Yes, Céline, a baby burst forth from your poonany: get over it!

I'd like to know why is it that every artist that has a baby suddenly feels that something mystical and magical has occurred, and feel compelled to talk about it obsessively. The "miracle of life" happens countless times a day, every day: I don't know about you, but I prefer my miracles to occur more sparingly, like someone walking on water, seeing the image of the Virgin on a grilled cheese sandwich, or the Red Sox winning the World Series.

One of the latest such artists (or artistes, as it has previously been explained by my friend César in this post) is the English-as-a-second-language Céline Dion. It seems Céline was impregnated by a man's seed, and 9 months later, c'est un miracle!, a baby came out of her vagina. She has now written a CD about it (festooning it with a creepy collage of baby pictures), and recently even published a book (demurely titled "Miracle: A Celebration of New Life") full of pictures of her and the baby in several gag-inducing poses. This, for your enjoyment, is the book's cover:



Really, Céline: if we all sign an affidavit stating that your baby is the most precious baby in the world, and that its conception and birth were the most miraculous occurrences in the modern world, will you stop writing songs about your baby and force-feeding us pictures of him? If so, I know a lawyer and I'm sure he'd gladly draw up all the necessary papers!