Don’t get me wrong: I’m still mad at Brad Pitt. When he walked out on Jennifer Aniston, I felt like he took all my fairytale-marriage-to-Brad-Pitt dreams along with him. You’d think they would have evaporated when he married Jennifer Aniston, and, consequently, not me, but somehow they persisted still. Like I could have my fairytale marriage to Brad Pitt through Rachel Green. I soaked up every minute of our power-couple union. What kind of person operates in such a distorted, delusional reality? I’ll tell you: it’s the same kind of person who writes a celebrity gossip blog.
So when he left us for that whorecake of a U.N. Goodwill Ambassador (that’s not even a real ambassador, I’ll have you know), I was pissed. It was totally uncool. I felt jilted, betrayed. I was mad at him.
Then he shows up on the cover of Esquire looking ridiculously hot and broody, and what does he say about his relationship with Captain Whorebreath?
“Angie and I will consider tying the knot when everyone else in the country who wants to be married is legally able.”
And when you set aside the fact that Brad Pitt just boldly advocated polygamy and child brides to a well-respected men’s publication, it’s really a very nice sentiment, and I may take his photo off my dartboard, just for this week.
I’d like to begin by issuing an apology to Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. In a post last month, I was unnecessarily harsh to the couple, ranting and raving about how insane, fame-whorish, and bad-parenty it was for them to allow a wax likeness of their two-month-old child to be photographed for money.
Compared to Britney Spears, Pitt & Jolie are the Cleavers. (Is there actually anyone alive today who ever watched Leave it to Beaver? Why do we still say things like that? I have no idea who the Cleavers are and you don’t either.)
Ms. Spears said an assortment of very retarded and childhood-ruining things while in the presence of People magazine’s writing staff, and I’d like to summarize the highlights. While Brad and Angelina waited until their baby had a good solid two months of footing in this world before demonstrating publicly that she’s nothing more than a long-term PR stunt, Britney formally announces she didn’t really want her baby while it’s still in utero. “It just kind of happened,” said Britney, by which she means “I meant to to take my birth control, ya’ll, but I was too damn stoned, you know? Oh-muh-gahd. Fee?”
It’s also nice to see that Britney’s in touch with the real reason she wanted to get knocked up in the first place: “It makes me feel needed and wanted,” she says, “so I like it.”
It’s so clear now: when international superstardom, worldwide adoration, mountains of cold hard cash and a steady diet of bong hits and McDonalds just won’t heal that empty ache within, you know you’re ready to be a mom.
Am I the only writer in the blogosphere more interested in the “Simpsons Strike Back at Dad” headline? Images of Jessica and Ashlee in super-cute guerilla gear, storming the Joe Simpson compound with M-16s and grenades, demanding the prompt return of their innocence, reputations, original noses, and chances of ever having a healthy relationship with a man?
But, alas, the blogosphere is abuzz with this news; it’s likely that the only person on the planet more apathetic than I toward the looming Vaughniston alliance is Brad Pitt.
Hey, Brad, if you’re reading this, you should totally come over tonight. We don’t have to do this alone. We can wade through our Vaughniston ennui hand-in-hand. I have whipped cream and a cat you can call Maddox. Just say you’ll think about it.
Update: Jen’s rep says it’s not true. You know, this is really the bloggers’ fault. If we would only buzz about Us Weekly every day enthusiastically no matter what forever and ever amen, they wouldn’t have to do this sort of thing to us. Jesus. Now wash up the blood, sweetie, and start dinner. That’s a good girl.
Brad: I still have the whipped cream and the cat. Let’s not allow this shocking turn of events to spoil our dreams. Call me.
While a Jesus-lovin’ Mel Gibson works hard to bring Jew-hating back to the mainstream, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are leaving that last-season Judeo-Christian crap in the past where it belongs. The couple is focused on our world’s latest Chosen One, taking graven images to a whole new level by allowing their two-month-old child to be depicted in wax and put on display.
Can we talk for a second about how incredibly fucked up this is? Please? I don’t care where the profits are going (UNICEF for anyone who thinks this changes anything), this is your child. This kid never had a chance. They never even tried. What could possibly be an acceptable rationale for allowing your two-month-old child to be replicated in wax and thrown in a museum and photographed with tourists for money? They don’t need the cash flow, I assure you. If UNICEF needs funding that badly, I’m sure one of them can cough up some dough. Why oh why would a person do this? I feel awkward making judgments on how people raise their children, and I try generally to avoid the topic, but this is really frustrating behavior to me; how is this baby ever going to develop a sense of self when her image is a media sensation before she’s really even fully sentient? When she’s been defined by millions of strangers worldwide before she even knows her own name? This is how the Paris Hiltons of the world come to exist, folks. These are the ingredients, but they’re much more potent here. This girl is in for a long journey, with a lot of hard outer shells and late-life soul-searching.
It’s going to be sooo much fun to hear all about it on E!
I’m sure Tom Cruise is teaming with envy, and you’ll see Wax Suri on display in the adjacent room just as soon as he and Katie adopt her.