“We’re looking at all of Maddie’s male caregivers, obviously, including some very hot interns at the hospital where she was born. We’re not pointing fingers, as we can understand the appeal of a celebrity hookup, and being a Spears, there was little chance this wouldn’t happen soon,” said Spears’ publicist, who was immediately dispatched to the child from the family’s pool of publicists.

“But four days – whoo, girl, that Maddie can work the nasty.”

Mother Jamie Lynn said she would support Maddie in her decision to become pregnant at such an early age. “My own mother was so much support to me in my underage fucking, so how could I not admire my own daughter’s decision to ‘ride it and not hide it’?”

Maddie, who weighed 7 lbs. 11 oz. at birth, now weighs 9 lbs., the additional weight being attributed to her swelling uterus. It is reported that a personal trainer will be dispatched to Maddie from the cadre of personal trainers retained by the Spears family.

Maddie herself remained silent on many questions swirling around her infantile pregnancy, including the blastula’s father and whether she would keep the infant – staying cloistered within a tight group of family and close friends.

One ob-gyn nurse, who asked to remain anonymous, clucked at the news. “Oh, you knew this girl would be trouble from Day One, literally — Day One; they were passin’ her around with her adorable bottom just hanging out for the world to see. And you knew she was gonna wave it and not save it; she’s a Spears and you would need a stopwatch to clock the time before someone was gonna be all up in that little tease.”

Some in the media have suggested Maddie is too young to parent effectively, as she cannot speak, walk and her eyes do not yet focus well. However, mother Jamie disagrees.

“I think Maddie will be a great mom; by the time she has this kid – she’ll be nearly a year old, and a lot of development can occur in that time. For example; she’ll develop object constancy and begin pre-vocalizing. Of course, I know it’ll be tough – and I’m encouraging her to stop drinking Red Bull, for example.”

Negotiations have already been initiated by Vanity Fair to have the 8-month pregnant, 8-month-old pose nude for their cover.

“I was planning a school stabbing spree on every day some hoodie-wearing prick took the easy way and shoots himself a bunch of sheeple. Seriously – you can check my desk calendar – I made an X in my own blood on each day I was ready to rage, and some shit grabbed my thunder with his pussy-ass gun. I mean, fuck me, I hope they’re happy.”

Anthony, or Todesengel – German for “Angel of Death” – as he prefers to be called, says bad luck has plagued him since he began purchasing knives for his regularly postponed, but hopefully eventual, campus stabbing rampage.

“First time, 2005 – I wanna be the next news after Columbine and I’ve picked up sweet knives and got my path of destruction all laid out. I holstered up that morning – seriously, I was so pumped I didn’t even need to cut at myself for a week before.”

“Oh, the morning news? Some inconsiderate ass on a Michigan reservation kills a bunch of kids in home room. Shit – what are the chances? So I have to abort and just go to school that day, and pull a ‘D’ on a pre-algebra test. Because I didn’t think I’d need to study.”

“But I figure – okay, that’s only one, I’ll try again; I’m no quitter.”

Asking Brenda Hagen, a classmate, if she thought Anthony was a “quitter” because he hadn’t yet initiated a campus bloodbath, the popular sophomore admitted she didn’t know him well.

“He stays to himself most times, I don’t think he dates. The kids tease him a lot because he never makes eye contact. Plus he’s pale and wears black all the time, so who can take him seriously? I guess he’s like a loner, so I really don’t think about him much.”

Anthony admits he returned to the drawing board after the Michigan upset, consoling himself with the video game World of Warcraft against online opponents. “I’d psyche myself up doing that or posting in some neo-Nazi web sites; when I was posing as a fascist or pitting my Forsaken blacksmith against a nameless Alliance dwarf – that’s when I felt most real.”

“By the way – if I haven’t said it before, if you want sweet blades, craigslist is the man. Or craig is the man. Or anyway, that’s where to get killer knives. You do your research, because racing down a hallway trying to stick classmates with a cheap or awkward knife is just torture; I’ve done some dry runs, and thank God I did.”

“Anywho – I’m all ready to fly again, just a couple weeks ago, and goddammit if this Cho doesn’t hit Virginia Tech. With guns, duh, way to be creative, dick. I’m thinking, Christ, I am Fate’s fucking finger puppet. And again I almost fail out of Algebra. If this shit is gonna keep happening, I’m gonna need math tutoring.”

