Jeremy Eaton

First of all, after this week's episode, Lost (ABC, Thurs, March 20, 9 pm) will be taking a four-week hiatus. "A FOUR FREAKING WEEK HIATUS?? WHAT THE FRAK ARE YOU TALKIN' 'BOUT, HUMPY?!" you whisper. "THE STUPID SEASON JUST STARTED, SO HOW CAN THEY BE TAKING A FRIKITY-FRAKKIN' HIATUS?!? I WILL KILL YOU!!"

Okay. So first of all, I don't schedule TV shows—I just write about them. Besides, if you want to kill me for telling you that Lost is prematurely going on hiatus, you're going to have to get in line behind those who want to kill me for other reasons—such as insulting the size of their necks (hi, Rachael Ray!), refusing to pay back American Idol gambling bets, and conceiving a string of bastard children that litter the United States like a handful of money-sucking confetti.

OH! That reminds me! I've finally figured out how to pay off a chunk of that $6 million in child support. It's called... "Put Your Bastard Children to Work in Hollywood!" For example, did you hear that Britney Spears' father gets paid $2,500 a week, just to be her father? And seriously... what does he have to do? Keep booze out of her mouth and cover her shaved vagina with underpants. Hmmmm... maybe he should ask for a raise.

ANYWAY. Statistically speaking, at least one of my bastard children has to be talented, right? So I'll pick out the most talented bastard, take her to Hollywood, get her a job on one of those idiotic Hannah Montana shows, and then? HELLOOOOOO, GRAVY TRAIN!

My main concern is finding the little bastard, which means holding an American Idol-style audition. (I wonder if the Superdome is booked this weekend?)

Now, because of my lack of parenting skills, you may have concerns that I may not be the best possible "stage dad." Well, EFF YOU. Could I really be worse than Britney or Lindsay's moms? Seriously, I could hook my kid up to a vodka IV, crush up barbiturates in her Cap'n Crunch, sell her on eBay's white slave market, and STILL look like "Dad of the Year" compared to those hos.

BESIDES! I'm going to have help from Hollywood's most respected expert on rearing stage children... ex-child actor, Danny Bonaduce. "DANNY FRAKIN' BONADUCE?!" you squeak. "WHAT DOES THAT DRUG-ADDLED BOOZEHOUND KNOW ABOUT KIDS?" Well, he knows enough to get his own VH1 show debuting this week, entitled I Know My Kid's a Star (Thurs, March 20, 10 pm). In this reality competition, Danny judges 10 parent/child teams to see which kid has the makings to be the next Hollywood star (and which parent won't drive him/her nutso in the process). To win $50,000 and a Hollywood contract, the teams must pass a series of challenges, such as skill, poise, likeability, and— probably—exiting a car without wearing any underpants.

SO! All I have to do is find the most talented of my uncountable bastard children, fly them to LA, scream at them until they win this Danny Bonaduce show, and then... then... wait. I've forgotten why I'm doing this in the first place. Awww, never mind. I hate kids.