‘Pop’ diva Madonna left Malawi today after receiving official permission to adopt a one-year-old boy from the impoverished southern African country.

The first kid that she adopted she threw a “surprise party” for, but as you can see from the video I took at that party, Madonna and the little kid just weren’t clicking (or in Madonna’s case, ‘cliquing’). And no one is to blame, really, except for maybe the kid, but maybe Madonna is a little to blame, too? I don’t know. Can a woman named after the mother of God’s only child really be blamed for anything? It’s a tough call.

After what seemed like 47 hours on Madonna’s cramped little jet, we finally arrived somewhere – I don’t know where, but it looked very much like Utah, and after disembarking, we jumped on the tram (actuallly some mules covered in aluminum foil – were they preheating them to eat??? What kinda place IS THIS???) and were taken to a hangar that had been predecorated to be a mid-to-lower-upper-lower-class living room. And that’s when it happened – she started crying. Not Madonna. She doesn’t cry anymore. Not after … well, anyway, another story, another day. But the child she wanted to adopt, Infinity, just kept going on and on and on. She probably knew it was a setup. It’s not her real birthday, what the fuck is a cake doing in the middle of hanger in Malawi at the Lilongwe Kamuzu International Airport? Madonna didn’t help matters any by doing what she did in the video. I thought it was really uncalled for, but Madonna’s never really been good with girls.

Anyway, I can’t really say anything else as I’m texting this to you from 45,000 feet and Madonna is getting suspicious. Just watch the video and judge for yourself. It’s the same reason why she and Sandra Bernhard aren’t friends any more, actually. That whole “pie in the face” thing except it was technically her “face in the pie” … and I’m just going to leave it at that and let your (sad sick and twisted) imagination run wild. Think south of the border (arrrrrriba!), and I don’t mean Tijuana.

Long story short: I’m sooooo glad she picked the boy instead of the girl – for the girl’s sake! The last thing Madonna needs in her life is someone prettier and younger than her competing for attention. Why do you think I’m never in any photos with her? Some would call it selfish of Madonna, but I prefer to view the situation as monumentally unselfish of me.

Kuala Lumpur welcomed Condi with open arms, and in return, she made them cry, she made them hear, she made them feel. A lot of people have not-very-nice things to say about Condi, and they’re all true – the donkey show in Tijuana, the coke races in Colombia, the all-night slogging fest with the Minutemen (“Now I know why they’re called MINUTEMEN“, she quipped. “They only last a minute!” I was tempted to remind her of the old ‘if you have to explain it, it’s not funny’ adage, but I let it slide, cuz you don’t want to get on her bad side, and believe me, Buster, both of her sides are BAD!) – but I have to say, after the weekend getaway we shared on a little tourist-free compound near Shanghai (she can drive a rickshaw like nobody’s beeswax!), I had a new-found respect for her that I just can’t shake. I’m sorry, I tried, but I can’t. I just can’t. She’s my homegirl.

Her performance at the Asian security talks just has to go better than Colin Powell‘s Village People lampoon last year. YMCA? No thank you, I bathe alone, especially around men named “colon.” But, she was still nervous, I could feel it. “Fluffy Cotton Condi,” I said, calling her by my pet name for her, “What exactly are you worried about? Remember Colin last year?” She giggled again. “Yeah, what a fag-” she misspoke, quickly correcting herself, “-gettable purfowmance,” faking a heavy and poorly orchestrated East Coast accent.

Knock ‘em dead, Condles. Go out with a bang!