“I’m so ready, which is the bitch of it. I picked up a couple Buck and three Kershaw, nice hunting knives with a clip point, so they’re also good for gutting and skinning. I like a fixed blade – I like the strength and having a bunch of sheaths hanging off me makes me look bad-ass.”

“Don’t get me wrong; I won’t be skinning or gutting when I roam the Chem building and then slip through the Library; I just wanna stab and kill a bunch of these popular smugheads. I’m not some Satanist poseur, taking souvenirs and what not. That means stopping and cutting, and one, that takes time, and two, I’m a stabber.”

“And not a shooter, I repeat. Because you gotta up and give ‘em a fighting chance. There’s no ‘repeating’ knife, no ‘assault’ knife – one stab at a time’s what I say.”

“So I don’t care how many records you break my friend, how many students and faculty you send to Hell’s door, if you did it with a gun or a shotgun or a sniper rifle, hell – it just shouldn’t count. That’s bullshit if that counts. And then take yourself out with a gunshot to the head? Shit, try it with a knife if you’re so tough, asshole.”

“Anyway – I keep telling myself it’s cool – plenty of slaughtering days before Christmas, I always say. I just pray I don’t finally pick my moment and then some grad student doesn’t shoot me first.”

Being too affluent to remain aware of the mundane infrastructure of their homes and families, we provide these helpful Earth Day conservation tips, scaled to the attorney’s lifestyle.

1.   Recycle boilerplate text into new documents; charge extra for recycled content.

2.   Put compact fluorescent bulb in live-in housekeeper’s room.

3.   Consider switching to free-range mistress.

4.   Save water by taking Scotch “neat.”

5.   Suggest au pair not idle the Lexus when picking up children from their private school.

6.   Require that spa employees use only organic collagen in spouse.

7.   Collect gray water for swabbing Erte sculptures.

8.   Ask European artisan to employ low-VOC paint for museum portrait.

9.   Walk or bike to car.

10.   Purchase locally-grown produce for composting by gardener.

11.   Shred and pulp, rather than incinerate, subpoenaed securities documents.

12.   Attach solar panel to power champagne fountain.

13.   Install low-flow shower heads in inner-city rental properties.

14.   Have favorite lobbyist pose legislation re-defining green fees as form of carbon credit.

15.   Draft company policy requiring underlings to take recycling seriously.

And once again, the gunman got it all wrong.

Because he was killed last.

Kids, if you’re terminally unhappy about (a) the waterpolo squad giving you “swirlies” in the locker room toilet; (b) the spotty attendance at your Lone Gunman parties; or (c) some chick bringing you up short with a “hold it, hotrod, those are marital areas,” please, do not take it out on everyone.

You’re feeling down and rightly so … because you’re probably a loser – so kill yourself first and get to the point.

Don’t kill the teachers, or the bullies, or the bystanders. And don’t kill your parents or family (although it would save them having to explain your chickenshit behavior to the various news carrion).

Don’t cause all this random mayhem … and only THEN, FINALLY, off yourself, either committing suicide by cop or with a desperate handgun to your own temple while cornered like a dog behind the Calphalon in Williams-Sonoma.

First, it’s wasteful – how much ammo do you wanna be shelling out for? Second, you’re clouding the issue; we’re all left wondering – did he really hate the JV wrestlers? Did he despise the Old Spaghetti Factory? Did he really want to whack the 7 year-old via ricochet? You see, it’s confusing; all your MySpace blog rants notwithstanding.

Finally – you don’t come off bad ass, you come off lame ass. This isn’t storming a bunker full of aliens, Game Boy; there is no macho for taking out the innocent and unprotected. Whoo-hoo, I’m a big man, I killed the unsuspecting and unarmed. Game over, stud.

So, please kids, think. If you’ve taken a heartbreak, or lost your night job at Sonic Burger, before you decide to go on your rampage, your killing spree, your bloodbath – be a man and point the gun at the problem.

Kill yourself first.

And if you still feel up to it afterwards, then you can kill someone else.

“Anna’s gone, Anna’s gone, how can she be gone? It seemed only yesterday she was so alive, hiding the fatherhood of her recent child and becoming embroiled in a medical fraud settlement. Or letting a nip slip at the premiere of ‘Employee of the Month.’ She was so full of life then. And by life, I mean Percocet.”

Tommy knew he needed to make a special effort with Anna’s passing; that this was not just another quick memorial before his parents got home.

