4 Reasons Child Stars Should be Made Illegal

It’s obvious that a new crop of  deranged child stars is at its most batshit insane right now, what with Justin Bieber acting like a dick, Amanda Bynes’s sad but hilarious Twitter feuds, and the never-ending saga of Lindsay Lohan and her faithful crack pipe. So why do parents (or legal guardians if they’re, you know, orphans) keep schlepping their kids to and from auditions, trying to get them inducted into the cult that is Disney?

Come play with us, Danny. Forever and ever.

I can’t even begin to delve into the reasons why parents are so obsessed with cementing their kid into an industry where they’ll probably be offered drugs by the age of 10, but I do have a few reasons (read: 4) why child stars should be made illegal.

Girl, I’ll take you on a journey.

1) Child stars often morph into total jerks.

It’s true. No matter what you Beliebers want to belieb, your beloved Bieber is a huge rhymes-with-punt.

Seriously, if I could sucker punch this bitch…

As a Canadian, I used to be super proud of his accomplishments. I would impress my American pals with the fun trivia that the mighty Biebs grew up in a town a mere 2.5 hours away from mine.

I know, I know, calm the fuck down. The Biebs and I are just mad tight, bro.

I forgave him for his gopher-meets-Ellen-Degeneres haircut. I forgave him for “Baby.” I forgave him for “Never Say Never.” I forgave him for literally all of his shitty music, simply because he’s a beaver-head. (In both senses of the word).

Being a child star, however, has completely warped his sense of right and wrong, good and evil, normal and lesbian-esque hair. And he’s not the only one. People constantly cater to him and fluff his ego, turning him into a Barbara Streisand-level diva.

Something about that perm destroys her believability.

I know that if he’d become famous when he was 25, 30, 35, etc. he might have turned out the same way. But he’s still a jerk and should therefore be forced to live on a deserted island with a 1997-era Jeff Goldblum listening to this for 10 years:

A harsh but just punishment.

2) Child stars make everyone else feel like pedophiles.

Teenaged celebrities are sexualized. There’s nothing else to it. It’s like someone read Lolita and said, “Oh man, wouldn’t it be great if we made this a real thing?”

Maybe for fans of statutory rape.

Example: Britney Spears was 16 when she did this Pepsi commercial:

I’m not saying that Britney shouldn’t have been famous, but her entire brand was focused on making money off of her jailbait status. If you haven’t seen her “Joy of Pepsi” commercial, you might have missed that they put  middle-aged politician, Bob Dole, in at the end. He’s watching the commercial with his dog. The dog, in a fit of heated arousal due to Brit’s fierce moves, starts to bark. The Dole-ightful Bob looks over and says, smirking: “Easy, boy.”

They were literally winking at the fact that Britney Spears was untouchable.

That’s pop music, yeah, fo sho, I get that, but it still doesn’t change the fact that they threw this kid to Viagara-popping sharks without a life jacket.


And don’t even think that mini celeb boys aren’t involved. I feel weird thinking that the twinks from One Direction are good looking and they’re my age. It just feels like cradle robbing. I will take this moment to declare that I will forever resist any cougar tendencies that may spring up in my depraved mind.


What are they popping? A cherry?

3. Watching a child star fall apart is like being a spectator at the Hunger Games.


All these photos come out like:


And everyone has a field day, reacting with INTENSE schadenfreude.

Yeah, it’s funny. It’s fucking hilarious — it just shouldn’t be. They pass out, get caught with prostitutes/drugs/Charlie Sheen and everyone’s like:


Meanwhile, all those washed up celebs are experiencing legal action and withdrawal symptoms.

Just because they’re famous doesn’t mean they don’t have withdrawal symptoms. 

Celebrities: They’re just like us!

These people are PEOPLE, even if they do look like a Sun Chip left out in the rain for some time (ahem, Lindsay Lohan). I’m definitely guilty of this, too. I follow Amanda Bynes’s downfall like it’s news of the rapture.

After each breakdown, child stars basically turn to the world, saying:

Unfortunately, as a society that gets bored pretty easily, we’re just like:

It truly is like the Hunger Games. We watch children battle it out in a global arena until only one is left standing. And that is Justin Timberlake.

