Life’s got to be pretty damn dull when you’re a celebrity spawn. Once you’ve got used to the endless procession of uncles with big flashy cameras that Mummy is so fond of twirling about in front of, and the endless procession of nannies that Daddy keeps disappearing to the toilet with and making squeak like your Upsy Daisy doll, there can’t be much to hold your attention through those tender pre-school years before you can develop enough vocabulary to do your own reality show pitch.
So kudos to cute little Hubbard Reincarnated/utterly normal child Suri Cruise for making her own entertainment, by cleverly satirising the media whirlwind surrounding her mega-famous family unit through the medium of sweeties!
Yes, sweeties. Shut up and bear with us.
The story appears to be as follows: famously-married-of-her-own-free-will towering pixie Katie Holmes somehow managed to drag her be-manacled feet and genius child into a New York ice cream parlour to enjoy a few minutes of sugary solitude between entirely voluntary hourly personality tests. And Suri saw the paps, saw the sweeties; saw her moment to make the statement of the year.
As Mummy Winsome explains within the earshot of gaudy noseyparkers Heatworld:
We go in and we are waiting for a table and she grabs some gummies that are boy part gummies. I was horrified.
Boy part? So, what, shaped like Bs? Or Ys? Or maybe Os, which would be considerably easier to produce from a manufacturing point of view, which is important to think about in these tightened financial times? Nonsense!
They are called p-e-n-i-s gummies and they look like it. She was holding the box and I was like, “OK, wow, we don’t need that right now.”
Oh, yeah. She went for it. In front of the massed photographers of all the idiot lady-rotting magazines of the northern hemisphere, Suri went for the big box full of cocks.
You know what you’re itching to say right now, don’t you? Course you do. You can barely help yourself. It’s there, dancing round the tip of your tongue like unspoken words of love that burn through your soul but remain forever unexpressed. Man up. Just say it. “Got a liking for a crate of schlongs, eh? Ha! Like father, like…”
But no! Don’t you dare! Suri is far too clever for you. She may paw at the packet of porkswords. But she will do it with a cloak of irony, knowing that it’s the perfect gag, that we snark-laden schmucks will not be able to resist drawing comparisons, because her dad is Tom Cruise! And…therefore…has a penis, because he is a man, and there is no more comparison to be drawn between the two!
See? See how good she is? Not content with her mastery of the effect of the jellied John Thomas, she then went on to screw up her adorable eyes, squeeze with all her might, and pop a perfectly representative review of Daddy’s recent and upcoming film career into her big girl pants. Eat your heart out, Chris Morris.
Anyway, Suri – you’ve got talent, kid. Should you ever want a job at hecklerspray, let us know; we can shove the Henry round the bedsit to clear out the thetans and install tin foil on the walls. At least it’ll give you a chance to get away from the sobbing of your dear old giant of a mum.
Sobbing from happiness. That’s almost definitely a real emotion. Don’t sue us…