Much ink has already been spilled over such women as Kate Gosselin and Octomom Nadya Suleman, the multiple-birth wonders who have dominated the celebrity gossip pages in 2009 with their fertile wombs and questionable appearances. Theirs has been a Jerry Springer-esque story of national proportions, at the root of which is a gaggle of cute kids whose primary function is to serve as paychecks for their mommies.
But less attention has been given to the Star F*cker, the unsung hero of baby mamas who quietly toils at her craft, looking to screw the right star at the right time of the month to produce the ultimate in sex souvenirs: a baby! And not just any baby — a meal-ticket baby who will translate into monthly child support payments and, with the right lawyer, something extra for the mama.
They are the post-modern groupies who understand that the real value in sleeping with celebrities lies not in bragging rights but in DNA. And with some shrewd calculating, provocative clothing and false eyelashes, they risk life and limb — a.k.a. STDs — for a chance at winning a lottery prize package that includes not only a bouncing baby for a nanny to raise but, more importantly, the increased exposure and career opportunities that come with attaching your name to an A-lister in the gossip pages.
We’ve seen quite a few of these babies emerge from the wombs of artful women this year, most notably from Mel “Sugar Tits” Gibson’s latest squeeze, Russian singer Oksana Grigorieva, who coincided her birth announcements with the release of her new single, unapologetically titled “Say My Name.” It’s a name Mel’s soon-to-be ex-wife of 25 years will be saying often in court as the couple’s divorce is sorted out. Let’s hope Oksana knows that there was no prenup and her little dumpling’s share of the rubles will have to be split with Mel’s seven other children. Better luck with meal-ticket baby number two, Oksy.
Then we have repeat offender, unabashed slut and my future ex-husband Colin Farrell, who had his second child with some random actress chick recently, a child who joins first-born son James (mom is model Kim Bordenave). Fellow British slut Jude Law also has a new mouth to feed via a different random model chick whose new babe will have to compete for attention — a.k.a. cash money — with Jude’s three other children (mom is ex-wife Sadie Frost). Not much is known about these new baby mamas beyond the fact that previous to winning the baby lottery, their career titles were preceded by the word “aspiring.”
Of course we can count on this slutty behavior from celebs like Colin and Jude — who we expect no woman to refuse — so the fact that they now have multiple baby mamas is not a surprise, nor is it a particular career killer. If anything, it’s a career enhancer that fuels the notion that they are virile creatures who live glamorous lives filled with wild orgies populated by models.
This pushes them deeper into the realm of super stardom that mere mortals can only dream of attaining and puts the focus squarely on their manhood, which, by all accounts, is in-demand. In the absence of an Oscar, a bevy of beautiful models bearing your children doesn’t seem like a poor substitute. Keep up the good work, guys — and we’re sure you will.
But back on earth, sometimes a baby can serve double duty as a meal-ticket and career killer, especially for politicians. John Edwards learned this the hard way when his campaign employee and No. 1 fan, Rielle Hunter, ruined the former senator’s chances for the presidency by revealing not only his bastard spawn — conceived when his wife was terminally ill, no less — but also the campaign-funded payola spent on silencing her (obviously, it wasn’t enough).
And in a Fatal Attraction move that had all aging politicians with mistresses reaching for the phone to schedule their vasectomies, Rielle relocated to North Carolina to be closer to her baby daddy’s checkbook, which, unfortunately for her, is still beholden to his very angry wife of 32 years and their three children, none of whom seem willing to share.
At this point, Rielle would be better served by getting her tell-all book ready for publication while she waits for John to get a job. If that doesn’t pan out, she can hit the gym and try her luck with Jude or Colin, or maybe pay a visit to Octomom’s fertility doctor, who can furnish her with a whole collection of meal tickets to parlay into a reality show.
As for John and the rest of the baby daddies . . . use a condom next time.