Semana Snarka: “prosti-tots”

Just in time to kick off Semana Snarka comes this Newsweek story: The Girls Gone Wild Effect. Are out-of-control celebs leading America to raise a generation of “prosti-tots”?

Thank you, Britney Spears. You’ve made Snark Week ridiculously easy.

Parents, listen up: even in a state as hot and muggy as Louisiana, where Britney grew up, kids wear underwear. So, no – going commando in a micro-miniskirt is not a good thing for your first grader to do. This falls under the category of the Big Duh.

But don’t just take my word for it. And don’t just read Newsweek’s hand-wringing take on the issue. The sharpest deconstruction of this phenomenon comes from South Park. The episode where Paris Hilton comes to town and gets South Park’s little girls to dress and act like her is titled “Stupid Spoiled Whore Video Playset.”

I think that’s all you need to know.

3 responses to “Semana Snarka: “prosti-tots”

  1. Sigh. 40 days and 40 nights without this? Don’t you realise, Meg, you’re making all of us give up something for Lent too?

  2. “Woman, 84, Admits to Sex with 11-Year-Old Foster Child”

    “Owner: Groomer Glued Dog’s Cut Ear Back On”

    “Vodka Helps Fisherman Wrestle Shark”

    “Angry Elephant Rams Minibus”

    “Madonna Says ‘I Want to Be Like Gandhi and Martin Luther King”

    Do you REALLY think you can resist juicy items like these, culled from today’s headlines?

    I think not. The screech of fingernails on blackboard will be nothing compared to the DTs you’ll suffer after one miserable week! Ahahahaha!

    (Not that I’m doubting your forbearance, you understand.)

    I’ll be back.

  3. Oh yes, one of my favourite rants–“prosti-tots” is perfect. At the Y on
    Tuesday night, as I stood staring vaguely and waiting for my scattered child to get dressed after swimming (a process that can take up to 20 minutes because that’s how long it takes for the socks on one’s hands to finish their conversation), from the chrysalis of a perfectly ordinary snow suit emerged a miniature whore. She was no more than four years old. The bottom of her skin-tight, rhinestone-studded shirt barely reached her navel. The top plunged from spaghetti straps to reveal, well, the chest of a preschooler. Her black-and-white striped skin-tights reached from just about hip level to slightly below the knee. They were tight and low enough to reveal that kiddo wasn’t wearing undies, whether out of pre-school cussedness or a desire to avoid panty lines, I’m not sure. To protect her little feet from nasty fungi and bacteria, her mother whipped out a pair of pink, plastic, heeled mules with what appeared to be parts of the corpse of a pink angora bunny over the toes. It was a relief to see child emerge from the cubicle in an ordinary one-piece bathing suit. So, Mrs Jones, just what are your career aspirations for your daughter?


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