We at Trading Faces are pleased to announce the arrival of our bouncing-off-the-walls baby girl, Whitney Houston. That's right, Whitney, we have officially adopted you, and you should consider this notice that your ass is soooooo grounded. You are to come home this instant, march yourself up to your room, and you're gonna stay there until I tell you to come out. No cell phone, no boys (especially that Brown kid...I don't trust him, and he is always breaking curfew), no lesbians, no sex toys, no mono-browed daughters, and no crack! That's right, no crack, meth, or coke. I'm not even letting you near the pantry where I keep the flour, missy. You're going to learn that in this family, we don't tolerate appearing on the cover of tabloids unless you're doing it for a sex scandal like that nice Clay Aiken boy. And by the way, when I asked you to call me Mommie Dearest, I wanted you to mean it.
Thank you to the kind-hearted and concerned citizens at Adopt-a-Celeb for helping us to achieve our dream of parenthood with our very own special needs girl.
4 comments:
Chistopher, just lock her in the pool house. You can let her out for dinner. We're having steak, served "rare".
I know you're a vegetarian. Your mango smoothie's in the blender.
I've already got a call in to Mrs. Chadwick at the boarding school just in case she gets even more rebellious.
No smoothies for me...I'm busting sugar to lose the weight I gained when I quit smoking last fall. Granted, I think a month of parenting Whitney may cause me to take up the habit again.
Well, ok, but there's not alot of money in the bank (I needed a Chanel handbag). So she'll have to work in the stables!
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