Wherefore art thou, Baby Suri?

Some might say that a 22-page spread in Vanity Fair ought to sate the Suri-curious for another four or five months, but “some” are not celebrity-infant-obsessed. I need, nay, I crave more Suri! And I know I’m not alone. I need more pictures, more opportunities to study those suspiciously non-Cruise-like eyelids, to decipher their subtle Morse-code messages of hope or despair for humankind. More chances to ponder the timeless question: wig or toupee?

But in the interim, I thought I would try and track down the even-more-elusive and as-yet-unphotographed Baby Uri, Suri’s conjoined twin, who, it has been darkly rumored, has been whisked away to be raised by a grim phalanx of Scientology wet-nurses. Poor, giant, concave-skulled Uri – Suri got the brain, and he was left with the brawn.

Though the Uri search-and-rescue mission has so far been fruitless, I did uncover evidence of a scandal of even greater proportions. I’m here to tell you that not two, not four, not even six, but seven infants resulted from the nefarious Cruise/Holmes offspring-spawning contract, I mean union of hearts and souls. Yes, Suri is a septuplet. Why was she alone selected to assume the tiny sparkly Scientology-scion coronet? Sadly, when we examine the other hatchlings, it becomes all too obvious:

1) First, the aforementioned Baby Uri, rejected for his giantism, flat head and Russian accent.
2) Baby Murray, cast off because of his faux-croc briefcase stuffed with Brooke Shields depositions. He knew too much.
3) Baby Curry. Wrong ethnicity. Way wrong. Blame the Scientology lab techs for this one.
4) Baby Blurri. Faster than a speeding Thetan. Wouldn’t sit still for the photo shoot.
5) Baby Surly. Unattractive perpetual frown. Wouldn’t smile for the birdie (doesn’t she know who Annie Leibovitz is?).
6) Baby Furri. Nuff said.

But there is still hope for Suri’s sub-par siblings. One day they will all be sent to summer camp, will they not? And they will trip over a canoe and collide with one another, and gaze upon each other’s strangely familiar countenances, and become sworn enemies, and cause a riot in the dining hall and be banished to the isolation cabin, and in a thunderstorm will come to realize that they were all born, er, hatched on the same day. And in classic Parent Trap fashion, they will all switch places after camp, resulting in hilarious mistaken-identity hijinks, until in an emotional climax they will all be reunited in the circle of TomKat’s arms.

Before I quit the subject of cruelly withheld celebrity infant photos, I must express my fond hopes for another sighting of The Chosen One. Where, oh where is Shiloh?