He just watched Amanda Bynes’s twerking video.

4. We can make children using CGI now!

Why do we need real kids when we can computer animate them?

Look how realistic. Look at the tiny human:

It’s so authentic!

These CGI babies won’t develop jerkwad attitudes OR drug problems! (No promises on avoiding becoming a sexualized object. There are some fabulously strange people out there).

They might bite, though.

Child stars are sources of joy and laughter and whatnot, but what happens after they lose their cuteness and find out that the world doesn’t want them anymore?

A whole lot of horses***, that’s what happens.

All I can say is, thank God for Justin Timberlake.


It has come to my attention recently (read: 9 years ago) that eating a lot of food is deemed “unladylike” and “something- that- will -make -you -really- fat -until -you- have- to- roll- yourself- down- the- stairs -because -you’re -too- stubborn- to- buy- a -membership- to- Weight- Watchers- and- you’ll -have- to -get- gastric -bypass -surgery- which- is- really- gross-and-I-assume-painful.”

Well, I am here to tell you that society is playing a fucked up little game, my friends.

As a human being with a working digestive system, I happen to really enjoy eating food. As a single woman-girl-thing, it’s one of the greatest joys of my life.

And I am not ashamed.

A regular day’s thoughts generally consist of:

Oh god yes, don’t stop

However, there are millions (MILLIONS, I SAY) of people out there who will convince you that being anything bigger than a size 2 is a Crime Worthy of Death by Breast Implant Explosion.

This is what I like to call: NOT GOOD.

How come curvaceousness has gone out of style?

Remember the Renaissance?

Fat ladies were the HOTTEST.

Cellulite is SEXAY. 

And you know why? (You probably do, but imma tell you anyways). Because fat was a sign of WEALTH.

Renaissance men would be walking around in their pantaloons and breeches and whatnot and spot a nice chubby lady and say:

“Holy Harpies, Georg! Look at the dingleboppers on that one! I’d like to take her into the baker’s and butter her up, if you know what I mean.”

And then I assume they would high-five.

Now, all the richest biddies with their daddy’s plastic are tiny anorexic Oompa Loompas that haven’t eaten in days because “I’m on a juice cleanse.”


This. This is what it has come to.

And I don’t blame those girls. Really, I don’t. Unfortunately, girls are under a lot of pressure to look a certain way these days. But instead of this “certain way” being “round and proud”, the fashion is now to look like a stick insect.

“Damn girl, you look GOOOOOOOD.”

The media, with all its photoshopping technology and mind-control powers has convinced girls that the skinner, the better.

Check dis out, mon:

Kim Kardashian, who’s famous for being curvy, (and really nothing else) gets photoshopped like HELL.

If the girl who’s JUST FAMOUS FOR BEING BIGGER THAN OTHER STARS can’t get away with looking human, then who can?

It’s terrible what media has done to the minds of girls. All I can say is, thank God for Jennifer Lawrence.


Hopefully more stars like her will appear to show girls that eating a slice of pizza every once in a while isn’t something to feel guilty about.

I actually cringe when people I know tell me: “I’m really regretting that Oreo Mini I ate… It’s going straight to my butt!”

Well. I have something to tell you.

I like big butts. And I cannot lie. 

But seriously, everyone, food is the BEST THING EVER.

Whichever primate ancestor first picked up a berry and went: “THIS IS THE SHIT!”

Hats off to you, sir. Hats off.

Just think about it. Every occasion is a perfect occasion for eating.

1) Breakup:

2) Out with Friends:

3) Studying:

4) While pre-gaming:

5) After pre-gaming

6) Avoiding social interaction:


I didn’t even get to funerals, weddings, bridal showers, baby showers, prison openings, every time you watch Love Actually, and The Mandarin.

So, you see, I love food. A lot. If I could marry a block of aged cheddar, I would. That shit is fantastic.

To all you people out there, we need to bring back the love of food that once existed in ages past. When it was okay to eat an entire wheel of cheese and no one batted an eye.

