All right, even though Joan is going to hate me for doing this, I have to talk about Halloween costumes.

Why, you may ask?

Because if my grocery store is already setting up their Halloween candy display, that means I am now allowed to broach the subject. And all you moms know that the longer you hold off buying your child’s costume, the more likely it is you will wind up with something that was popular three years ago in a size too small. I speak the truth. It’s ugly and I know you don’t want to hear it, but deep down you know I’m right.

As I was trolling around the vast internets, I saw some truly frightening costumes out there, especially for infants. Like this:

Now, there are almost too many things going on here. I suppose I could do a “Child of the Corn” joke, but I’m sure you saw that coming from a mile away. Actually, I’m kinda speechless. That the model is in fact a doll is totally creeping me out. But in all seriousness, this is not a quality costume, it looks like it was thrown together as a middle school Home Ec project. Scratch that, I am insulting all Home Ec-enrolled middle schoolers. You just don’t want to be forced into buying this because there’s nothing left, do you?

And please, for the love of all that is holy, do not do this to your sweet, precious infant:

Yes, yes, the image is rather grainy, but do you really expect quality photography from a company that suggests you dress your child as a whoopee cushion?

Now, I think I need to do some sort of deep breathing excercises to get the image of that doll out of my brain.

What a fabulous photo of little Kingston. He is rockin’ that belt, for sure, although it is funny to see his diaper peeking out of those distressed jeans! I can’t decide who he looks more like. I’m gonna go with Gwen for the time being.

It is fortunate that Kingston is such a doll, because it keeps my eyes away from the monstrosities that are Papa Rossdale’s shoes. But now that I have reminded myself, I can’t stop looking at them. So let’s take a gander, shall we?

Ummmm, are those actually fringed sueded moccasins, or do mine eyes deceive me? With laces? They are some sort of mocca-sneaker-loafer-western-boot hybrid that quite frankly, scare me.

And, since I started doing snippets on celebrity babies, I have found myself unable to “fug” a child as it were. I mean, it isn’t exactly as if they have a choice in what they are wearing or anything.

Although it has crossed my mind that one day, perhaps 14 or so years from now, one of these children will be on their own blogs, hurling invectives at me for daring to point out his darling daddy’s ugly shoes.

Tasering the Teenies, Part Two. Click for Part One. And here I thought it was all a joke.

Nope; silly me! According to the Daily Mail the UK is all over this stuff!

Police have been given the go-ahead to use Taser stun guns against children.

The relaxing of restrictions on the use of the weapons comes despite warnings that they could trigger a heart attack in youngsters.

Until now, Tasers – which emit a 50,000-volt electric shock – have been used only by specialist officers as a “non lethal” alternative to firearms…

Amnesty International claims Tasers have been responsible for 220 deaths in America since 2001. Many cities and police forces there have banned their use against minors.

Two years ago in Chicago a 14-year-old boy went into cardiac arrest after being shot with one. Medics had to use a defibrillator four times to resuscitate him.

Taser International, the American firm that makes the device, said tests on pigs suggested the weapons were safe.

I will forgo the obvious pun.

Now, if you’ve been around the internet any length of time, you’ve seen a few lulus of URLs:

• therapistfinder.com
• molestationnursery.com
• speedofart.com
• fordowners.com
• etc, etc

Now, most of those are unintentional portmanteau words that were born from the unsanctified mating of one perfectly respectable word with another perfectly respectable word, in a context where no-one is allowed the decency of so much as an n-dash between. Well, what do you expect, when you throw young words together like that?

But sometimes a really, really bad URL is both intentional and unintentional. Let us examine one such example:

http://PimpMyDaughter.wordpress.com

Yes, that reads “Pimp My Daughter” and yes, it’s supposed to.

The blogmommy says the site:

“exists to have fun, build Amelia’s confidence and to introduce our family to the exciting world of blogging…If you think the name ‘PimpMyDaughter’ implies that I am willing to actually pimp my daughter then you will probably be disappointed (If your name is Bill Gates then we may be able to work something out).”

Beautiful, truly beautiful: really putting the “ass” in “Class” there, Ma. She claims she got the idea from MTV’s “Pimp my Ride” having, apparently, never in her life heard that the word pimp derived from the word…well, pimp.

Who’da seen that coming, so to speak?

When former sex trade workers are leaving you multiple comments suggesting your blog’s name is tasteless and offensive, you should consider the possibility that the blog’s name is tasteless and offensive. If you’re fine with it, brazen it out, but expect Parents Day at school to be a mite frosty for all ages. If you’re not fine with equating yourself with criminally abusive parents who rent their children out for sex, then perhaps you should consider an alternative that is slightly less criminally-abusive-parents-who-rent-their-children-out-for-sex.

I’m just sayin’.

Seriously, folks, am I alone in hoping that instead of a site to give a shy teenager some confidence, this is some sort of tricksy Russian Mail Order Bride scam? It would be a lot healthier.

