read is guaranteed to shock and appal.

Dear diary,
Just chillin' like a lil' villian here in Casa Cocainea, spittin' up on myself and wearing only a feces-filled pair of Huggies. The stinky lady that I can't understand who everyone keeps calling my mommy (her real name is Brit Knee) just left with her friend Flashlight Head. Everyone calls her Paris, so that must be where she's from because there's a city called Paris. But I just call her Flashlight Head because she has yellow hair that makes her head look like a big flashlight. Also, she has batteries in her head that rattle around when she walks. And she's also a little bit dim, like a bad flashlight. She always wears sparkly jewels, clothes in rainbow colors and for some reason a little, tiny typewriter attached to her ear that she talks into. She seems to think it's a blackberry, which you're supposed to eat anyway...she's stupid! Anyway, Flashlight Head and Brit Knee put on napkins and big, silly hats and left the house and didn't come back until very late. Well, when I say they came back, they didn't actually come into the house. They just decided to sleep in the driveway. They must have been really tired! But I'm glad they didn't come in because they kind of smell like Gerber Sweet Potatoes baby food after I spit it up combined with burning hair. Don't ask me how I know what burning hair smells like. That happened clear back with that guy with the big pants was living with us!

Dear diary,
Something really scary happened tonight. It's a long story. Brit Knee was babbling like I try to do sometimes, but she wasn't talking to the other baby that lives here or the big, chattering rats that run around in our house (thankfully, she never talks to me). She was talking to a chair. She would babble a little bit, wait and then reply like the chair had said something to her. Then she put on a big sweatshirt and left the house with the giants dressed in black that live with us. A few hours later, the door to the house opened and a big, scary monster walked in! The monster had a round head like a basketball with horrible black, staring eyes! Now the monster lives in our house and won't leave! But luckily, the monster does not eat people. Instead, all it eats are pork rinds, Treet sandwiches and Funyons. The monster smells kind of like Brit Knee, but just like she did, it doesn't pay any attention to me, so I'm not going to complain! Except sometimes it eats my baby food and then smears it all over its face and that kind of pisses me off, to be honest.

Dear diary,
Just hangin' in the hizzouse because the monster is gone! Let me tell you what happened because it's pretty crazy! First, the monster shape shifted and started pretending to be Brit Knee. It probably fooled a lot of people because it was really good; it chewed gum loudly, blew smoke out of its mouth and nose, and walked into the closed patio door a lot. The only thing that was bad was that it wore fake hair on its head all the time and you could tell it wasn't the monster's real hair. Then, yesterday, Brit Knee's mom came into the house and yelled at the monster that it had to go and the monster left! Hurray! No more Brit Knee, no more monster, no more smoke and throw up all over the place! Now I can live with my Mommy in peace and quiet in this big house with the chattering rats. I have dreams and now I can work on achieving them.

Dear diary,
Well, I spoke too soon. Brit Knee is back. At least I think it's her. This person smells like Cheetos and wears a dead skunk on her head and wanders around the house talking about how she doesn't have to take a "moral inventory" because she is a big girl and can do what she wants to and besides she doesn't even know what "moral inventory" means. Whoever it is, they still don't pay any attention to me, so that's good, but it's definitely less fun in the house with her around because everyone gets real nervous and they say things to me like "look away" and "she doesn't mean that." Sorry to complain, diary. I'm a little cranky.

Dear diary,
I never thought I'd say this, but I think I'd rather live with the Guy Who Wears Big Pants because anything is better than this hellhole. Get me the fuck outta here!

So there you have it readers: a disturbing and revealing peek into the real-life dysfunctional Beverly Hillbillies household. As with Suri, I'm really impressed with how well-spoken this little guy seems to be. For a child that has the combined mental capacity of two dead birds in his genes, he's already exceeded his parantage in smarts. Anyway, this is just a tantalizing sneak peek with more to come. I need to hold on to some of the goods so people will keep coming back. Oh, sure, I hope that someone saves the little guy and all that, but really it's all about the ratings. Look out, Duct Tape Marketing...here I come!


UPDATE: Even luckier

Loyal Stupid & Contagious reader Jon responded to my last post by asking "Why do you hate love?" My answer was "Because I'm jealous." I wanted to share this more detailed picture of Pete's crackne to illustrate. Kate, get your guy a mani, stat!! He's almost as purty as Shane MacGowan.

