The Breeders

Two weeks ago, the baby factory and reality TV stars known as Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar gathered their whole clan of 20 to make a BIG ANNOUNCEMENT on national, live television via the "Today" show. Oh jiminy, what could this big announcement ever be? The suspense had the whole nation on the edge of their seats!


"I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess," Meredith Viera joshed. "You're getting a puppy!" To which Michelle Duggar, the womb (I mean mother) of the clan, replied: "Haha! Well, not exactly." Such jokesters the two of them are. "Congratulaaattionsss...." Viera cooed after they revealed the real secret, which is that Michelle is pregnant with their 19th child. Big surprise.

"Well how are you feeeeeeling?" Viera prodded the 42-year-old mother. "Sick and tired," Michelle replied, without a trace of irony, as her sperm depositor (I mean, husband) looked on with a big, goofy grin, while clutching a copy of the book they authored together.

So it's clear that Michelle and Jim Bob do not believe in birth control of any kind, because they regard the fertilization of the egg by the sperm as a "miracle" and the baby produced as a result "a gift from God." It is God, not Jim Bob's penis, that is the reason for the creation of all of their many children, all of whom incidentally have names that start with the letter J (I wonder who inspired that trend).

Ah, but things get even stranger in Duggar-land. Their oldest son recently married his first girlfriend (who, according to the guiding principles of their religion, he wasn't even allowed to kiss on the mouth until their marriage ceremony. . .just mull on that one for a second). They are expecting their first child momentarily. But here's the awesome part: Once his wifey gives birth, the baby will have 18 uncles and aunts all at once. Eighteen! But not just that, some of those Duggar kids will be calling themselves uncle and auntie at the ripe age of 8 months! I mean, really, whatthefuck.

Apart from being a public curiosity, are the Duggars actually doing something sinister by procreating like rabbits? Well, consider this: A 2007 study done by something called the Optimum Population Trust, pointed out that if couples had two children instead of three, they could cut their family’s carbon dioxide output by the equivalent of 620 return flights a year between London and New York.

There is apparently one—albeit disputed—benefit to having many children. Some believe that it can actually increase life span. The oldest woman in the world, one Mariam Amash of Israel, is 120 and has given birth to 10 children. She also has 120 grandchildren, 250 great-grandchildren, and 30 great-great-grandchildren. (Although she does also attribute her longevity to a diet rich in vegetables; perhaps something for Michelle Duggar to consider when she's cooking up her signature dish, "Tator Tot Casserole," which she proudly shares in her book as well as on their TV show, "18 Kids and Counting.")

But whether birthing litters makes you live longer or not, one thing is certain: Decades from now, perhaps centuries, the world will be filled with many, many Duggar descendants of every category—uncles, aunts, cousins, grandkids, grand-grandkids—themselves reproducing, spinning the Duggar lineage into infinity, a group big enough to eventually create a city, Duggartown, if you will. And when human civilization finally comes to an end, the last remaining human will probably be a Duggar, standing amidst the rubble and shaking his fist at Michelle and Jim Bob for churning out so many children that their wanton consumption of the Earth's resources finally helped its demise.

Babies 4 Sale

Tearing up the box office charts right now is a horror film called "Orphan" about an evil little girl named Esther (could there be a more perfect name for an evil orphan?) who terrorizes her newly adoptive parents with her dark powers. It's a well-exploited premise in the horror film genre ("The Omen" did it best).


But if you're looking for an orphan tale that will truly chill your blood, look no further than the one about a woman who for twenty years stole and swindled babies from the hands of poor single mothers, posed them as orphans and sold them to rich parents through her fake agency. No, it's not a movie -- don't rush to your Netflix que -- it's real life. The life of one very bad woman named Georgia Tann.

You all remember that scene in "Mommie Dearest" (don't try to hide it, you love that shit) when Joan Crawford and her arched eyebrows learn she's denied adoption by an established agency. The infamous Crawford fury ensues, but a few months later, magically, she gets her hands on a perfect little blond baby girl. Well, guess what? That child came courtesy of none other than Miss Tann and her Tennessee Children's Home Society.

That child, whom the world would later get to know as Christina, had been stolen by Tann from a mother who would never be found or identified. Tann did this over and over, from the late '20s until her death in 1950, the cases climbing into the thousands. She adopted her stolen babies out to parents whose backgrounds went unchecked, thus resulting in the children sometimes being placed with pedophiles and abusers (such as Crawford).


How in the world did this madness happen, and how could it happen for that long? Well, picture this scenario: A young, cash-strapped single mother with a sick baby, one day gets a knock on her door from a kindly-looking woman who identifies herself as a social worker and director of a nearby orphanage. Concerned about the health of the child, the social worker gives a quick examination, and decides the baby is seriously ill.

