You don’t need any more proof that our society is utterly doomed than by watching a good ol’ fashioned Maury Povich “baby daddy” episode. Just the mere fact that it appears as though there’s literally an infinite supply of nitwits dying to expose their appalling paternity squabbles on national television is enough to vomit diarrhea. I feel like flying a cargo plane and dropping free condoms on every housing project and trailer park in the country after watching this shit. In those rabbit-style-populated neighborhoods, there should be an abortion clinic on every corner. There shouldn’t be one available coathanger within ten miles.
But if you can forget about watching our once mighty nation sadly crumbling from within, it sure is fun as shit to watch these modern day freak shows. There’s nothing quite like watching a previously stable and loving family unit absolutely shattered right before your eyes, just in time for commercials about future “baby daddy” episodes. Maury can watch the movie “Groundhog Day” with an appreciation few can understand.
The best part about these fantastic shows is invariably when Maury’s sinister old ass ruins these people’s lives by telling them in his cat-with-the-canary fashion, “You are NOT the father!” As his dumbfounded studio audience of imbeciles collectively gasp, the dude either breaks down or does a touchdown dance, and the broad runs off stage to try her hand at winning the coveted Lack Of Dignity Award by writhing all over the place in hysterics, you just know Maury can barely suppress a hearty belly laugh. If you look closely you can actually see him start to giggle right before he unveils the tragic news.
As much fun as it is dancing along to the soothing sounds of a lying whore receiving a very public and humiliating comeuppance, I must say it’s even more fun when the guy wants the little demon spawn to be his, and then old uncle Maury comes along to cheerfully murder his dreams. Usually, these shmucks have already been thoroughly deceived into believing the little bundle of dung is theirs, sometimes for years, so oftentimes the filthy tramps who couldn’t keep their legs closed get off scot-free. Can you imagine that shit? These broads know good and well they’ve had more loads in em than a washing machine, and yet they still go on conning their dumbass dudes in the most vile way imaginable.
The funniest shit is when some chick is on stage and Maury goes, “This is Da-Quisha, and this is her eleventh appearance on our show.” And then they run through her highlight reel of one hilarious embarrassment after the next, as they show her indignantly scream her certainty over and over again like the Bitch Who Cried Kid. And it’s always the same pattern too. The dirty sluts try to act like they’re not merely cum dumpsters by bringing one dude—probably the dude with the most money—onto the show and pretending they were studying for the nunnery when they were suddenly smoothly seduced. Then the next thing you know, they’re on stage with like eight dudes. Wait a minute, what the fuck happened to your unwavering confidence about the first dude? You mean to tell me the entire Mets starting lineup ran a train on you, and you were trying to pawn off your crappy kid on just one poor sap? So if it just so happened that the first guy was indeed the unlucky winner of the Whore Lottery, the other eight guys would never get brought up at all. It makes me think paternity tests should become mandatory.
I for one believe there should be some kind of cut-off point for these whores. After like five “You are not the fathers” they should lose the right to seek child support payments of any kind. If a chick is gonna insist on playing Russian Roulette with dicks, sooner or later she’s gonna blasted–with jizz. Broads like that should have “Condemned” signs plastered in front of their vaginas.
Truthfully, this subject hits especially close to home with me. I’ll never forget the time I thought I got a Chinese girl pregnant, and then luckily I found out it wasn’t mine when she had a Japanese baby. Like I couldn’t tell the difference…