InASense, Lost… Baby Stripper Shoes?

File this one under, “Are You Fucking Kidding Me?”  This picture pretty much says it all (if you didn’t believe this post’s title):

heelarious

Glass bottomed heels are optional.

So okay, high heels aren’t specifically “stripper shoes,” but they definitely are in poor taste and bad judgment when you put them on an infant.  It’s as bad as putting writing on the back of actual baby shorts and sweatpants.  Moms – little girls aren’t your living dolls, accessories, or Chihuahuas… they’re new people.  New human beings.  Full of life and potential.  I’m not saying it’s a sure path to coke-whoring despair, but there are better options.

See how these moms react:

I could go on and on about how this idea may be the worst thing since:

Only a Dad would buy this shirt

Only a Dad would buy this shirt

But my explanations would sway no one and only come across as redundant to your reactions.

That’s why should I happen to have a daughter of my own, I’m going to raise her to trust no one.  I’ll encourage her to be a little reporter and investigator, and she’ll come home and tell me all the things she’s uncovered.  We’ll create journals and files and collect news clippings.  That way my daughter will be a little more Veronica Mars than Gossip Girl

Or super seriously paranoid.

Maybe I shouldn’t be a parent…

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A Henchmen Jilts Spotlit(e) Pronto? Sounds About Right

For anyone that cares, Sarah Palin is a GILF that’s now a GILF (if you’re into governors and grandmas, that is).

Bristol Palin gave birth to Tripp Easton Mitchell Johnston on Saturday, according to People Magazine (via AOL News).  The dad, Wrangler Johnston, or whatever blue jeans he’s named after, is probably somewhere with his hand stuck in a pickle jar because his fist is closed around the last dill, and he still hasn’t realized that’s why it’s stuck.

Considering the imaginative names of the Palin brood – Track, Bristol, Willow, Piper, and Trig – Tripp isn’t that creative.  It’s a verb, for Sarah’s version of Jesus’ sake… not a name.

Anagram for Tripp Easton Mitchell Johnston = A Henchmen Jilts Spotlit(e) Pronto

A joke (I made up): 

Hey, what’s that girl’s name over there? 

Who?  Georgia?

No.

Virginia?

No.

Carolina?  Dakota?

Ah, forget it.  I’ll just go over there and Alaska. 

*bad-da-boom-cha!*

What's the difference?

Close enough.

Lindsay’n Ya Later, Samantha!

She's the DJ, I'm the Twister

She's the DJ, I'm the Rapper (named Twista)

Oops!

Natural disaster and “Mean Girls” actress, Lindsay Lohan, is about to one up the title of the film that made her a star-on-the-verge-of-something-more.  You know… she’ll be the Meanest Girl.

Samantha Ronson, the DJ-on-the-vag-of-someone-more-famous, has expressed her desire to marry the love of her life, LiLo.

But as all the tabs and blogs have said all along (not verbatim) – you can take the penis out of the white trash, but you really can’t.

From IMDB (b/c I couldn’t find it on NotW):

A source tells British newspaper the News of the World, “Linds is on the brink because Sam won’t leave her side. Whenever she does, Lindsay’s on the phone telling her mates she’s decided she’s not a lesbian.

“Of course she still has feelings for Sam – but she also feels like she has to escape.”

Currently going down in Lindsay’s leggings (from her 6126 clothing line, duh!):

Vagina: L, I’m lonely.
Lindsay: Whatever do you mean?  Sammy’s always been good to you.
Vagina: But L, she’s not enough.
Lindsay: Sammy knows you inside and out.  She understands you and takes care of you.
Vagina: I know…
Lindsay: What’s the problem then?
Anus: Okay, you got me!  It’s not the Vagina, all right!  You know Sammy’s disgusted by me.  But the boys… the boys are really into me…
Lindsay: You’re right.  You win.  You should have told me it was you all along.
Anus: Amen to that, sister!  Emphasis on men.
Lindsay: Mm-hmm.

Finis.