Kim Kardashian and Kanye West’s baby is due in July, and a birth hasn’t been anticipated this much since I was bestowed on a grateful world back in the seventies. (Yes, I really am that old. I know I don’t look it, but that’s down to good genes and regular moisturising). And before that, there was Jesus. But mostly, my birth is the benchmark by which these things are measured.
Until now. The Kimye sprog is about to become the single most significant human being in history.
Uh, that’s being sarcastic? Of course it isn’t – the nipper will in all likelihood have as pointless and empty an existence as its loathsome parents – but judging by the amount of press coverage and public attention it’s received, you’d be forgiven for thinking otherwise.
And it has a whole lifetime of this to look forward to, if that’s the right term. The baby’s parents are quite possibly the biggest attention-whores this world has ever seen – and that’s up against some pretty stiff competition – and the world reciprocates by providing every bit of attention they crave.
Like, I literally saw an article the other day about “Kim’s new bangs”. “Bangs” is an annoying and misleading American term for what civilised human beings call a fringe, but I digress. The point is that it was deemed worthwhile to report the fact that Kim Kar-crash-ian – chuckle – had slightly modified her hairdo.
Meanwhile this unfathomably popular oxygen-thief and her misogynist mutt of a fella have been more-or-less selling their own child’s gestation, and presumably soon the birth, for a worldwide audience of anonymous losers, creeps and obsessives. Though at least they haven’t released a video of its conception. Yet.
The kid’s life is already for sale and it hasn’t even been born. It’s hilarious, it’s terrifying, it’s tragic, it’s it’s it’s…just the absolute apex (or is that nadir?) of celebrity culture.
So we’ve decided to take a sneaky peek into the future and assess just how this life will pan out once it’s, you know, begun and stuff? Which it’s about to do with the…
Birth: July 2013.
Media coverage of birth: Live web-feed on Kanye West’s official site, constant flood of tweets from everyone involved – including the midwife and hospital domestics – and edited highlights on whatever Kardashian reality thing is currently ruining television for everyone.
What they’ll do with the placenta: Kim will eat it in tablet form, after putting a little aside to be made into cosmetics. It’s uterus-tastic for your skin!
Price for first pics of baby: Two million, paid by OK! Magazine after a frenzied bidding war.
Price for pics of placenta: Fifty grand, paid by a sexual deviant somewhere in the Far East – no bidding war required.
Potential names: Boadeeshia, Planet Orange, Emphysema Oblongata, La-TrayVayn, Bob. Or a mix of all of the above.
First papped: Coming out of the hospital.
First papped in a situation that hadn’t obviously been set up by its horrible parents: A week later, at home in the mansion. Paparazzo using a tall stepladder, zoom-lens and his uncommonly long neck.
First appearance on TV: Has already appeared, as guest star on the special “birth” episode of “Khrist Above these Kardashians just Keep on Koming”, the reality show all other reality shows bow down to and call “Master”. Other than that, first TV spot will be with mommy and daddy as part of an interview with whichever helmet-haired harridan pays them the most.
First fashion line: Launched at age one. Bespoke dribble bibs, Egyptian cotton vests with Kimye’s faces embroidered on, hand-woven blankies to go nap-nap in real style.
First TV starring role: “My Supermodel Baby”, a fascinating fly-on-the-wall look at a world that really is filled with tears and tantrums. The supermodel babies rule the infantile fashion world with a chubby fist, literally throw their toys out of the pram when their assistants bring back the wrong decaff mocachinatto Ribena, and get cast aside for a younger model when they reach their sell-by age of two-and-a-bit. Episode 1: Babette refuses to get out of her dirty nappy for less than ten grand, and Leonora charges twice that just to go burpies.
First arrest: for driving while baked to the gills on primo-grade pot, aged 16.
First marriage: to the guy who arrested her, aged 17.
First divorce: that week.
First nervous breakdown: also that week.
First check-in to Betty Ford clinic for treatment for whatever the hell addiction is going: the following week.
Triumphant return to good health and of course, the magazine stands: six months later.
Settles down to meaningless existence of fame, publicity, endless self-promotion and several soul-destroying marriages of convenience: aged 21.
How depressing is this: monumental.
And who do we blame for it: Kim and Kanye, those krass kretins. Kurse them to hell.
Darragh McManus, author and journalist 
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