"But don't worry, I can help you," she says to the mother. "Give her to me and I'll take her back to the orphanage, pass her off as one of the wards and, that way, I can get her free care." The mother is excited. "But you can't come," the social worker says, "otherwise, the nurses will charge you if they find out you're the mother." So the mother hands over her child, thinking she just got hooked up with free health care.

Two days later, she gets a phone call from the social worker: the baby had died. The mother doesn't believe her and makes frantic visits to the orphanage, the police, none of whom help. Meanwhile, the baby -- who is alive and well -- is being flown to her new adoptive home in Ohio.

That "social worker" was Georgia Tann, and this is just one example of how she obtained her babies. How she was able to sell them to new families (sometimes for up to $5,000 for out-of-state adoptions) is another layer in this strange tale, one involving corrupt judges, politicians and the police -- all of whom had given Tann their protection. Add to the mix her trustworthy demeanor (some of her biggest advocates were her own clients), her amazing powers of persuasion and intimidation tactics, endless bribing, and it's not hard to understand how this woman and her macabre baby thieving operation, chillingly, became the foundation for modern American adoption.

Indeed, before Tann burst onto the adoption scene, in the late '20s, there were literally only about five adoptions being arranged a year by agencies like the Boston Children’s Aid Society. But only four years into her baby stealing career, Tann managed to pull off a whopping 206 adoptions. Here's another chilling fact: The whole policy of closed adoptions can be traced back to Tann, who covered up her kidnapping crimes by issuing adoptees with false certificates portraying their adoptive parents as their birth parents. All fifty states ultimately falsified adoptees’ birth certificates -- legislators believed it would spare adoptees the stigma of illegitimacy.

Tann died in 1950, and shortly thereafter the world learned of her crimes. Still, it was too late to deny her impact on the adoption system. So next time you settle in for two hours of evil orphan terror via the silver screen, just remember, the real horror story has already taken place -- and it stars Georgia Tann.

Psinister Psychic Friends Network

Whatever happened to those psychic hotline commercials that were ubiquitous throughout much of the '90s? You couldn't change a channel without seeing one of those odd clips, shot over green screen or in a gaudy studio, with loud graphics and some supposedly clairvoyant host waving her hands, adorned with long fingernails, around a crystal ball. The 900 number would flash on the bottom of the screen, with a slightly smaller print below, telling you that you had to be 18 to call, that this was "for entertainment only" and that the first minute will cost you $3.99 (or more).

It wasn't just some random psychics offering their gifts of foresight, but celebrities too -- either hawking their own hotlines on tv or giving testimonials to others'. You had LaToya Jackson and her "Psychic Readers Network," Dionne Warwick's "Psychic Friends Network," Nell Carter had "Nell Carter Psychic Hotline," and Esther Rolle (the mom from "Good Times") implored viewers to call her "Caring Psychic Family" (such a welcoming name; doesn't it just make you feel warm and fuzzy?). Even Vicky Lawrence, Billy Dee Williams and Phillip Michael Thomas of "Miami Vice" appeared in ads, giving their thumbs-up to some 900 number.

But the Grand Puba of them all, the most unforgettable hotline psychic was, no doubt, Miss Cleo of the Psychic Readers Network. "Kohl meh now for yer free reeden'," she would tell you, in an almost chiding tone, in her Jamaican accent (though she was actually a native of Los Angeles, and not a Jamaican at all). Cleo kept it real, she told the truth, honey -- be it good or bad! "Ye no' aboht dee gal he's seeing raht now? She's a little hoochie mama," Cleo would break it down, no-nonsense style.


Hearing that kind of sage advice could become addictive to some people, and that's why those 900 numbers became such big business. (Our girl Cleo earned a reported $13.5 mil from her hosting duties). Some callers would get their fix on LaToya's line but then also get a "second opinion" with one of Dionne's seers, and so it would continue. The psychic hotline addiction could become as powerful as a gambling one. One woman even wrote a book about the insatiable craving to receive guidance on life's decisions from what, in fact, is just some average joe with no real psychic abilities, sitting in his or her living room in pajamas.

In fact, in the late '90s, as part of Giuliani's welfare-to-work program, New York City trained welfare recipients for jobs as psychics for the Psychic Readers Network. The only other requirement was having a high school equivalency degree, "a caring and compassionate personality" and English speaking skills. Within a few years of this ingenious (and so successful!) effort, both Cleo's hotline and Dionne Warwick's would be buried under various lawsuits and bankruptcy. The newly imposed Federal Communication Commission's restrictions on 1-900 numbers certainly didn't help matters.

