We're feeling heartbroken this week for poor Madonna, who flew home from Malawi in her private jet airplane, unable to adopt another African child.

This is interesting timing, since nominations have just opened for Mother of the Year. Here's our nominee: Mrs Fritzel, for somehow being oblivious for 27 years that the old man was shagging the daughter in the basement and mother apparently didn't know a thing about it.
But getting back to Madonna… As consolation, my mates have the answer. They're offering a group of us as surrogate little boys to snuggle up to the millionaire popstar's breast.
Although, I felt it my duty to point out to them, some of Madonna's breastwear doesn't look that cuddly.
I've checked with my long-suffering parents, and they've agreed to offer me for adoption. In fact they've been waiting 48 years for just the right parent to come along and take me. Any parent, even.

Initial difficulties
The lads may have some initial difficulties in adjusting to the lifestyle in our new Mumdonna household. For starters, transport.
After riding in pretty ordinary Nissans, a 1948 Bradford truck, and a couple of sad excuses for motor scooters, they may find the selection between her Maybach Super-Limousine, Audi A8, her Mini Cooper-S, BMW 7-Series and the Chevrolet Suburban a bit daunting.
The luxury private jet will be a bit of a shock. After all, their only opportunities to get airborne have been the Buzzard Airlines Cessna and the old six-seven dunger 'duct tape special” surfboard going off the lip of a well-formed Omanu wave.
I would however suggest to Mumdonna that she think twice about flying all over the world trying to pick up little boys – the round trip in the Lear jet probably costs more than feeding the entire African village for a year and will play havoc with Malawi's carbon credits.
Why not plane-pool, or catch a regular airline, like United, or like a Virgin.
Poor villages the world over will have parents hiding their children every time the silhouette of a celebrity jet passes over. 'Lock up your mwana, it's the Child-Catcher.”
Mother of the Year a couple of thousand years ago was, of course, Mary.
She would be quite horrified to think that her namesake (Madonna) these days is tearing around the world trying to abscond with children, instead of doing what everyone else does: Immaculately-conceiving and giving birth in a manger.
Perhaps she wasn't so concerned when he was later nailed to a wooden cross. 'At least that Madonna can't get him now.”

Tacky tidings
Don't you get a little troubled when people, often the younger generation, gushingly wish you 'Happy Easter!”
I find it quite perplexing. What is ‘happy' about some poor sod being nailed to a plank a couple of thousand years ago?
As if he didn't already have enough to worry about – life didn't exactly start off that flash, being born in a stable next to a smelly ass and then hassled by the three wise guys.
It's actually an important annual religious feast – a movable feast – between late March and late April (and not many people know this) and is decided by the cycle of the moon.
But for the real Easter story, check out our Church page on 14.
You can have a happy birthday, a happy new year and a happy anniversary. But that's it. You have a merry Christmas but theoretically it should be a sombre Easter.
One bright young thing at a checkout counter last year wished me a 'Happy Anzac Day”. It's a sweet thought, but let's not lose sight of what Anzac symbolises. We're fortunate to have the freedoms that are mostly taken for granted today. But we should be wishing each other a Humble or thankful Anzac Day in remembrance of our forebears who died a world away to preserve that freedom.
And while we're on the subject, let's make sure the commie bastards who'd like to insidiously try to take more freedoms from us by stealth don't get to erode any more of it!

'Happy Guy Fawkes” exclaimed a cheerful young chap, shortly before running off to ignite a trillion kilotons of high explosive, enough to equal the entire week's carbon emissions of the American continent; scare the bejeezers out of every cat, dog, horse and gerbil for a radius of six miles; then leave the debris blowing around the local park for someone else to clean up.
The only thing 'happy” about it – unbeknown to the igniter, he's actually celebrating Mr Fawkes's efforts to rid the planet of those aforementioned commie bastards – the ones who will insidiously take away our freedoms.
'Have an extremely volatile Guy Fawkes” would be a much more appropriate greeting.
Labour Weekend is a toughy. I don't believe it should be a 'happy” day – despite being wished it several times in the past – considering it marks the reforms that gave workers' rights such as a 40-hour working week, strings on our teabags in the smoko room and an extra day to go fishing.
It should be greeted with 'have a fair and equitable Labour Weekend” with the optional tagline 'and may your working conditions be favourable; your income reach parity with peers and continue to increase at least at the rate of inflation and the Consumer Price Index.”
Or if you find that a bit cumbersome, I suppose 'crack a cold one, mate” will probably do.
On that note, have a very merry, sombre, humble, safe and fair Easter Weekend.
And unless you want a radical change of lifestyle, avoid getting on airplanes with strange rich women who want to call you 'my lovely little mwanangu.”
brian@thesun.co.nz