A new show premiered on MTV this week called Rock The Cradle. It’s basically like American Idol, except the contestants all happen to be the spoiled neglected children of terrible washed-up musicians. It’s pretty much the best idea for a television show. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that it’s executed flawlessly.

Well, almost flawlessly. The only thing I think the show could improve upon is maybe paying more attention to the non-musician parents of the contestants. Sure, it’s great to see MC Hammer and Dee Snider there, giving guidance and support to their talented kids. But what about their moms? They’re the ones who actually raised these child prodigies into the undeniable rock stars they are today. Yet, there’s no mention of them on the show nor any information about them on the show’s website.

So, after hours and hours of online detective work, I’ve finally completed a full list of all the Rock the Cradle parents. Enjoy:

A’Keiba Burrell:

Daughter of MC Hammer and “The Chief.”

Fun fact: A’Keiba means “Listen up, gumshoes!” in Swahili. (I totally found that picture by googling “that black lady on carmen sandiego.”)

Lucy Walsh:

Daughter of Eagles’ guitarist Joe Walsh and slutty Paula Zahn.

Jesse Money:

Daughter of rocker Eddie Money (who still looks great, by the way) and Kimmy Gibler.

Lara Johnston:

Daughter of the Doobie Brothers singer Tom Johnston and an adorable, yet alcoholic, little kitten.

Lil’ B. Sure:

Son of R&B singer Al B. Sure and MadTV’s Debra Wlson. (I think this one could be true.)

Crosby Loggins: (How has he not killed himself already with that name? So gross.)

What happens when Kenny Loggins uses a time-traveling beard trimmer.

Jesse Snider:

Son of Twisted Sister’s Dee Snider and Aaron Carter.

This show is his to lose. I’m calling it now.

Chloe Lattanzi:

Daughter of Olivia Newton John and the mutated Simpsons fish.

Landon Brown:

The love child of Bobby Brown and a prostitute inside a Kid Robot store.

So, last week we had a show that included Todd Barry, Leo Allen, Heather Lawless, Kevin Allison, and a surprise drop-in by Arj Barker. Yet, despite this stellar lineup, our crowd was embarrassingly small. (Embarrassing for you.) In fact, I was so upset by the turnout, I told Noah I was going right home to Heaven’s Gate myself. And I meant it–I own the black and white Nikes to do it. Luckily, Noah talked me down and, instead, we decided to book another amazing show for tonight. Check it out:

I don’t care how cold and windy it is, we expect you all to come.

To my friends and family:

Before I say anything else, I just want tell you all that I love you. Or, rather, I loved you. So much. This wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own. You’ve meant the world to me. Everything I was was because of you. I’ll cherish each and every moment I spent with you, the good times and the bad, for all of eternity.

Unfortunately, the time has come for me to say goodbye. I’m sorry it had to end like this. Please try to understand. I’ve tried so hard. So hard pretending to be something I’m not. Almost an entire year, living a lie. Living in agony. Fighting the urges. Ignoring the voice in my head that kept yelling, “DO IT, JOE! YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO! JUST DO IT AND GET IT OVER WITH!”

I tried to be strong, but I guess I wasn’t quite strong enough.

The urge overtook me. I lost control. And now I’ll never see any of you again.

Last night, I bought a Nintendo Wii from the Toys R Us on Broadway. It’s everything I dreamed it would be. But, because no one ever wants to come to Queens, and I don’t plan on ever leaving my apartment again, I guess this means goodbye. It was a pleasure having known all of you. I’ll always love you. I couldn’t go on living a lie. This was how it had to end. I wish you all long and happy lives. And even though I won’t be here with you anymore in person, just remember that I’m in a happier place now (and that place is Super Mario Galaxy).

I’m so sorry. Wii is so tight.

Yours in spirit,

Joe

PS: I named my console “Joe Mandwii,” so I should probz go ahead and kill myself for realsies.

 This morning, the Internet asked me this question:

Uhm…I really, really hope not. Like, more than anything.

“Are you Dane Cook?”

I bet Dane Cook asks himself that question every morning in the mirror for at least half an hour. Trying his hardest to make it a bit.

“Are you Dane Cook? Are you? Are you? Are you Dane…COOK?! COOK!? ARE YOU DANE COOK?!”

Then he rips off his snap-pants.

Then he starts crying. 

You guys know what I’m talkin’ about! Who here doesn’t secretly enjoy a good, hard cry now and again? Right? One of those good, emphatic, early morning mirror-cries? I think mirror-cries are the best kind of cries because they are so relatable:

“Are you Dane Cook?”

That’s seriously the rudest thing I’ve ever been asked. (Note: I was asked to show ID for an R rated movie two weeks ago.)

