Jermaine Jackson accepting the award for best pop/rock male artist, in honor of his brother, a dead, drug-riddled, child molester who didn’t release an album this year. Nothing strange about that.

Due to extenuating craziness, I think we have all over looked the significance and hilarity of the fact that Jermaine Jackson has a son named “Jermajesty.” No shit, that’s really his name.

On the outside, it probably seems like Daughtry’s go it made. He doesn’t do jack shit and he gets paid in cocaine and pussy, but underneath it all, he has to feel like Don Draper if his wife, three pregnant chicks, his long lost brother, and his real birth certificate all walkedinto his office at the same time.

“Oh no, Whitney, no. No, you can’t use this to chisel away the oxycontin hardened shit bricks in your asshole. No, this is an award of some sort.”

“Well thanks for nothing than, jackasses! Now, someone get me my pills, my crow bar, and some KY. Momma needs to empty.”

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