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It Ain’t News, Baby, It’s Newborns…

I’m incensed. What the heck is going on out there? Tonight’s newspaper has got me all in a lather. It’s full of Justin Bieber’s new baby and Hugh Grant’s addition to the world.

Firstly some questions: Was either of these recent newborns the one that pushed our planet over its recommended fill level of seven billion people? The 8-pounder that set-off the DEFCON 1 buzzer in some underground bunker somewhere as our bulging planet wobbled unsteadily on its straining little axis? Is Justin Bieber responsible not only for a generation of Haircut 100 lookey-likeys but also irretrievably melting the polar ice-cap with his offspring’s first hot breath? Is Hugh Grant single-handedly to blame for increased intensive farming (including all those free-burping bovines) to feed the additional spawn of an unfortunate slip of his trouser zip?

Well, their impact on planetary disaster aside, I’d just like to know what the heck they think they’re doing? Just why are two of the world’s least attractive male celebrities arrogantly reproducing themselves? Isn’t it enough that we have Mickey “Munted” Rourke and Elton “Pass Me A Balaclava” John shattering their own dressing room mirrors without bringing more fugly to the fore?

More importantly, what are the baby-mothers doing bringing two children into the world seemingly without a passing thought? Call me old-fashioned but newspaper hearsay indicates neither man promised a fairytale ending to either woman, yet still they had those children. It is hard to know the whole story but their motives have to be questionable, don’t they?

Now before everyone thinks I am anti-single mums – I am not. Absolutely not. I’m not particularly pro-abortion either. But I am all for people having safe sex; rational forethought for the consequences before random shagging; and, thick latex condoms (the thicker the better in Hugh’s case – all we need is another grumpy sod like him in the world). I am for considering the commitment, not just financial, of being a parent whether singly or otherwise. And for the dad being more than 10 years old (Justin – I know you say you are older but the photos say otherwise).

I am certainly against children bred as bargaining chips or for the “kudos” of having celebrity genes in them which I can’t help but presume to be partly the cases here.

The adults involved in these situations and others like them can take care of themselves. I don’t give a fig about them or the decisions they make for themselves. The children involved, however, will forever be able to look back to the day they were born and read newspaper and magazine articles declaring their birth announcements and the printed statements that the biological dads didn’t plan them and didn’t really want to be involved. Children seemingly born on purpose because of who their dads are (although if JB was my dad, I’d probably keep that quiet). Children born to celebrity financial support and making a living off a tenuous link to fame for their mothers and, perhaps, themselves later on.

What a great start in life. How fabulous for their self-esteem. What a pair of absolute selfish plonkers Justin Brace-Face and Hugh Grunt are. All the more crass and irresponsible when you consider the news also features a footballer making a moving goal-celebratory tribute to his newborn who died a few days ago. In other words a Dad – not a celebrity sperm donor.

Anyone else out there agree? Or shall I don my Victorian night-gown, blow out the candle and just go to bed?

Photo credit: via Google Images


Kiss Me Baby…..


I was on a train to London today with the 15 year-old and we somehow got to talking about kissing. This was sparked by the recent re-run of Casino Royale, in which Daniel Craig kisses his co-star in a disturbingly droopy-bottom-lipped fashion.  We have been taking the mickey out of him ever since, and have sent notes of condolence to Rachel Weisz as she now has this to look forward to every day forever or at least until they get sick of sharing LA mansions together.  It’s difficult to describe how droopy his lip is when in the kiss-zone, but if you watch him, you’ll see exactly what we mean. It’s a little bit like a thick wedge of sashimi coming straight at you. Or a huge slice of beef tomato. Ugh.

But to be fair to Daniel, he is not alone. There are other celebrity crap-kissers out there. Colin Firth – not only does he have trouble speaking the King’s English, but he cannot unpurse his lips enough to impart any passion on the pouting popsies of his co-stars. In the Bridget Jones films, he sort of pecks at Renee Zellweger like a parrot. Far more passion-killing than any big pants I’ve ever donned. Russell Crowe is another. He wetly smothers his leading ladies in a Granny-lick lather. Thanks, Russ, but I’ve already had a shower today and if I wanted that much tongue I’d buy a giraffe. Then there’s poor old Liam Neeson. Yes, he has had some personal tragedy. But this does not excuse his inability to snog on screen. Seriously.

So the girl and I decided on a new business idea: School for Kissers. Designed to help all those face-suckers, parrot-peckers, lip-biters, lick-merchants, tongue-chokers and nose-squashed-until-you-can’t-breathers. Because these boys need some serious help. The girl-child can tell this already and she’s only 15.  If memory serves, it is one of the things she should most look forward to when thinking about future potential boyfriends, meantime spending time practicing on a hand or pillow. It will be an unfortunate life lesson for her (like us all) to discover that some boys just have no kissing clue.

There are a myriad of dating websites out there that hook men and women together based on compatibility, attraction etc. But not one that teaches these men how to kiss once they have hooked up that soul-match. THAT’s why their relationships don’t work! It’s not incompatibility, but unabletokissability. A problem that’s been swept under the carpet for too many years, and now we at Piglet World have decided to bring it out into the open, approach Duncan Bannatyne for some dragon funding for classroom space and lip balm (£50,000 for 10% of the business and free lessons because he looks like a prime candidate) so we can help these chaps out.

There are men out there to be admired, of course. Mel Gibson, whether you like his politics or not, can deliver a good smooch. As can Hugh Grant – although I have it on reliable authority that he is in fact a right grumpy sod. Keanu Reeves is a perfect gentleman with a kiss to match. He just needs a quick back, sack and crack and he’d be heaven in a human.

So taking these as our role models, we will be planning our lessons, making YouTube video demonstrations and searching for suitable teachers to impart our wisdom. Bad kissers need not apply. Nor anyone with fag or coffee breath.

Anyone got a particularly bad kisser in their midst? Either leave him, or send him along. Because, Men of the World, it’s neither clever or funny to commit Grevious Bodily Lip.