Today’s blog is one of those stream of consciousness efforts, so bear with me.

I stopped on the way to work today to get gas. From my house and the way I go to work, there are about, I don’t know, eight or ten gas stations. I know the ones by the highway off-ramps and on-ramps charge more for gas, but I’m a right turn in and out kind of a guy. I won’t drive a mile out of my way to save three cents a gallon, and I can’t stand making left turns into gas stations that will require me to make left turns out of them.

I know it’s not rational, but who needs the headache of a gas stop AND two left turns? I know I don’t.

Anyway, I decide to accept the ten cents per gallon extra to go one tenth of a mile closer to the highway and get gas. I’m okay with that…sort of.

I get out, run my debit card, and start pumping. At $2.699 a gallon, the numbers oughta be flying by. Except they’re not. It’s literally dribbling out of the pump. And the guy next to me had the same look on his face as I did, and it said “What the fuck is this?” I mean, he spent over four minutes (I timed him) filling up a fucking motorcycle. And not a twin tank beast either. It was a Honda.

After about five minutes, I said “screw this,” stopped at five bucks, which was just about 2 gallons, and left. Can you imagine that it was going to take me 24 fucking minutes to fill up my car? What year is this? 1922? I will stop there again to let the proprietor know that I will not be buying his shitty, watered down, overpriced gas ever again.

There. I feel better. Now on to really important news.

The first story today that will get WAY too much publicity today is that Britney “letting myself go completely in the name of maternity” Spears has given birth to Cletus’ fetus.

See, I have to credit Fark.com for that. They started referring to Mr. Spears (Kevin Federline) as Cletus and Federcletus a LONG time ago…around the time that Whoretney first brought him out in public as “her man.”

Then, when I heard the story yesterday, Cletus Fetus hit me, and that was that.

Anyway, here’s a girl who married a guy that was married with two kids when they met / boinked. He’s 27 years old and already had two kids with Shar Jackson, who is famous for I have no idea what. Shar’s got four kids total, including the two she popped out 1993 and 1995 when she was 17 and 19 respectively. No mention of those baby’s daddies at http://www.eonline.com/, but I have to assume that he / they weren’t NEARLY as famous as the shit-ass white trash Federcletus is, but I digress.

An interesting quote attributed to Shar at the abovementioned website regarding the happy couple:

“You both smoke, you both drink, and you both cheated on your significant others after three years. You’re made for each other.”

Just made me laugh. She’s passing judgement on folks. Nice. Now, back to my rant.

Anyway, the world is now complete since the has-been no-talent hack and her never-been no-talent husband have a spawn. She’s 23, married for a second or third time, and this time, she’s procreated with the skee-zoid. Anyone care to wager if the marriage can last thru football season?

I mean really. There’s no way on God’s ball of dirt that we’re sitting here 10 years from now saying “man, I was really wrong about those two. They really ARE the perfect couple.”

Anyway, baby FederSpears already has a deal with that weirdo Donatella Versacci (I refuse to look that up to see if it’s spelled right) for exclusive one-of-a-kind clothes for the baby.

Again, does anybody see this turning out anything but bad? I picture ass-less chaps and pirate shirts and once he’s a teenager, he’s going to make the Coreys (Feldman and Haimm) look like the Von Trapp kids. I bet little London will be chewing ecstasy like tic tacs, smoking opium and probably will have his own line of bongs or something.

My question is, when is this nonsense going to stop? Not star-fucking or reporting it, but Britney? She hasn’t done anything that anyone would consider meaningful in about five years. The last thing I remember her doing was tearing off NBA warmup-like black slacks to show her skin colored suit as she humped the stage at the MTV VMA’s a few years ago. She’s cancelled tours due to knee injuries (which is PR speak for low ticket sales and lack of interest). Her family’s bleeding her dry waiting for the next Spears child to become America’s masturbatory fantasy, and they’re spending money like it’s Armageddon.

Combine that with the fact that her husband’s only earning potential is as a backup dancer…for her…and she can’t tour, and the fact that he’s spending money in Vegas on drugs and hookers like he’s Hunter S. Thompson and Ben Afleck combined, and you’ve got a recipe for a Barbara Walters special where Britney cries as she gets introspective and tries to figure out where it all went wrong.

Yawn. Wake me up when Kevin gets picked up for soliciting a prostitute, only it’s actually a dude trying to look like his wife, only he’s better looking than his now pig of a wife.

