Want mail?       Original Article May 11, Associated Press Any gathering that uses the phrase 'Don't crush the baby' is just ripe for a good game of verbal pinata. I don't care if it's at a truck rally, a fat people convention, or a baby-juice distillery, I'm going to laugh while that baby shrieks in agony. Especially if it's at a baby-juice distillery. Because, hey, are those real babies? Whoops! Today India added a digit to its population count, hitting one billion in number. Census predictions placed the day as May 11th that the precious infant would be born, so the government chose a birth on that day in the city of Neelesh Misra. News of India's billionth mistake prompted celebration, jubilance, and fucking in the streets as the race was on to hit that elusive 10 billion mark. Experts predict that without massive importation of Altoids and Gilette products, the brown country is unlikely to hit the next milestone for at least a year and a half. The precious youngster was born to 'Anjana and Ashok Arora,' parents who apparently need to list in that crucial first 120 pages of the Indian phone book. Naturally, the kid gets a name that will haunt her at least through junior high: 'Astha'. I'm told it means 'faith' in Hindi, but c'mon. Who isn't going to call her 'Sucks to your Asthmar' or 'ASSthe' or 'Assbaby, the Billion-Baby Assdick'. The Associated Press writes that the birth: "...put[s] India in an exclusive club with China as the only nations with populations exceeding 1 billion." Who are we excluding from this club? Nations who don't feed their contraceptive pills to the chickens? Countries like Poland, where only the elite minds of the nation have figured out how to get it on? Polish people dry-humping lamp posts and mailboxes while other Polish people try all seven orifices before putting some poor girl's eye out? Maybe countries like Mexico who WOULD have a billion people were they not selling Mexican babies for firewood or construction material? Hell, the population of my testes is at least a billion on a bad day. And I can make more every hour! Send me that free NHL bloopers video, I'm joining! A tiny Indian, seconds before being devoured by a reporter. The mother's first words to the 'horde' (as AP so sensitively puts it) of revelers in the meaningless event, are "I'm happy". Sounds good, but then AP tells us that she works in an automotive spare parts shop for a salary of $50 a month. I'm no financial whiz, but I'm guessing that baby is going to spend the halcyon hour of her final days on this earth tied up in a plastic bag at the bottom of a dumpster. 50 bucks a month isn't enough to support my pornography expense, let alone a tiny Indian person. Jeez, for 50 bucks that would mean deciding between, for instance: no CDs, no food ever, a dead baby, and my cable internet connection, or a shitty job in India and a dead baby at the bottom of a dumpster. I can always make more dead babies, so I guess I'd go with option c) no food, no CDs, a dead baby, no kidney or left lung but I get DSL. I can see why we let the poverty-stricken bastards have casinos. "'Don't crush the baby,' Sumitra Mahajan, the minister for women and child welfare, screamed into her microphone as nearly 200 journalists swarmed over the mother's bed. Hospital guards climbed onto a nearby bed and beat back the journalists with wooden truncheons." I'm not making that up. The hospital workers beat back the journalists with clubs. Allah bless you, India, we Americans have been wanting to do that to our media people since they crawled from that primordial ooze of shit and interviewed the dinosaurs to death. Reporter: "Dear cherubic Elian, now that you're back in the evil commie cesspool of Cuba, what are you going to do now?" Elian: "Jesus you bitch, I'm 23. Leave me the hell alone." Reporter: "But you are still the mangered Jesus-figure we created so many years ago! The public adores its little Cuban metaphor!" Elian: "Ratings whore. Uncle Castro!" Reporter: "Elian? Elian! Dear, wonderful symbol! (pause, under her breath) Don't fuck with us, brown boy, we made you; we can tear you apart." Population control. Elian: "Eat my Cuban missile. Uncle Castroooo!" Castro: "Quien es este?" Reporter: "Castro! My God, it's-- I mean-- Could I have a few moments of your prec--" A gun: "Blamo. Blam Blam Blamo." Elian: "Thanks, funk. Get you all up on a ten-bag, mah nigga?" Castro: "Hells yeah." UPDATE: India's population momentarily dipped below a billion when Astha was drowned in a barrel out back in favor of a male heir. In the time it took me to write that last sentence however, 860,000 baby Indians were born (only half of which were drowned in a barrel out back). Will the others survive to, in turn, spawn their own brood? The surviving little injuns, it was reported, 'could.' For the record, a Baby-juice distillery is exactly what India needs. Cheap Shots: "The emphasis has changed in the last decade toward educating women, raising their status and providing better health care." That's too bad since the old emphasis was humping. "Beginning this morning, a recording by the state-owned telephone company told anyone who picked up the phone to dial in New Delhi, 'Our population has now reached 1 billion. Let's have small families for a stronger India.'" Man, I can't get a date, let alone a girl on the phone telling me she wants to have a family with me. "Just nine hours old and wailing.." Don't have to check: it's a girl.