Now, I know I’m a little out of touch. It’s been some time since the ol’ raincoaster here was in charge of any wee kidlets; why, ever since they shoved me in the oven and got rescued by that nasty woodsman. But still, thinking back to those sepia-toned days of The Electric Company, dancing babies and teeny, wholesome Olsen Twins, she does not recall anything like the bizarre, jokey hostility displayed by New Line Cinema in the marketing for their rather self-explanatory new movie, Shoot ‘Em Up.

That’s New Line Cinema,
116 North Robertson Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA  90048
United States
t (310) 854-5811
f (310) 854-1824

Let’s see, what have we got here:

Cast your gaze upon the delightful shopping site Bulletproof Baby, your go-to internet destination in case you need to equip the love child of Dr Evil and The White Witch. The t-shirt with the bullet-riddled baby bloodstains on it is particularly charmant. Offerings include:

bullet proof baby insurance
covers: stabbings, shootings, incineration, car accidents, drive-bys, kidnappings, snipers, etc

My first riot helmet
riot helmet provides outstanding protection and superior comfort for your baby.

Truly a site for the times, eh? This puts the viral back in marketing: ebola.

But wait, there’s more!

According to Hollywood gossip site Defamer, the movie’s star Clive Owen is unabashedly pro-baby danger:

“[T]he babies were great. I wish we could have put the babies in even more dangerous situations because they centered the action sequences.”

Ladies and gentlemen, that’s a true showbiz pro.  But we’ve saved the best for last…FeltUpbyJen reports that New Line Cinema is also sponsoring “live” celebrations (of a sort), so if you live in the vicinity of the Alamo Drafthouse Cinema in Austin, Texas, do send us a debriefing of their August 30th event (now sadly passed, but surely the management would love to hear your thoughts).

Featuring a spirited game of “Shoot the baby.”

Join us after the screening for the “live human target” afterparty. Successfully shoot the live human target (with paintball rounds) and win fabulous prizes. Everyone at the screening will have a chance to shoot at three live human targets who will be heckling your abilities while trying to avoid your fire. The human targets will also be tossing around a baby. Shoot the baby for a chance at the grand prize! (Note, targets will be live humans, but in the interest of safety, the baby will not be alive).

Details are scarce at press time, but there is as yet no word on whether the baby was domestic or imported, free range or battery, fresh or frozen, and what role, if any, the not-live baby played in the bbq afterparty.

I have always wondered why clothing manufacturers insist on putting huge, sometimes multiple tags on children’s clothes.

They drive my son nuts.  He was known as a toddler to frantically clutch the back of his neck and simultaneously howl his disapproval of the tags.   Like the princess of the fairy tale, he was so sensitive to any sort of uncomfortable fabric that he refused to even lie down until it was gone.  I know, I know, I won the lottery with this one, didn’t I?  I would have to remove the offending garment from his delicate personage, get some scissors, and cut off the tag right then and there.  At first I tried to plead with him to just go to bed and deal, since the primary offenders seem to be pajama manufacturers, but it was futile. By now, it is routine for me to inspect all of his clothes pre-donning and wield the scissors when necessary.

And I think that somewhere out there are people who take great delight in trying to find the scratchiest material known to man, just so they can attach it to the back of pajamas for a three month old.   They must be in cahoots with the scissor industry or something.

I was delighted when I learned that some companies were beginning to ban the tags and instead print the information on the article of clothing itself.  I actually try to look for clothing with the printing, because it just saves me time and I’m lazy like that.                                                              

However, not enough of them are doing it because I still need to regularly hack off those tags.

(Scene: An American living room)

Mom: You know dear, I’m reading about a show with kids that CBS is filming.  They’re looking for participants.  I’m thinking little Jimmy might have some fun. You know, get him out of school and let him stretch his wings a bit. 

Dad: What’s it about?

Mom: Well, it says here that if we sign this little contract, little Jimmy would basically be out in the New Mexico desert, unsupervised, in conditions that could kill him.  And, there may or may not be doctors around that could help him if he gets hurt.

Dad: Hmmm.  I’m not sure I like the sound of that.

Mom: Oh, and if he does die, CBS and the producers are absolved of any and all liability. 

Dad: (scratching his head) Sounds kinda fishy. Can they really do that?

Mom:  Honey, it’s the media, they can do whatever they want.  He will do manual labor in order to keep himself alive, and he may or may not contract a sexually transmitted disease.  Which won’t be CBS’s fault, either.

Dad: I’m leaning towards no.

Mom: But listen, if he gets picked, he will be paid five thousand dollars!  And every episode, he has a chance to win a gold star that will be good for an extra twenty grand! 

Dad: Where do I sign?

Mom: Right here.

Mom: But wait, I’m really not sure about Jimmy wearing one of those bandannas.  It makes him look a little dorky.  I don’t even like the word “bandanna.” It’s just awkward.

Dad: It’s five thousand dollars! Maybe even twenty five thousand!

Mom: You’re right.  What’s a little humiliation?  Give me that pen.