Here’s a tip, Dane: Kill yourself.

(I’m probably the first person to say mean things about this guy.)

I just found this on google. Some guy made a Dane Cook Monopoly board.

I created this Monopoly board in Photoshop as a gift for comedian Dane Cook. Each property is one of Dane Cook’s jokes.

…and each one of Dane Cook’s jokes is property of Louis C.K.

Here are some of the cards from the Dane Cook Monopoly set:

I just made this game as a gift to Dane Cook:

It’s just like original “Sorry!,” except before every turn, Dane Cook has to apologize for everything he’s ever done (without yelling).

I could do this all day, but I need to stop because I can feel my bald spot growing.

A while back, I wrote about how afraid I was of Vladimir Putin’s state-sponsored militia of brainwashed teenage Internet hackers, known as “Nashis“ (named after an organic but very racist type of Russian breakfast cereal).

Well, after watching this special report on CNN, let me just say that I feel much safer now:

What. The. Fuck.

TWEEN: “Hey Mom, can I have like $60?”
MOM: “For what, dear?”
TWEEN: “There’s this really awesome show at the arena I want to see.”
MOM: “Now, you know how I feel about rock n’ roll…”
TWEEN: “It’s not a rock show, Mom.”
MOM: “Well, what is it then?”
TWEEN: “It’s Battlecry.”
MOM: “And what is this ‘Battlecry’?”
TWEEN: “Well it’s kind of like a rock show…”
MOM: “I don’t like the sooound of thiiiis.”
TWEEN: “…but instead of music, there’s this local news sportscaster guy, and he yells at everyone about how much Jesus hates abortions.”
MOM: “Oh, that sounds like fun.”
TWEEN: “Yeah! And fireworks go off. And there are these lunatics running around with flags. And every one’s crying and praying.” 
MOM: “Wow! Hand me my purse, we’re both going!” 
TWEEN: “Eeeew! Are you kidding me? I can’t go to Battlecry with my mom! That’s so embarrassing.”
MOM: “Why?”
TWEEN: “You had your chance, Mom! This is my war!”

Quick poll: Who would win an all out fight to the death? Battlecryers or Nashis?

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Did you hear about that Chris Benoit guy who strangled his whole family and killed himself last week? Yikes! Who saw that coming?

Weird, he looks super stable.

This quote was in Time Magazine:

He then added, “I mean, Chris was normal guy…who took steroids and strangled people for money. That’s the Chris I know. But, going berserk and choking those close to him? I just don’t see it.”

Page Six is reporting that John Travolta’s son, Jett, most likely has autism.

Which would normally be a whatever story in my book. But, apparently, Scientologists don’t believe in autism (because they’re too busy believing in psychotic bullshit), so the Travoltas have been hiding their disabled son from the public for last few years, like a boy in a plastic bubble, waiting for him to snap out of it.

According to the Church of Scientology, people with mental illnesses are “degraded” and capable of curing themselves by working harder on the church’s teachings.

That’s it. He just needs to work harder.

I don’t have any problem with people converting to Scientology. They just shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce. Or make 20 mill a movie.

Here’s an interesting tidbit from Travolta’s IMBD trivia section:

“Jett was conceived during a weekend at the home of Demi Moore and Bruce Willis.”

No wonder that kid is fucked up. If being conceived by a dispicable celebrity power couple in the bed belonging to another dispicabl celebrity power couple didn’t give a kid autism, then having that information published on the Internet might just do it.

Or maybe he got autism the moment his dad named him “Jett.”

John Travolta named his son after his favorite toy. Jett. How gross is that? If my dad did that when I was born, my name would have been “Shortwave Radio Mande.”

Hey! Want to see something that will make you want to kill yourself? Check this out:

=$191,500,000.00 (+Profit Points)

That’s how much money John Travolta has made from every movie he’s been in since Pulp Fiction. And that doesn’t even include Wild Hogs!

AAAAAAAAH! I’m so upset!

I wish there was some way of gauging how stressed out I get thinking about John Travolta.

TGIF!

Anyone see the Prez do stand up the other night?

People in the audience:

“Haha! Why are we clapping?”

“Because the world is dying. Wooo!”

The internet <3's M.C. Rove

“It’s funny because he subjugates black people!”

“I know, riiiight? It’s, like, his job as a civil servant. LOL!”

Iraq = :’(

Hey, remember Hurricane Katrina? That was fucked up too. Right, Lil’ Wayne?

Eeeek! When did Lil’ Wayne become a poignant social commentator? Via underground mixtape, no less.

Lil’ Wayne is so Frank Rich right now. Also, he’s 6 months older than me. And the best rapper alive.

Best part of losing two Jaguars? Being 23 years old and having two Jaguars.

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