For as long as children have been thrust into the public eye, either by the choice of their parents or by the thoughtless lenses of the paparazzi, goodly-hearted people have professed “no. Kids are off limits. Leave the kids out of this.”
I re-no your no. That time is over. Apparently, kids are now grist for the mill. This is Honey Boo Boo time now. We as a nation are now perfectly okay to make fun of heavily caffeinated redneck babies.
‘murica. *waves flag triumphantly*
I know that we are almost all in agreement that these “Toddlers and Tiaras” pageant moms are basically worse than hemorrhoids. They are, without fail and with the complete freedom of accurate generalization, awful people and awful parents, and that’s just that. There is no argument on the other side. If you are dragging your child around from pageant to pageant, spending truckloads of money on costumes and hair and other ridiculous frivolities for the sole purpose of being told that your child is prettier than all the other made up little dolls, ripe for the judgment of grown-ass adults who judge fucking kiddie pageants for a living, then you should have had your ovaries removed with a melon baller when your back was turned to look at the shiny reflection of your own wasted life.
But that’s just my opinion.
Anyway, with the proliferation of reality shows featuring HAH-LARIOUS tots spouting their HYSTURRICAL child dollops of knee-slapping funny, so that the parents can make a quick dollar, then, yes, kids? Totally on the table. Judge them.
I mean, the parents want you to judge them. Right?
That human Play-Doh lump who birthed Honey Boo Boo—the real life Peter Griffin-in-a-dress in the photo above—she wants you to laugh at her child. She wants you to look at her kid and hate everything she stands for. We as a nation no longer have the benefit of the doubt. There is no more pure, innocent “we just didn’t know” ignorance when it comes to getting yourself into reality television. If you are putting yourself, your family and your tiny, spazzy children out there for public consumption, you know exactly what you are doing.
So, let’s just do it. Let’s rip into this little kid GOOD. Let’s tear her apart like any Kardashian, Hilton or Spencer Pratt. Let’s fucking ruin her.
You can’t do it, can you?
Me neither. Yet. But we’re getting there. We are almost at that point.
We’re a fucking mess.