Thank you, Ron Burgundy. I know.

Bring back the days of cheese wheeling.


All I’m trying to say is, don’t take the media too seriously. And don’t feel guilty if your Saturday doesn’t include a salad but includes lots of Vodka Redbulls and pizza. You have to do what you want!

And if what you want isn’t food, then I cordially invite you to the first ever meeting of the Go Fuck Yourself Club of which you have just been appointed president.

I’ll be over here, revelling in my gluttony.

That’s right.

So: screw you, society. Imma eat carbohydrates if I want to.

Because, DAYUMMMM, if they aren’t they delicious.

And you know what? I don’t care. And hopefully there are other people out there who are as careless as I am. But in a good way. I hope you still exercise to, you know, keep your cardio up and your muscles all bulgy-like, but I also hope that when you see that piece of cake, you don’t hesitate.

You fuckin’ grab for it. No questions asked.

Because in the words of one of Hollywood’s most beaudacious babes:

So every time you want that doughnut or that slice of pizza, just say: “Fuck you, society, you ugly m****f****! I’m SEXY!” 

And enjoy.

And the Oscar goes to…Anne Hathaway’s Nipples?

So… last night was weird.

And no, I’m not apologizing for a mistaken, drunken, sexual encounter that’s forcing us to re-evaluate our relationship as platonic friends, leaving us like:

No, internet. As much as I like you as a friend, it would never work. For you are not a sentient being.

No, the Academy Awards were last night.

…And they were weird.

More specifically, I found four weird things both during and after the the Oscars. Weirder things than sexing up a non-sentient being. Or an octogenarian.


So here we go.

My list of the four weirdest things that happened last night during the Oscars.

1. Need I say it? They were right there in front of our eyes, piercing into our very souls with their razor-sharp points for 2 and half hours.

Anne Hathaway’s nipples.

Look at them:

Anne Hathaway blog photo 1



Anne Hathaway Oscar Boobs

That is some serious Kim Possible triangle-boob going on .



Don’t get me wrong. I think Anne Hathaway is a beautiful woman with a somewhat melodramatic personality and a big heart. However, I don’t understand why she decided to shove a couple of toothpicks into her dress before Hollywood’s biggest night.

Seriously. You could carve an ice sculpture with those things.

YAY! Thanks, boobs!


My first reaction was to wonder whether they shot lasers or something. Because to me, that’s really the only reason to walk the red carpet with what look like inverted pizza slices shoved down the front of your dress. Complete with pepperoni.

It would’ve been a lot cooler if Anne (or “Annie,” as her friends call her) had done something like this:

Oh, no! Indiana Anne!

Oh, no! Indiana Anne!

Look at that photo and go: “Pew! Pew!” and tell me you don’t enjoy it.

Congratulations on winning Best Supporting Actress, Ms. Hathaway!

But next time, consider wearing a bra?

2) The second weird thing I’ve found regarding ze Oscahs has to do with the backlash Seth MacFarlane has been receiving from the internets. Especially regarding the “We Saw Your Boobs” song.

I get it. The song was immature and in bad taste. BUT, it was in the context of a joke Seth was making about his being the worst Oscar host ever. He literally asked William Shatner From the Future: “What do I do wrong tonight? Why am I the worst Oscar host in history?” W.S.F.T.F. then shows him a video performance of the criminally immature, “We Saw Your Boobs.”

He was literally performing the song with the knowledge that it was the worst thing ever to happen on the Oscar stage. 

If you watch Family Guy, you know that MacFar-Far has a very self-deprecating sense of humour, so this song should not have come as a surprise. And you know, some good has come of the song. Namely, pointing out that we haven’t seen Jennifer Lawrence’s boobs at all! That’s my girl! (I really like her, if you didn’t get that because you’re illiterate or immune to italics or something.)

Three cheers for feminism!

I totally understand that Seth MacFairyFeet’s humour isn’t for everyone. I grew up in a house where 2/5 people absolutely hated Family Guy, because they believed it to consist of “disgusting” and “stupid” humour.