“I wanted to reflect on how much Anna, I call her Anna, has meant to me, and it seemed like I what I really needed was a private bathroom ceremony. So I dug out her 1993 Playmate centerfold from the ham radio manual I keep it tucked in. But I also went the extra mile; I opened a brand new pair of tube socks my mom just bought at T.J. Maxx. And I got a pretty Glade candle from the pantry and went into the bathroom and locked the door. And just took my time remembering her.”

“I just kept remembering her, over and over, until I couldn’t feel anything anymore. Now I feel calm. And a little sleepy.”

Heart pounding with relieved grief, Tommy tucked the special memorial sock into the very bottom of the laundry room hamper. “I’m ashamed I have to hide my love, but my parents wouldn’t understand. Well, dad might. ‘Cause I stole the centerfold from his garage stash. And p.s., he’s into some weird shit.”

Tommy admits that while Anna will always have a special place in his sock drawer, he knows he’s going to have to move on. “I’m young, I can’t let this stop me, I’m gonna find love again. But who, who? Sure, many of today’s media tarts are future Reality TV material, with plenty of rehab to look forward to, and the requisite ta-ta’s, but can Jessica Simpson or Lindsay Lohan in all their surgically-implied glory ever really take the place of my Anna?”

“Hell, I’ve got another sock here, let’s find out.”

Dixon Smalls, secretary for the APA, explained how the shift is anticipated.

“If you can get past the developed breasts and trim body hair, it is not hard to see how today’s 20-somethings are a reasonable target for the Boomer that dabbles in children. Here is a generation so developmentally delayed that a 25 year old kid, or “woman” as I hear they prefer to be called, acts easily 10 or 11 years old.”

“They pout, they listen to awful music, they do everything but play with dolls, and even that’s not unheard of. I’m sure in time we’ll grow to accept big girl panties. One question – what’s a ‘thong’?”

Many pedophiles at the conference quickly embraced the new standard.

“I love the idea,” said Purvis Nechtsdohr, a long-time pedophile and practicing grade school teacher. “They have their own car, you can meet them in public, their mother doesn’t monitor their MySpace page, and right out of college their self-esteem is usually shot to hell. And if you sleep with their friends, no one makes a crack about you ‘working your way through the troop’.”

Fingering the sash of a tired trenchcoat, Pervus did seem wistful as he added, “Of course, I’ll miss the rush of authority. But god, if I never have to whisper ‘If you tell anyone about the Married Game, your mommy will make you go away forever’ again, it’ll be worth the cost of a sushi dinner.”

Still, not every pedophile is happy with the changeover. “I enjoyed the interchangeability of young male and female bodies. Now I’ve got to deal with either ass hair or jugs,” lamented one. “And they’ll want to have their own orgasm – how is that fun for me?”

“I don’t get off on the smell of musk,” added another. “I liked the smell of peanut butter kids always had.”

A third just resigned himself to the new world with a sigh. “At least I don’t have to update my video collection. You bring home a girl with a Bachelor’s degree, I’m told ‘The Incredibles’ will still get you laid.”

With a throaty rasp, one fellow in the back suggested a compromise – that the pedophilic crowd consider dating the nearly or “barely” legal 18 year olds. He was quickly shouted down.

“Do the math, dumb ass; 18 will be the New 3. That’s just sick.”

Shuffling off, he was heard to mumble, “I don’t need this abuse. And now I’m late for Mass.”

Treadwell, known to many as the “Grizzly Man,” was featured in a documentary patched together from his own arrogant home footage, which included an audio tape recording of his mauling and consumption by the bears he had bonded with.

The Grizzly Man lambasted Irwin, known from television as the “Croc Hunter.”

“Dude, just because you are dead, do not think you are even in my league. You think being stung by a ray is humiliating? A venomous barb to the heart? Where death came on all quick and and you got a cushy ride to the hospital?

“Try being eaten alive and then shat out a bear’s ass, tough guy. Oh yeah, that’s dying, my short-panted friend; I was hot shit in the death by carnivore category.

“You may be worm food now, but I was fecal matter, you total pussy. Christ, you were just poking a fish. I was a dingleberry on a grizzly’s hairy backside, you croc-taunting pansy. While you were aiming that dopey grin at reptiles, I was a steaming rope of fertilizer.

Treadwell, finishing a bit winded, added, “If you haven’t travelled a GI tract, buddy, you had it easy.”

Seeming dumbfounded by the initial tirade, Irwin turned to the reverent crowd and flashed his famous grin, concluding, “Crikey, so that explains the smell!”

All laughed at the Aussie’s retort, except Treadwell, who stormed off to Doggie Heaven, where it is said he resides and feels fairly safe.