You Sent It Now Call Your Local CPS Office

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I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t considered launching a new career as a deep fried idiot with asinine yet undeniably ass shaking spurring songs. Seriously, where do you think the name “Young Sinick” comes from? But as increasingly cynical as the radio makes me even I know that you can’t just throw out some bullshit and expect to pop off (at least not without a catchier hook). Or better yet, before you download your illegal copy of Garage Band to start your music career you should have a plan. In some people’s cases, that plan should involve a babysitter and nursery.

Then again, this girl seems more interested in shaming the other safe sex failure who impregnated her versus becoming the next, “Remember her? No? Oh. Damn.” That’s more concerning because it makes the video a glorified PSA for condoms and tragic irony instead of just so stupid song to make fun of. God Bless her and all that, but why is she looking into the camera as if she’s either trying to seduce the viewer with her come hither eyes and heavy belly or let King Triton know that it won’t be long before she controls the ocean? I suppose I’m behaving like a masochist if I ask why doesn’t she know that Uncle Sam handles taxes, not rejected Maury guests?

Naturally, after her remix she goes into a tangent about fucking with her ex’s phone, putting a knife to his throat, and threatening to key his car. She said that as if she was delivering the keynote address to a flock of geese. Imagine if her baby daddy cared enough to forward this to her future probation officer. I find her body roll for twins especially unfortunate given that check is probably going to look like the sum of the cheaper side of the Taco Bell menu. In other words, there will be two babies wondering what in the hell their trife parents got them into. But you know, good luck to her and shit.

As for that other song at the end: I was hoping it wasn’t real. Of course it is.

See. I wonder if it’s on iTunes. No, I don’t want you to check for me. Let’s just keep that a mystery while I revel in the genius of songs like, “Damn, Bitch My Feet Hurt” and inventions such as the morning after pill.

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