New Rule
"Everybody join in the magnificence. Yes, everything is absolutely making sense. Every time you turn around your soul gets sold to the highest bidder."
In the absence of Bill Maher, I feel it's important that - at this particular juncture - somebody proposes a New Rule. It is as follows.
New Rule: The next baby born to a celebrity couple must be named Dave. Or Sarah. Or Jack. Anything really, so long as it's a name that you, annoying celebrity parents, would be happy to have written on your birth certificate. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm sick and tired of hearing about the Gwavins and Brangelinas of this world naming their offspring the way they might name an exotic kitten they'd just had delivered. If you love your kids, for God's sake give them a fighting chance. Imagine trying to get through life with the name Shiloh. Christ, imagine trying to get through the first day of school with the name Shiloh. You may as well paint a target on that kid's forehead and line her up alongside such ludicrously-named rugrats as Apple, Moses, Jet, Speck, Heavenly Hirrani, Fifi Trixibelle, Rumer, Sailor, Salome, Denim, and - of course - Kingston, the kind of name you want to punch in the face.
Now, I'm not one of these people that gets all gooey over children. I hate the little fuckers. But they're people, not fucking accessories. The only way those names aren't going to come back and haunt those poor little bastards is if they're raised in a home-schooled, insta-celebrity bubble, thereby ensuring that they become inadequate mutants with a future that will so clearly require lengthy spells of rehab, you may as well start making the payments now.
Celebrities and this whole celebrity-worshipping culture we're living in have gone so far now that it's beyond any kind of humour. I have, however, long since come to terms with the fact that society is composed largely of humourless teenagers who care only for fairytales, conspiracies, and their idiot idols. I accept this. But if I'm going to have to live in a world where every screen and every magazine cover is a grinning, dead-eyed vision of all that is foul and forsaken, can I at least get a show of hands for stopping these whores from breeding?
Won't you think of the children?
In the absence of Bill Maher, I feel it's important that - at this particular juncture - somebody proposes a New Rule. It is as follows.
New Rule: The next baby born to a celebrity couple must be named Dave. Or Sarah. Or Jack. Anything really, so long as it's a name that you, annoying celebrity parents, would be happy to have written on your birth certificate. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm sick and tired of hearing about the Gwavins and Brangelinas of this world naming their offspring the way they might name an exotic kitten they'd just had delivered. If you love your kids, for God's sake give them a fighting chance. Imagine trying to get through life with the name Shiloh. Christ, imagine trying to get through the first day of school with the name Shiloh. You may as well paint a target on that kid's forehead and line her up alongside such ludicrously-named rugrats as Apple, Moses, Jet, Speck, Heavenly Hirrani, Fifi Trixibelle, Rumer, Sailor, Salome, Denim, and - of course - Kingston, the kind of name you want to punch in the face.
Now, I'm not one of these people that gets all gooey over children. I hate the little fuckers. But they're people, not fucking accessories. The only way those names aren't going to come back and haunt those poor little bastards is if they're raised in a home-schooled, insta-celebrity bubble, thereby ensuring that they become inadequate mutants with a future that will so clearly require lengthy spells of rehab, you may as well start making the payments now.
Celebrities and this whole celebrity-worshipping culture we're living in have gone so far now that it's beyond any kind of humour. I have, however, long since come to terms with the fact that society is composed largely of humourless teenagers who care only for fairytales, conspiracies, and their idiot idols. I accept this. But if I'm going to have to live in a world where every screen and every magazine cover is a grinning, dead-eyed vision of all that is foul and forsaken, can I at least get a show of hands for stopping these whores from breeding?
Won't you think of the children?
posted by Michael at 9:09 AM
7 Comments:
i'm with ya brother!
you forgot to mention the best name, given by ex-spice girl gerri halliwell (is that her name?) well, anyway, she named her kid -get ready- bluebell madonna.
seriously.
after the flower and the icon.
that poor poor kid. like her mother isn't bad enough.
*clap clap clap*
Yeah, I love the brazen way that celebrity tosses children out to the wolves of the picture-taking-People-Magazine set.
Not only do I not care about celebrity (especially the undeserving kind, you know, the ones that can read on camera) but I also do not care about how much more they care about stuff than me. I also don't care that they think I'm using too much energy when they live in 15,000 SF mansions.
And I ESPECIALLY DON'T CARE ABOUT THEIR SPAWN.
Ouch. Was that a nerve you hit?
Even if I was a multi-millionaire celbrity author-type, I still would have called Luke Luke.
The fact everyone calls him 'Young Sktwalker' is neither here nor there
Don't for get Jason Lee's poor son: 'Pilot Inspektor'. SNORT!
The only exception to this new rule.
Moxie CrimeFighter.
That is the name of Penn Jillette's (of Penn & Teller) daughter.
Yeah. Way to go.
Glad to see the Cult of Anti-Celeb is getting bigger ;)
Post a Comment
<< Home