A Bad List of Good Places to Dump Children Who Obviously Aren't Going to be able to put you in a good nursing home

I apologize for giving up on the capitalization. The booze told me it was a good idea.

Let me preface by saying that abandoning an infant is never the right course of action. It's stupid to dump a kid before you figure out if he's going to be the next Einstein or Tiger Woods or Flava Flav. It's like when you test drive a car. Or when you pop an adult movie into the VCR and the first fifteen minutes are trying to build some kind of stupid story (the Best Toaster Ever says this happens all the time - I wouldn't know, and I can't figure out where it's hiding the VCR so I can't investigate its claims). Just like with porn, you've got to give kids a little time to show you what they can do before you hit the eject button.

"But Scott Colby!" you gasp as you zip yourself up, feeling disappointed that there will be no further mention of pornography in this blog entry. "The children are precious!"

Not the ones that aren't going to be able to put you in a good nursing home, dumbass. If you end up in some shit ass hole-in-the-wall home where they only play Bingo once a week and none of the nurses are cute and their idea of activity hour is making macaroni pictures and the pudding sucks and they try to make you stop whacking those lousy teenagers with your cane and you have to hide your bottle of Jack Daniels so they won't take it away and they never have enough Viagra and you have to share a room with some old coot who thinks he's Ronald Reagan and another old fart who smells like Paris Hilton after a weekend in Vegas and there isn't a stripper pole in the lounge and the bus only goes to Foxwoods but never Mohegan Sun, it won't be my fault. I'm trying to help you.

And yes, I realize that was probably the worst run-on sentence on the Interweb that wasn't written by some thirteen year old drama queen in a Sixteen Magazine forum. It was a stylistic choice, and I believe it to have been a good one.

Anyways, prepare yourself once again for the power of the bulleted list as it imparts upon you a plethora of good places to abandon your children only to reclaim them twenty years later when they're inevitably loaded and can take proper care of you:

• Vince McMahon's doorstep. This is an especially good idea if your son is under five years old but is five feet tall and weighs a buck fifty. Having a WWF Champion in the family tree is never a bad thing, especially since the belt looks damn good on the mantle or attached to the grill of the Bentley your son will bring you as a gift during your heartfelt reunion.
• The backseat of Paris Hilton's car. Think about it - that kid'll be on the cover of every supermarket tabloid on the planet for the next three months, then he'll resurface with a heroin addiction by the time he's fourteen, thus bringing about a VH1 documentary and a possible career in reality television after he turns twenty-one. Warning: Do not leave a little girl with Paris Hilton. She may be able to put you in a nice nursing home, but you'll be known throughout the land as the parent of the biggest slut since...well...FOREVER.
• The Grand Canyon. David Spade's magnum opus, "Joe Dirt," proves that any child abandoned in the Grand Canyon will grow up to become a national celebrity and get the hot farm chick regardless of grooming habits and the influence of Kid Rock.
• The yacht club. If you didn't see this one coming, I think you've got a bit of reading to do.
• Tom Cruise's house. But first you have to hire a tattoo artist to give your child a "birthmark" that looks like L. Ron Hubbard.
• Lionel Richie's mansion. After all, if he hadn't adopted Nicole, she'd probably be a successful, well-adjusted, professional young woman who eats right and has good taste in friends rather than what she is today: fucking loaded.
  
• A Third World country. This is kind of a crapshoot, and as such it should only be used as a last resort. There's no guarantee that Madonna or Angelina is going to adopt your particular child, and you may have to try multiple countries before achieving success.

And now, a public service announcement:

Are you an avid reader of this blog? Do you enjoy consistent updates that don't include a link to some stupid news story?

Then it's your civic duty to see to it that Scott Colby always has a healthy supply of beer from the Magic Hat Brewing Company in his fridge!

Plus, you can dictate the type of update you'll get by buying him different types of beer. #9 will get you yachts, Kelly Clarkson, and baseball. Roxy Rolles produces a generous helping of The Best Toaster Ever with a side of random celebrity bullshit. Fat Angel switches the focus to Nelly Furtado, stupid politicians, and that time Kaplan made out with a fat girl (hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha) (hahaha) (ha). Circus Boy brings out the T and Kim Jong Il and acts as a mild bulleted list suppressant.

And who knows what'll happen if you start mixing! Comedy will certainly ensue!

So hurry up and buy me some beer. If you don't, I'll call Steve Rossi and have him send his Mafia connections after you. Unfortunately, that might not actually work very well in my favor, as any Mafia connections Steve Rossi has are more likely to cook you a wonderful homemade pasta dinner than they are to take out your kneecaps.

(Happy now, Steve? I've set you up to be a recurring character! Pretty soon Steve Rossi t-shirts will be outselling the Best Toaster Ever's "I'll warm up your buns, baby!" t-shirts hand over fist!)