But whether you love the show or not, no one should have been taken aback by the offensive jokes. I mean, c’mon. This is the guy who made a song about Prom Dumpster Babies.

Prom fucking dumpster babies.

They even swing their umbilical cords like canes. Like fetal Gene Kellys. 

So was it any surprise that he made sexist, bulimia, and domestic abuse jokes throughout the course of the show?

No. Not it was not. 

People have every right to feel uncomfortable about the jokes- that’s the point.

But what I find weird is that everyone’s acting all surprised and shit like: “OHHHHHHH NOOOOOO. HE WENT THERE!”

Raven was especially shocked.

But Hollywood, you knew what you were getting yourself into.

That’s just Seth!

And dayuuuuum, is he ever fine.

3. It seems everyone has also noticed this weirdness. What was up with all the long-haired, white-blonde men winning awards? Does it have to do with some kind of cult?

(Sorry for that, it sounded like a fucking awful beginning to a stand-up routine).



Exhibits A through Weirdly Attractive.

Now compare:


I have a feeling that these men were also taking what was theirs with fire and blood.

(If you didn’t understand that joke because you don’t watch GOT, then YOU ARE NOT WORTH MY TIME).

I also have a feeling that one question still remains unanswered for these men:

“I have my oscar, but…”


4. This part of the night really shocked me. And that would be Tarantino’s douchiest Oscar speech ever.

“I actually think that like…. if people are knowing my movies 30 or 50 years from now it’s gonna be because of the characters that I created, and I really only got one chance to get it right. I have to cast the right people to make those characters come alive and hope they live a long time… and boy, this time did I do it.”

King of the Sewer Douches

Also that he was coked out of his mind.

He did give a little extra credit to the cast of Django, but really, he only showed a billion people watching worldwide that he’s really into himself.

Once again, I would like to state that I’m a HUGE Tarantino fan. I love his films, and I do think he’s a genius and one of the most (if not THE most) innovative filmmaker of our time.


HOWEVER, that doesn’t mean you get to squash everyone’s delicate feelings with your Range Rover-sized douchebaggery.

Daniel Day-Lewis, one of the biggest names in Hollywood, was much more gracious in accepting his award. So was Anne of the Arching Areolas.

C’mon, Tarantino, I love your movies. Don’t ruin this for me.



So there you have it. Four opinions regarding the Oscars that you probably disagree with. I expect many an equally-opinionated comment/ fiery e-mail.

Actually, I’m down for both! 😀 But let’s keep swearing to a maximum, shall we?

The Oscars, for all their faults last night, were still PRETTY good. Better than the Anne Hathaway/James Franco fiasco of a couple years ago.

I could EAT the awkwardness.


All I’m gonna say is…


You want a show that will appeal to everyone? Pick those hilarious ladies and EVERYONE WILL LOVE IT. There would be no sexism, the jabs at the actors would be tasteful, and goddammit, wouldn’t I love to go to an after-party hosted by the two of them.

And you know what else?


So I have commitment issues… to my future.

This blog post is about the future.

No, not about the future- it’s about the present.

No, it’s about how the present will dictate our future. Is currently dictating our future. Which was once dictated by the past which was once our present and our current present will become the future which will in turn be dictated by this present which at that point will be the past and-

Wait, what the fuck am I saying?

I’ll give it another go, because I’m clearly on some kind of downwards word-spiral:


And apparently neither is she.

And apparently neither is she.

I am speaking on behalf of the generation of directionless youth that has been produced as a result of being too young to decide shit-all.

It’s true. To all you 30+ people out there, you guys are the lucky ones. Just know that. Embrace it. Drink to it. Let it bring you comforting dreams of stable salaries and healthcare plans.

I guess I can’t speak for all of us, but when it comes to my future, I’m a little bit like this:


Except you can’t run away from your future. Oh no, Cory from Boy Meets World, you can’t run.

But you can seduce it and make it feel stable and comfortable.

And then cheat the fuck out of it.

That’s been my way of living for going on six years now. I find a potential future, flirt with it a little, get to know it, buy it some drinks, enrol it in some classes, and then BAM.

Find a new one.

