TMZ has a video from last year of an obviously plastered OctoMom cackling like a hyena on helium in a hotel room before checking herself into rehab. In the video, OctoMom is losing whatever mind she has left and going full Taylor Armstrong by hysterically laughing while rolling around on the bed. It’s like something you’d find in one of the rooms at the dance academy in Suspiria. It’s a nightmare. Shortly after that video was shot, OctoMom checked herself into rehab, checked out and told everyone she was one hundred percent clean. But apparently, she isn’t.
TMZ says that OctoMom has traded her love of pills for her love of weed. Octo got her weed card and has been toking up all day, every day. Octo’s friends say that smoking the good shit has opened up the beast and she’s acting insane again. They’re afraid that if she’s always high, she won’t be able to take care of her child army. Last month, Octo’s crazy ass called her son’s school in a panic, because he didn’t make it home and she was convinced the bus didn’t drop him off. The school talked to the bus driver who said that he saw Octo pick her son up from the bus stop with his own eyes. The good shit must’ve eaten away the part of her brain that controls her short-term memory, because ho forgot about picking her son up from the bus stop. He was in his room the entire time.
That shit reminds me of that hilariously sad moment on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills when Taylor Armstrong didn’t know where her daughter was. A drunk as shit Taylor called up Kyle to say that she couldn’t come to the unveiling of Kim’s nose, because some rich dude was taking her on an overnight trip. Kyle was taking care of Taylor’s daughter Kennedy at the time, so she asked, “So I guess I’ll just keep Kennedy overnight.” Taylor then said something like, “Oh, she’s with you?” The dumb bitch didn’t know where her daughter was!
Obviously, Taylor and OctoMom should open up a daycare center together.
If I had 14 kids to feed, clothe and take care of, I’d have a weed mask permanently strapped to my face and I’d lose them all the time. A week wouldn’t go by without me saying, “Hey, where’s #12? I left him back at the supermarket? Ugh, I’m not going to drive all the way back there. He’ll be fine, it’s about time he make it on his own anyway.” But that’s why I don’t have 14 kids!