Okay, this might’ve been the wrong foot.
Dear Kim Kardashian‘s daughter,
In the past 48 hours, you’ve experienced more than most will in their entire lives: Thanks to your mother’s infamous rear, doctors had to use scaffolding to deliver you. Your father vanished in a puff of smoke and is rumored to be in Belgium as of this letter. A vampire licked its lips while holding you, referring to itself as “grandma,” and a large beast ran off with your placenta in its mouth. As for the man who knicked your ear with his teeth – “Marking,” I believe the practice is called. – his name is Steve Hirsch. You two will be bonded forever.
As for why I’m writing this down for you, someone has to and 96% of the people around you are illiterate. You’ve been alive for two days and they haven’t even given you a name yet. Although, focus grouping is a lengthy process, and your mother lied about your due date so she could lose a bunch of weight before posing for People. Get used to stuff like this happening, my dear Publicita. (They’re probably not using that one.)
On that note, let me say now that as much as the world despises your mother and father, and will one day rise up and dash your grandmother’s bones upon the rocks of an ancient castle, ending her thousand year reign, there is no ill will toward you. You are but an innocent victim of circumstance. Although, don’t milk it too much. You could’ve came out of January Jones. At least someone will hold and pretend to love you as long as a camera’s running. Not to mention the lack of frostbite. Anyway, the Internet’s pretty good about not making fun of children right out of the gate. Unless you’re born with a flipper, in which case, you can appreciate the situation I’d be in, and not think less of me when I refer to you as Kim Kardashian’s Shit Dolphin, but I’m getting ahead of myself. My point is never let anyone tell you there’s a God and this was all part of “His plan.” No one’s this big of a douche. Not even your Uncle Scott.
Did I remember to say run? Run.
- The Superficial