It’s so easy. I’m the Tiger Woods of Ambitions.

I leave that future lying in the dust of my newfound romance like Brad did to J-Aniston.

And I’m not even sorry.

My first chosen Future was a little childhood romance; I wanted to make it to Broadway. (I italicized the way because that’s how the pretentious New Yorkers say it).

I did everything right. I went to vocal competitions and kicked the shit out of the girls who always sang “Part of Your World” and sat on a beanbag chair wearing a mermaid tail for “authenticity.” Those poor unfortunate souls…

I got into an arts high school for musical theatre, and decided it was to be my first step on the road to the Big Apple. I walked into that school like a m********* g***** boss. 

Unfortunately, the other students didn’t see it that way.

I quickly realized that not only was I a mediocre performer, but I couldn’t dance to save a baby from a burning building held captive by Satan himself.

Every time I tried to bust a move, I ended up making people cry with laughter. And then came grade 11, when we had to learn how to dance all seductive-like.

I tried, I really did.

It didn’t go so well.

By Grade 12, I had had enough. I sent my regards to Broadway, and left that dream in the gutter with the rest of the baby prostitutes to fester and die.

And I said, “You know what? Imma become a doctor. A mothafuckin doctah. There ain’t nothin more noble than savin’ people’s lives.”

So I tried that, more adult-like, future out for a while. And it was pretty sweet at first.

I was all like:

But honestly, it wasn’t that good in the sac. (By sac I mean sex-bed-of-love).

And by “wasn’t that good” I mean, “synthesizing organic compounds is really hard, and I also hate it.”

Science is hard- and not in the fun way 😦

So I kicked that dream out the door with a one-way ticket to Whore City. I assume it was responsible for the recent U of T sex party.

Then, I had an epiphany: I would become a psychologist! Psychology’s like science, but easy! And studying Freud is both gross and cool! I dove into that one head-first like a love-sick fool. But unfortunately that Future stabbed me in the back like a stupid crabs-ridden bitch. It was more of a one-night stand than a romance.

Because, as it turns out, crazy people like me should try to see a psychologist, not try to become one. 

I was experiencing my first “It’s not you, it’s me” breakup.

I was distraught. Would I ever find The One? Or would I jump from Future to Future like a common sorority girl with a large chest size and low self-esteem?

Very soon afterwards, I fell into the arms of the most blissful of potential Futures. That of an English and Film major. I can hear you scoffing from here, you biochemists and international relations people with your “useful” degrees and your higher employability rates.

But you know what? I’m in love. With the brand new, happier me.

When I was doing all those other things, whether it be chemistry or vocal classes or psychoanalysis, I was never as happy in school as I am now.

Professors and registrars and parents and even friends will all tell you to pursue something “useful.” Something safe. And if you genuinely want to make a career of it and you know you’ll be happy, then go for it! But if you’re doing it simply because you’re scared of making mistakes, turn back now.

The world has forced us to make a lot of decisions very early in life. I was only 17 when I started university- I wasn’t even an adult, and yet people were letting me decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life! It’s a flawed system, but sometimes you just have to break through the barrier of social expectations and see yourself and your dreams for what they really are:

The truth.

I may not be going to med school, or getting a job in a psychology lab, but I’m way less stressed than when I was pursuing those things. I’m a strong believer that if something in your life isn’t making you happy, find out what it is and change it. Unfortunately, we live in a society that values quick decision-making and capitalist ends.

I don’t know where I’m going to end up, or where I’ll be working in ten years. All I know is that I’m in a field that I love, and that’s what matters. I refuse to ever feel like my life wasn’t under my control, and I hope that whoever reads this can take some sort of idea away from my blog: It’s scary to take risks, but it’s also thrilling. It’s thrilling to know that, if you work hard enough, if you’re passionate enough, and if you dream big enough, it just might work out for you.

In the words of the wisest children’s TV characters:

So don’t be afraid to sleep around until you find your brightest Future. Your life doesn’t have to be an arranged marriage- this isn’t a Jane Austen novel for Christ’s sake. And anyways, once you’ve found The One, you’ll never want anything else.