Who's the luckiest girl in the whole wide world?

Answer: Kate Moss, 'cause she's officially engaged to this. Happy Friday the 13th! It's so incredibly appropriate to have happened on this day for a number of reasons (well, besides the obvious).

• Famous people born on Friday the 13th include Fidel Castro, Steve Buscemi, the Olsen twins, and Margaret Thatcher. And now Pete and Kate have become engaged on this historic date. Tupac Shakur was also shot on Friday the 13th.

• There are 160 deaths in all of the "Friday the 13th" movies, and these include such memorable kills as squeezing a prep's head until his eyeball pops out, dipping a chick's face into liquid nitrogen and then smashing it against a countertop, macheteing a wheelchair guy and rolling him down stairs, and of course the old arrow-through-Kevin-Bacon. But Jason spearing some horny teens is not even half as disturbing as the inevitable lancing of that pulsating, pus-filled boil you can see on the side of Pete's face in that pic, something that Kate probably wakes up drooling on every morning. Can't you just see how the love blossomed between these two? If it wasn't that scabtastic monstrosity that did it, perhaps it was his achromatic flesh in general, his ability to simultaneously drive and light up a killer tray, the fact that he let Kate's two-year-old give him a haircut, or his cool around-the-neck harmonica holder.

Nah, it's totally that super-sexxy semi-see-thru top.

• Some people are so paralyzed by fear that they are simply unable to get out of bed when Friday the 13th rolls around. The Stress Management Center and Phobia Institute estimates that more than 17 million people are affected by a fear of this day.
If that's the case, then every day will be Friday the 13th for Scarecrow Paltrow and her douchey husband since Kate and Petey are allegedly planning to buy a home right next door! How fun! Maybe Apple and Moses can playdate with Pete's son Astile. You forgot that Pete reproduced, didn't you? Completely understandable. Anyway, I think it would be hilarious if Astile and Apple ended up falling in love with each other and got married. Then the Priss and the Pauper would have to endure family gatherings with Kate, Pete and their crackpipe! Please, Jesus, grant me this one petty miracle and let this happen. That would be the all-time greatest thing ever, and then we would all be the luckiest girls in the world!

• The fear of Friday the 13th is called paraskavedekatriaphobia, which kind of looks like it says para-skank-VD-katrina-phobia. Or parasite-cave-deck-triad-phobia.

• Pete and Kate were recently spotted strolling through an English wildlife park and smoking weed. Upon visiting the penguin enclosure, Pete casually leaned over the knee-high stone wall and kindly chucked a little shwag at the tuxedoed birds, then yukked it up with Kate when one lucky penguin waddled over and ate it. Enterprising paps caught the whole sordid debacle on film. This has nothing to do with Friday the 13th; I just thought it was fantastically mind-boggling that this menace to society is not only free to walk among us, but to actively come within 100 feet of children and animals. It's bad enough they let him into a kid-heavy environment with a big doob hanging out of his cracked, scabbed lips...where was the Animal Militia? We can't rely on the hope that whatever junkie cocktail he was flying on caused him to see giant penguins looming over him and pelting him with joints. Let's start cooking up some good threats, AM! I don't think even Glen Benton would stoop as low as to give cigs to a penguin.

In December, The Daily Telegraph quoted a source as saying of an impending Pete/Kate nuptuals, "There's been a bit of a tussle over the guest list, which is small because Kate is concerned that some of Pete's hangers-on are bad news, but he's determined to have his mates there." In January, Pete was said, “Kate and I are in love. I worship her. But we’re not going down the aisle. I’m happy the way it is.” In February, the two lovebirds went through rehab together. And last night, Pete dedicated a song called "KP Nuts" to his beautiful wife-to-be. Sigh. It's a match made in heaven...

Stay lucky, mates!


100% chance of Snow

Cowtown had a record high temperature of 80 degrees Tuesday. It was awesome. Yesterday it was 40 and it started snowing, and today it's even colder. That's fucked up, no two ways about it. It's no wonder everyone gets so depressed this time of year. How are we supposed to function under these conditions? The answer is that we simply do not.

Jacked-up weather situations such as this totally mess with my mind. Case in point: as I stared in disbelief at the dandruff-esque flakes the sky was coughing up, I thought, "Snow? You've gotta be fucking kidding me. Speaking of which, whatever happened to early-90s Canadian rapper Snow?" What's the worst part of this story? I actually looked it up.

