Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank by Celia Rivenbark Page B

a children’s book? Usually they’re still feeling the last bliss of theepidural when they bark at the nurse, “Call my agent! The world
needs
my children’s book!”
    Sometimes it works. Fergie transformed her tattered toe-sucking image by writing a sweet series of children’s books about a talking helicopter. I’m less optimistic about new poppa-of-three Jerry Seinfeld’s foray into kid lit. I mean what’s that gonna read like? I’m guessing: “What’s the deal with porridge? I mean, is it oatmeal or is it Cream of Wheat?”
    But Madonna? Does the world really need her take on Puss ‘n Boots? (Then again, the original features a velvet-vested cat wearing nothing more than the vest, a smile, and some fetching thigh-high leather boots, so perhaps we have nothing to fear.)
    Still, this is the woman who created a coffee table book that was so scorching, it was shrink-wrapped before it hit the stores.
    One wonders what Dr. Seuss would think of Madonna’s literary pursuits if he were still alive.
    Perhaps something like this . . .
     
    I would not, could not read this book
    Not on a plane or by a brook
    Not in a boat or on a float
    So I ask you, Thing One and Thing Two
    What would you, should you, have me do?
    Read it? No! You ask too much!
    I don’t like bondage, sex, and such
    What? It’s sweet, it’s good kids’ stuff?
    It’s nothing nasty or even rough?
    Okay, then, I shall give it a try
    But keep the smelling salts standing by
     
    Am I being harsh? Maybe. But would you let Madonna babysit your toddler? (“I spy with my little eye . . . a transvestite nun and a dozen choristers wearing nipple rings!”)
    I thought not.
    Of course, celebrities aren’t just spending their idle hours developing dubious perfumes and writing children’s books. They have so much to give us all.
    For instance, convicted felon and rap diva Lil’ Kim has introduced a line of luxury watches that cost up to $3,500. I suppose marking time is weighing heavily on her mind these days, bless her tiny little heart.
    Scruffy country crooner Willie Nelson sells Bio Willie, an ecologically correct fuel that I’m guessing is composed entirely of old whiskers and sleep boogers.
    You can even get a MasterCard debit card with Usher’s face on it or, for the old-school types, Elvis, who continues to make huge amounts of money from the grave.
    If you’re having a party, don’t forget the Erik Estrada gourmet chips. Did you say “Erik who?” Tsk-tsk. How could you forget his dramatic stylings as a motorcycle cop in
CHiPs?
Get it now? The chips have the bitter aftertaste of fleetingfame and broken dreams. Or maybe that was just the potassium gum.
    Serve those chips with a side of Cheech Marin’s Gnarly Garlic Hot Sauce. Cheech, of Cheech and Chong fame, used to be hilarious when they riffed on pot, but now he plays the gardener on
fudging Amy.
The judge better take a closer look at the plants in her mama’s yard, I say.
    And, finally, there’s the rubber-bracelet craze ignited by Lance “Bubba” Armstrong. His Live Strong yellow rubber bracelets have raised millions for cancer research, and good for him. But don’t you think we’ve all gotten a little carried away with the whole rubber-bracelet thing?
    The other day I saw one that read ADOPT A SNIPER: ONE SHOT, ONE KILL, NO REMORSE, I DECIDE .
    Kinda makes you feel all warm and gooshy inside, doesn’t it.
    Admittedly the sniper bands aren’t nearly so popular as the ones that say DREAM and BELIEVE and even I KITTENS but it’s out there.
    There’s even one that says NO BULLYING . I have this awful mental picture of a bespectacled, wedgie-prone, under-size middle-schooler showing that one off like Wonder Woman to the creepy bully who inevitably will steal his iPod. “But wait!” he will moan, crumpling to the floor. “Didn’t you see my bracelet?”
    What would Lance Armstrong think of the braceletsthat say simply BEER and SLACKER or the steel-gray one that says FBI