I couldn't care two shits about Beyonce's baby, but since I loathe her existence, I feel compelled to expose her narcissism and ridiculousness. Beyonce and Jay-Z annouced a few months ago they were having a baby that Beyonce was secretly hoping wouldn't look like her husband. Since then, she's utilized every opportunity to be photographed with a unnaturally fast-growing belly. Unless she's carrying an amoeba, she ain't preggers. Unless you're blind, you can see her "alleged fetus" fold in half when she sits down. Why is this a big deal, you ask? It's not. In fact, I think, probably more than most, that image is everything, especially in the entertainment business. And if I had meat and thighs like Beyonce before kids, there's no way in three hells I would have kids. I actually think this is a brilliant career move, unless she wants to impersonate Oprah in the second half of her career. The problem I have is "pretending" to be pregnant. Who cares. So what you hired a surrogate. It's moves like this from rich spoiled celebrities that make me want to drink a gallon of drano and light myself on fire. I seriously can't stand this tub of lard. Imagine wearing a prosthetic baby bump. It's beyond any rational human's comprehension. If you're ever stranded in the cold without matches and Beyonce is your hiking partner, all you have to do is place some straw near her thighs and take her out for a brisk walk. There will be enough friction energy to rival nuclear fission.
No comments:
Post a Comment