Chelsea Clinton is not a dog. It has been confirmed to me that she is pretty, or to quote my ex-boyfriend who spotted her this past fourth of July in Manhattan attending a bbq with her man, she was "way prettier than I'd ever imagined." Isn't that great news?
Chelsea is not a dog, she is not hard to glance at, difficult to remain focused upon, a sight that makes eyes sore and those with vision prefer blindness. This part is unconfirmed, but I would wager she's not only surprisingly cute, but also funny and cool and has her dad's overall sheen and charm-i-ness. I am relieved. I am satisfied. I am pleased.
I can now rest easy, never having to worry again, that my favorite ex president and alleged sex machine has to shoulder the burden of loving an ugly child. A burden I will probably have to bear myself one day, if I ever settle down, quit being a junior spinster and marry one of my boyfriends. I know that if a future parent of a hard to look at baby list exists, my name is at the top. I am kind of mean that way. I've said, "Damn, did you see that ugly baby?" and "My god, that kid looked fucked up" too many times for there not to be repercussions.
I'm sorry, but all babies are not cute. There are ugly babies, plenty of them, and one day I will have one of my very own. Bill Clinton, however does not, because his baby turned out pretty.
exhale.
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