I have remained somewhat Pajiba-silent on the subject of Courtney Stodden, for I am conflicted.
On one hand, she is an explosion of hilarity. She is not even a real person. She is a strange parody of a Penthouse of a walking lip injection. She is boobs and hair and misused alliteration and I don’t understand it but I am fascinated by it.
On the other hand, she is, in theory, 17 years old.
There’s the conflict.
I know what frees most of us up from any and all discomfort, and it’s the fact that she looks at least as old as Dina Lohan, possibly just shy of Lindsay. If we convince ourselves she’s 43, minimum, we don’t feel like this is as creepy.
Except, what if she’s not?
We have commenters here, Pajibans we love and trust, who have testified to her youth. RadarOnline got the marriage certificate and E! got a hold of her purported birth certificate and both list her as being born in 1994, which means she didn’t even exist yet when “Saved By The Bell” went off the air. She’s only been able to get into R-rated movies for less than two months. She should technically be a high school junior. She’s six months younger than Justin Bieber. This is what she looked like not too long ago.
She’s a baby.
And, yet, she’s married to a 51-year-old man, is shopping around a reality show that is totally going to happen, got kicked out of a pumpkin patch for being the Courtney Stoddenest and tweets things like this: “Exotically crawling through such a kittenish day as my saucy senses playfully pounce on every single frisky fantasy that comes my way; Rawr!”
I’m at a loss. Sometimes I want to laugh, but mostly squivved. It’s like Charlie Sheen, only a thousand times more bad-touchy.
Because, COME ON, because her obviously shit parents signed some waiver, she’s legally allowed to be pedoed on a daily basis? If this was “SVU”, Stabler would shoot Hutchison’s dick off by the end of the episode. B.D. Wong would diagnose her with some crazy skank disease and everyone would live uncomfortably after. I’m so confused. What the hell happened to this girl?
I hate that fame is such an attainable end game that this is merely the latest way to achieve it. Get giant fake boobs before your real boobs are even done growing, marry yourself some creepy guy I genuinely cannot remember from “Lost” and KABLAMMO instant famousness.
So, instead of soapboxing about how I feel, today, I ask you to tell me how to feel. Because I’m broken. Chick broke me.