Breeders

What has 100 teeth and guards a monster?

The zip on my trousers.

Tee hee! That’s a joke you understand. Admittedly it’s a joke so old it should be in a home for the terminally bewildered, so its kids can start selling off its assets. It’s been around for so long it couldn’t even present ‘Strictly come Dancing’, and you have to be bloody old for Bruce Forsyth to seem like the sensible option. Honestly, have you seen this bloated glitterball of a programme lately? It’s a truly stupendous display of presenting ineptitude. Watching him read an autocue has been compared to watching an elderly waiter struggle through a crowded bar with tray full of drinks. Suddenly the hypnotically awfull slow-motion car crash footage of Mick Fleetwood and Samantha Fox presenting The Brit Awards doesn’t seem so bad (available here in glorious cringe-o-vision).

Also, every episode opens with Forsyth trotting down the stairs and tap-dancing towards Tess Daly, winking looks of ‘I’ve still got it’ at her. It’s like watching Lionel Blair on the pull.

Anyway, I digress. I believe we were talking nob-jokes. So that joke’s been around since the nickname ‘Tripod’ was first bestowed on a well-endowed caveman previously known only as ‘Ug’. I was reminded of it recently when my housemates were channel hopping and alighted on a programme called ‘Underage and Pregnant’. Unsurprisingly, this was about underage couples who were fortunate enough not to find each other utterly repellant and had proceeded to rut themselves raw. Staying true to Bill Hicks' observation that “it’s no more a miracle than having something to eat and turd popping out”, these relations resulted in pregnancy. Not being environmentally conscious, they elected to keep the bundle of joy/smells and we are treated to bizarre footage of the mother pushing a pram with the father gliding next to her on a skateboard while his voiceover mumbles a declaration that he’s “gon’ do rite by ‘er”.

So that’s nice. After all, they are 13 years old, it’s about time they settled down and started spawning gremlins like a Mogwai with no watch and a penchant for showers.

But how does this happen, in these days where safe sex is not only promoted, but is given a huge raise and a beach-front property? "Obviously the condom split" states the father, helpless to fate's cruel machinations. Well it serves him right for having such a massive willy. Would he rather be hung like a quail and have to secure his sheath with duct tape and a belt just to keep it from sliding off and being carried away in the breeze, like a grim Autumn leaf? No. However on the plus side this would mean no babies. Split? Next time, use a veruca sock.