I would normally steer clear of commenting on celebrity marriage since
a) I’ve still not reconciled that Brad and Jennifer have split.
b) I want any marriage that involves tattoos of names on ring fingers to stay intact. Curses Pam and Tommy Lee!
c) I’m not Nikki ‘Psychic to the Stars’.
However, I live to talk about bone-headed things that husbands do and the ways we wives must cope with them. And I see no bigger bone head than Levi Johnston and no soon-to-be wife in greater need of coping (and a serious medication shift) than Bristol Palin. For the conservatively-minded folk who believe any two people, no matter how likely they are to aim a shotgun at the other’s head in 2 years, should be married for a lifetime as a result of doing the hibbity-jibbity that brought a human into the world, you might want to skip this one.
While I certainly am no marital expert, like Elizabeth Taylor or Billy Bob Thornton, I have picked up on a few clues along the path that would suggest Levi would not be the wisest choice, regardless of having 50% of the same DNA as your child. On that note, you might want to consult with one of those shady Olympic cyclist doctors to see if there is a way to blood dope that portion right out…just a suggestion, I’m not a doctor. That might not be possible. But it might be…
If you bring him on the GOP campaign trail to promote voting among the young adult demographic yet he says things like this about Obama, the main contender, “I don’t know anything about him. He seems like a good guy. I like him.”
This isn’t Jay Walking. You don’t garner laughs from Leno by looking life an idiot on national television.
He graced the cover of this publication:
Or America’s Most Wanted (in this case, it’s more like America’s Least Wanted.)
When asked about posing for Playgirl, he responds with, “I just get naked. That’s what I do.”
You’re supposed to lie and expound on the inspiration you needed to shed your exterior layers and lay bare your soul (and package) to the probing lens of the camera.
Eh, if he said that you should still be nauseated.
He wears this to a red carpet occasion. Purple pinstripe, black vests, and gold handkerchiefs are only permissable for men who have names like Puff Daddy or The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. Or Flava Flav. But then you need to add a set of Viking horns.
He doesn’t even have a closet (in which to hang that horrendous ensemble from above). Much like I suspect my husband may be a serial killer for sleeping on a bareback (pillowcase-less) pillow, you should never trust a man whose clothes hang exposed. And allows it to be photographed for GQ.
He shoots sheep for fun. Sheep? Last I checked, they don’t exactly run…or stalk prey…or hide…or even provide meat that most people would want to eat. Why not just shoot Cocker Spaniels? Or French ottomans?
He was asked to attend the Teen Choice Awards with Kathy Griffin. She doesn’t hang with anyone she’s not planning to eviscerate in a standup routine later.
He smells like urine, french fries, and Natural Light. I mean, I haven’t actually whiffed him, but I’m 99% sure I’m right on this hunch.
He plans to write a tell-all book about your family. I made G include that he would never ink a manuscript in his vows.
If he looks suspiciously like Joran Van Der Sloot. Or if he traveled to Aruba in 2007. Creeeeeepy…
Good luck, you crazy kids! I’ve got an engagement gift from Oklahoma Steaks coming your way. And Bristol, if he tries to talk you into a ‘Levi’ tattoo on your ring finger, just tell him you’ll wear Levi’s every day in his honor. They’re a lot easier to remove and give to the Salvation Army! He’ll think it’s ‘awesome’ anyway.