The question is, will Kevin go on Leno a’la Hugh Grant? I seriously doubt it. I expect that we’re more likely to see the Britney and Kevin “E! True Hollywood Story,” which will chronicle the their downfall, financial ruin and finally their demise.

At least that’s what I’m hoping for…

On a happier note, the Megamillions Lottery game is up to a whopping one quarter of a billion dollars. That’s the kind of money that turned the asshole in West Virginia from a two bit country bully into a two-bit stripper loving, cash losing, drugged out grand-daughter financing bully. I think I could do better than that.

After taxes, a mook like me would take home about 80 million, and that would be great.

If it’s not me that wins it, I would just like it if someone young like me could win it, or at least someone relatively young, given that I’m now 37 years old. I’m tired of seeing folks over 60 win it. It doesn’t matter whether they take the 25-year annuity or the lump sum payment. They won’t live long enough to spend it.

Besides, I could do a lot of good with that money for both myself and other people.

Really.

The new season of Survivor starts tonight, complete with the first person who is, with the full permission and help of the producers, starting with a big fat HUGE lie right out of the gate.

It seems that former Dallas Cowboy quarterback Gary Hogeboom is on the show this season, but he colluded with the producers to say that he was Gary the Landscaping guy so folks wouldn’t resent his relative fame and perceived wealth and vote him off before he gets a chance to shoot himself in the foot.

Wouldn’t it be funny if the teams decided to kill a little time playing a little 3 on 3 football, or better yet, someone was sitting around talking about hot lesbian action, and they were about to be bitten by a ten foot uber-poisonous dragon-snake, and Gary picked up a coconut and threw a 40 yard strike to behead the monster, save the hot chick’s life, but in doing so opened the Pandora’s box that is his true identity?

Is there any doubt why this is the best reality show on the air today?

One last thing before I go today. Last night was effectively the semi-finals of CBS’ show Rock Star: INXS.

In case you’ve been under a rock (or simply don’t care and, like me, just assumed that INXS died ten years ago when Michael Hutchence did), this show is one week away from naming the new lead singer for INXS. The final four was last night, and unfortunately, the last girl was sacrificed last night in favor of the least talented of the final 8 or 16, Mig Ayesa.

I believe he is still in it for one or two reasons:

a) he’s Australian (like the band)
b) they KNOW he’s not the one, so they kept him to make next week a two-man contest.

I am petrified that it’s A, and that he’s gonna win no matter what. And that’s despite the fact that he’s nothing more than a cruise ship singer with abs. And you couldn’t miss his abs, because while he’s singing thru every musical break in every song he sings, he either takes off his shirt or tries to tear it off like Hulk Hogan, only he’s so wee and weak that he can’t tear off his own t-shirts. It’s sad really.

The two that it should come down to are Marty and J.D.

Despite nearly getting bounced in the first two weeks for being a raving lunatic, J.D. Fortune (nice fake name) has become the odds on favorite that doesn’t have an accent. His original material’s been good, he’s obviously talented, and his voice is about perfect for INXS’ older material which, despite their claims of moving forward, is essential if this band’s going to tour the world and play their old hits.

J.D.’s downside is that the crazy is probably just under the surface, and if you add some fame and a pile of money, he could got nuts again and leave them where they’ve spent the last ten years: without a singer.

The other contender is Marty. He’s from Chicago (a plus), his original stuff is great, he plays guitar as well (which always helps with the ballads) and he’s got great range.

Marty’s downside is probably his look. That sounds dumb but I think they (the band) are considering that in their final decision.

In the end, I hope Mig flames out by dropping his mic or pissing himself or something like that. Then I hope J.D. wins, leaving us with Marty as a solo act. Then (like my friend Amy) I could feel good buying Marty’s solo album and ignoring INXS much like I have for the last decade.

Well, maybe I wouldn’t ignore them outright (as I have several of their albums on my Ipod), but I wouldn’t spend a Canadian dime to see them in concert. INXS was Michael Hutchence. Period. Touring like this is akin to the John Kaye’s Steppenwolf or Axl Rose’s version of Guns N’ Roses. They just aren’t anything but a cover band hoping to make some nest egg money off of their past successes.

That said, I’ve enjoyed the show for what it was. A glorified talent show that allowed me weekly chances to crack on folks that are deluded enough to think that 15 minutes on a reality television show will result in real and long lasting fame.

Mig, when you get to the reality TV old folks home, tell Trischelle, Jerrie Manthey, Richard Hatch and the turd on a stick Puck, we all said “Hey.”