Adopting Balloon Boy

I have joyous news.

I'm adopting...Balloon Boy.

I thought long and hard about it, and I decided this was a change I needed to make in my life.

...Okay, who am I kidding? I really just want a reality show.

Clearly, I'm not going to be an 80's has-been anytime soon, so the only other way to get a show on extended cable was to have a quirky and foul-mouthed child that I could make hide in a box while I pull off a publicity stunt.

I considered the +8 kids, but to be honest, they're a little bit country, and I'm a little bit rock 'n roll.

I wouldn't even have to change his name.

I mean, c'mon--Falcon? He already sounds like a Behind the Music episode.

(Didn't Falcon sing "Girl, You're My Guitar Pick?")

Falcon seems like the kind of kid who could keep up with my party boy lifestyle.

Granted, we can never go to Arkansas, because gays aren't allowed to adopt children there, but c'mon, can we really call that a loss? Unless I plan on starting a goat farm or visiting the world's biggest cucumber, I think I'm all set.

Kind of funny though, how there are places where I'm considered an unfit parent, but Falcon's Dad and Mail-Order Mom are allowed to procreate to their heart's content without anybody stopping them.

So how, you may ask, do I plan on adopting a kid when I have no biological or legal claim to him?

I'm not entirely sure yet, but I figure if I can just get him into the actual balloon (for real this time) have him fly over to Africa, land somewhere near Kenya, and then meet him there with Madonna's lawyer, it'll all work itself out.

Now for the reason I'm making this public--

The Baby Shower.

I'm registered at the Apple Store.

...What? The kid's been traumatized.

As my parents taught me, you can't heal all wounds--without really expensive band-aids.