It's time to pick better men and let the idiots die off

I'm no expert on paleontology or what caused dinosaur extinction, but I'd like to think at some point the lady dinos had had it up to their ear holes with the slim-pickins, so they all got together and decided to say "no way, José-a-saurus" to any further mating with the remaining, lazy, no good, non-earning males — who, I'm guessing, spent their days hanging around half-clad sabertooths at the local pterodactyl wing joint till the wee hours of the prehistoric morn instead of providing for their hatchlings.

I know, I know. I'm just being a silly archaeopteryx. This isn't at all how the dinosaurs died off.

First, it was socialized medicine that did it. Don't argue with me, I've seen the commercials. Second, as I'm sure it was during dinosaur times, there are a lot of females out there who apparently think there's nothing sexier than male vertebrates of the big, old loser deadbeat variety.

Don't believe me? How else to explain Levi Johnston's seeming everpresence in the spotlight? How else to explain why women are fighting over Jon Gosselin? Fighting over him, for goodness' sake. It's as confusing and upsetting as my lengthy, recurring dream about faking my own international imprisonment just so I can be rescued by Bill Clinton (please don't tell anyone I just said that ... or that we kissed).

OK, to be fair, Johnston and Gosselin are not TOTAL losers. They do have their degrees in personal economics, after all. And it's not like just anyone can get into Kevin Federline University — side note: I've heard KFU's like the Harvard of Burbank (if Harvard were to suddenly require its applicants to prove how truly useless and unduly rewarded they are, that is).

But I will say this, if I were Bristol Palin and in charge of preventing teenage sex across the land, my first order of business would be to order 12 million glossies of Levi Johnston's wallet-sized headshots. I would then gather all the girls of the world around a campfire, hold a flashlight up to my chin, shake his picture in the air and strike fear in their hearts with this story: "Teenage sex leads to teenage parenthood leads to this fool calling himself 'Ricky Hollywood' and trying to get acting jobs when his sole qualification for fame is that he knows my mother, whom, by the way, he gets paid to talk smack about on TV. Dreamy, right? Totally worth it."

If, heaven forbid, the "this is what happens when Levi takes his Levi's off" campaign doesn't effectively persuade girls to increase their standards a little, one would think showing them flashcards of a man with eight kids, no job, two girlfriends, an estranged wife, a fat gut and 235 Ed Hardy shirts would do the trick.

Maybe. Kind of. OK, probably not.

Bless my post-feminist heart, but perhaps the unnamed source to National Enquirer said it best when explaining how little it matters that Britney Spears' baby-daddy has gained 100 pounds recently: "Kevin says he doesn't have to worry about his looks because women still love him."

Yes. This means that K-Fed — a man who left his pregnant girlfriend for an in-the-thick-of-crazy Britney Spears, got Britney pregnant twice, insulted her for her pregnancy weight, left her before Baby No. 2 was born and is now nursing at the spigot of her wealth while apparently eating himself into even larger britches — is still considered a catch.

I say, ladies, it's time to let these guys go extinct once and for all, no?

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