So, as if you care, I'll tell you what I discovered because I couldn't believe it. If the Wikipedia is to be believed (and why wouldn't it be?), this guy is still at large. He has released not one, not two, but FIVE albums filled with horrible songs since his cleverly-titled debut effort "12 Inches of Snow" in 1993. They are called—get ready—"Murder Love", "Justuss", "Cooler Conditions", "Mind on the Moon" and "Two Hands Clapping", and he's preparing to release yet another album jam packed with super-fly traxxx sometime this year. Believe it or not, he's had some success in Japan (where it seems everyone, including Edward Furlong, can have a music career) and, even more interesting, Jamaica. He's even got two Myspace pages, one for Artist Snow and another for Snow's fans, no doubt to quench their rabid froth for all the latest Snow news and phat-ass rhymes. No word if we can expect any beatboxing. And since you're probably wondering, Snow still looks like grown-up version of Sherman from "Bullwinkle", but after Mr. Peabody bit him in the face.

If you think that was an unwelcome blast from the past, I submit another name that I bet you hoped you'd never hear again: Gerardo. How could you possibly forget the shirtless, oiled, bandanna- and stonewashed jeans-clad Latin lover writhing around to that memorable chart-topper "Rico Suave"? No mas, no mas! But no such luck. Gerardo has also continued churning out the Spanglish hitz, including my personal fave "Fame, Sex y Dinero", which I'm guessing is his Latin American equivalent to sex, drugs and rock n' roll, or death and taxes or something. His last record "180 Degrees" may have hit stores back in '04, but he's still mixing it up one time, as you can see on his official website. And true to form, it seems he's still only addicted to the female species (he eats 'em raw like sushi). I don't know if it's good or bad that this is the only line I remember from this song. And the fact that I remember a line from this song is indicative of something far more disturbing in my psyche than any of us could have ever imagined.

Speaking of mental problems, whatever possessed Manson to lose it has apparantly also gotten me on a roll becase I also decided to do a little online research to see what Right Said Fred has been up to these days. Right Said Fred. The big gay Mr. Clean twins that, up until the release of "Fergalicious", were behind the dumbest song in the history of music. That's worse than checking in with Lihmal to see what's new, or googling The Heights to see how they did after the whole "How Do You Talk To An Angel", Drew Barrymore broken engagement thing. Apparently I'm not too sexy for any of this, and neither is my cat, Blackie Onassis. Remember him?

Anyway, if you thought that "I'm Too Sexy" was the only thing these two have ever done, you're so, so, so wrong; in fact, what they've done since is so completely awesome I can't even believe it's real. First of all, we all know those crazy Brits have a notoriously ungodly love of crappy pop music, but did you know that they managed to send Right Said Fred into the UK top 100 nine times?? Not only that, but "Don't Talk Just Kiss", "Stick It Out" and "Deeply Dippy", three songs with the dumbest titles ever, even made it all the way to the top ten! Let's write a song about that and call it "Deeply Disturbing." The last time they hit the charts was in 2001 with the suspiciously-titled "You're My Mate", which came in at number 18.

As is typical with Britpop, their biggest, baddest hit will be ressurrected, dance remixed, and rereleased to most likely hit number one again and again. Their official website breathlessly indicates that this malevolence is already underway. You heard it here first (well, second): "Right Said Fred are still too sexy in 2007! Sign up on the site now to stay up to date [sic] on their exciting new project! The 'I'm Too Sexy' revival is in full swing following Right Said Fred's starring role in the new daz adverts, with Ricky Tomlinson learning a new dance routine." I don't know who this "Ricky Tomlinson" is or generally what the fuck they are talking about but my interpretation is that there is probably some kind of TV commercial involving these people. Well, good for them anyway. According to the Wikipedia one of the brothers opened a gym and the other went on to become a member of "Gaytime TV" on BBC2. Ring, ring! Hello, cable company? This is RockitQueen. I demand BBC2 immediately. I'm starting a petition.

That was a nice little trip down memory lane, wasn't it? Nice to know that some of our fave one-hit wonders are making good with their lives and not slumming it up in Haimland. But if you want to know what ever happened to Wreckx-in-Effect, you're on your own. I'm done for now.


Cover of the day

I officially think Alanis Morrissette is awesome.