I’m oddly elated, ever since I found out that Kim and Kanye are knocked up. Do I even need to use their lame, last names? After all, they’re both so famous: Queen Kim, for her sleazy sex tape, schlong sucking skills, and mini-marriage, and King Kanye, for his fab fashion sense. You gotta dig a dude, who rocks a roaring red, tacky tracksuit to sing in.
I’m beyond thrilled, folks. I can’t wait to hear what they’ll name their brat. I’m sure, though, that it’ll be a creative combo of Armenian and African-American heritage. (Of Kourse, it’ll start with a K.) Even when you’re rich, roots are very important. Unless, Kim goes platinum blonde; and then, she’ll have to get them touched up often. Otherwise, she’ll look like a low-class hooker after a few bad tricks. Oh, wait, that’s her usual attire. But will she give up porn for Play-Doh? Only if it turns to Pay-Dough.
I’d love to attend the baby shower, but I’d be barfing the entire time. I want, however, to wish the clueless couple, congrats! The world will be waiting nine long months, for their beautiful baby’s birth. We wanna witness every drool and stool, and every moving moment between slut, stud and spawn. Maybe mega-momager, Kris Jenner, is planning to pimp out the prince or princess for big bucks. The kash kameras will be krankin’ on Kim’s Kooch.
Eventually, K&K could conceive a line of kiddie clothes for Kmart. But Kim will have to keep it clean; because conservatives will never approve of tight tutus for tots. I hope they enjoy their last lusty days, before a deluge of dirty diapers appears. Ready or not, Kim and Kanye, your kid’s gonna come.