So when one combines all these psinister psychic factors -- potential for addiction, deceit on the part of the psychics and plain old fashioned greed -- it's not hard to understand why those colorful commercials we were once so accustomed to seeing are now buried in the same 1990s pop culture graveyard as grunge and Vanilla Ice. We can only hope that, one day, they will not attempt to rise from the dead and try to eat our brains...again. Until then, we'll just keep watching those entertaining Extenze ads and their equally lofty promises.

Le Freak C'est Chic

Back in 1932, a dark little film called "Freaks" was released by MGM studios to the masses. The story revolved around a gold-digging trapeze artist who seduces and marries a sideshow little person in order to get her hands on his large inheritance. Eventually, she poisons him, starts having an affair with an average-size man, and when the rest of the sideshow performers learn of her deceit, they viciously attack and mutilate her and her lover in a macabre and unforgettable climax.


The movie was highly controversial then and still is, because the cast consisted almost entirely of people with real-life deformities and illnesses. They included a multitude of dwarves, a pair of conjoined twins, the Human Torso (i.e. a man with no limbs), who in one scene lights a cigarette with matches, using only his mouth. You'd think that this kind of exploitation for entertainment's sake could have only come out of an era before color televisions, Civil Rights, computers.

Well, think again. Because the popular channel TLC -- best known for its "family-centered" reality shows like the mega hit "Jon & Kate Plus 8" -- has become the main purveyor of a slew of documentary programming that can only be described as a kind of modern, repackaged version of "Freaks." And their growing popularity says a lot about us as the audience.


On an average night, usually after 8 p.m., you can learn the true story of Tony, the 750 lb teenager, or Hayley, the girl with progeria -- the disease of rapid aging; or Zahra, the woman who was pregnant for 45 years and didn't know it, or Ronnie and Donnie, the oldest living conjoined twins, or Sharon, the primordial dwarf (tiny, but proportionate). And just like the bluntly-titled "Freaks," the titles of these TLC shows offer no mystery about the contents that await. Here is a sampling:

"The 650 lb Virgin"
"The Tiniest Toddlers"
"Dwarfs: Standing Tall"
"The Smallest People In The World"
"The Girl Who Never Grew"

TLC has tapped into that corner of our psyche that is simultaneously repelled and drawn to human oddities. And although the deformities they feature are no less unusual than the ones displayed in "Freaks," TLC has made theirs somehow more digestible to middle America -- in some cases, even endearing. I mean, who is not going to melt into a puddle of goo when they watch a little primordial dwarf that weighs 11 lbs and stands at about 28 inches, at age four, talk in her tiny voice and wave around her miniature hands, and bat her teeny tiny doll-like eyes? Especially when you have a woman with a gentle, sympathetic voice narrating the whole affair.

And so, the shows play like this, for hours, daily, peppered with commercials advertising everyday people stuff like prescription drugs and Verizon cell phones, as the average American sits there and watches, eyes open wide in both shock and curiosity, secretly thinking, Damn, my life is not so bad.

Bad Brains

Yesterday, the world surveyed the memorial service of all memorial services, the most lavish send-off of a dead man known to our modern times, the only kind of send-off worthy of THE KING (of pop).

Celebrities made speeches, singers sang their songs, retrospective videos played on enormous screens, and throughout the fast-paced ceremony, one thing remained static and conspicuous and that was the shiny casket bathed in fresh roses. Inside it, of course, was Michael himself, perhaps adorned in his signature Thriller jacket, sparkly glove, penny loafers and white socks, the hair on his jet black ladies wig falling elegantly at his shoulders. But what most spectators and performers didn't know was that beneath that wig, and further still, under his skull, there was nothing but empty space. Yes, Michael was being buried without his brain.

It seems rather ironic that the man who sang about zombies would end up taking his final journey without that one piece of anatomy zombies like to feast on. The irony gets even thicker, given that Michael played the brainless Scarecrow in The Oz.

But there is a good explanation for his brainlessness. You see, having reached no definitive conclusion regarding the nature of his death after the autopsies, pathologists requested his brain for further examinations, which could take up to three weeks. That was the choice faced by the Jackson family: let Michael's body sit in a freezer for weeks and wait for his brain to return back from the lab, or go ahead and put him into the earth, hollow-headed. They chose the latter.

So what do the scientists hope to discover when they slice and dice through Michael's gray matter? Well, for one thing, they're going to dig for evidence of past drug use and whether he has suffered other overdoses, in addition to any other hitherto unknown diseases.

But that is all standard stuff. It seems that these pathologists have a golden opportunity on their hands -- to go beyond the boring drug stuff and try to understand what REALLY lay inside this mysterious man. Did he lie about having only two plastic surgeries (picture Michael making a peace sign during the infamous Bashir interview when asked that same question) in his life? Did his calm, peaceful Little Prince-like demeanor hide a raging temper? I suppose we can only wait and see.

The family still has the option of burying his brain later. Which begs the question: Will the brain have its own ceremony?