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Hey, what's up? How's it going? I'm Suri Cruise.
I'm only a few days old, but I thought I'd say "hey." I haven't really done much except blink and poop and sign a few autographs, yet you already know a lot about me, don't you?
For example: my name is Suri. I am a girl. I was born at 3 AM. I weigh 7 pounds, 7 ounces, give or take a poop or two. My dad says I have a lot of hair, to which I say he has a lot of nose. I may or may not be an orphan plucked from a willing surrogate and cosmetically altered with lasers. My father may have eaten my placenta. Or not. I'm just saying.
Obviously, it's been a bit nuts around here, and by "here," I mean Katie Holmes's vagina. I assume the birth went okay -- everything was good at my end, and Mom was silent the whole time. And I had the good sense to pop out a few weeks in advance of my dad's next big film, Mission: Impossible 3. You should check it out. It's good.
But what I really wanted to say to everyone is: calm down. Chill. Relax. I'm just a baby, like any other baby, born anywhere on the planet, except for the robotics. Ha! Did I say "robotics"? Forget that. And did I say "cloned brother frozen in a petri dish in the Scientology headquarters in L.A."? That's total nonsense. There is no cloned brother. The resemblance is simply a coincidence. Or should I say, will be.
In fact, I'm not so different from Grier Henchy. Grier Who-chy? You know -- Brooke Shields's kid, born on the same day as me. I know! What are the chances? Of course, my heart goes out to that kid, all doped up for the whole pregnancy with serotonin inhibitors and morphine and distilled goat's breath and whatever else those witch doctors were feeding to poor Brooke Shields. Don't tell me they weren't. I know the history. Of the last few days, at least.
Plus, I've got nothing but love and good wishes for Grier given that, you know, her mom's cuckoo and all. I just never want my serotonin inhibited, whatever that is. And neither do you.
But as for me -- I'm just happy to be here finally, and enjoying this moment in the spotlight before the Infangelina arrives and sets me on fire with the heat rays from his or her beautiful, terrible eyes.
You know, it's funny -- ha ha! You'd think that if the world's biggest movie star brainwashes a well-known starlet, simulates her pregnancy, and then spends a year doing everything in his power to totally obliterate twenty years of tightly controlled press in a few manic, couch-hopping months, well, the resultant half-robot clone-twin child should be pretty much the most anticipated, most famous newborn in the whole wide damn world, right? You'd think?
But no. I'm already on the freaking fame clock. I'm like the Infangelina appetizer. And why? Because some hot guy who was never in Top Gun hooked up with an insanely hot woman who was never in The Gift? Sure, she has crazy lesbian ex-lovers like Jenny Shimuzu publicly praising her pillowy lips, and who's praising my mom? James Van Der Beek? Those old Dawson's Creek kids won't even go on the record to defend their former castmate against charges that she's been drugged, doped, or otherwise pharmaceutically eased into semi-permanent docility.
I know those are big words for a baby. But I'm Suri Cruise. The second-most [fill in the blank] baby of the year.
Anyway, I'd really just like to say hi. I look forward to getting to know all of you, as I'm sure you're looking forward to getting to know me. And a note to my adopted older brother and sister: whaddup? Have your stuff out by Monday. Don't cry -- I'm sure you can go live with Mimi, or that other one.
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