There was a time when I would have held a wet towel over a newborn’s face for the chance to bang Salma Hayek (this being that time), but she’s in St. Barts with her kid, so I guess I can blame the kid for my disappointment now. I mean, I’d still hit it, but I get the feeling when I woke up there would be a note on the refrigerator telling me to enjoy the empanadas and Coke and to remember that I couldn’t watch TV until my homework and chores were done. I don’t even know if that makes sense, but you know what else doesn’t make sense? Her kid isn’t wearing soccer shoes. I was under the impression that little Mexican kids always wore those when they went someplace fancy. Like the laundromat.
Arm yourself with the best jokes for your large foreheaded frenemies.
