Department of Children and Family Services fucks up any number of cases, but to give them credit, they don't back down from digging into rich and famous people's potentially abused kiddy shit. This isn't like the L.A. County Sheriff who was handing out honorary badges and concealed carry permits to celebrities in exchange for campaign checks and hobnobbing rights. These are civil service grunts with a hard-on for crappy parents.
DCFS in L.A. is going to court to seek a judge's ruling on the well-being of the baby Blac Chyna created by mounting Still Fat Rob Kardashian to secure her financial future. He wept, she milked, a baby was produced of some genetic linkage. Dream Kardashian. Everybody trademarked everything.
In the proceeding more honest moments after everybody got paid, Blac Chyna ditched the sorry fat fuck sock designer and started fucking around on video tape to drive him to more tubs of buried Frusen Glädjé. Kardashian claims Blac Chyna stole tons of shit, shoots up narcotics, and is generally conniving. Though relatively unconniving compared to his sisters. About a six on the exotic dancer scale.
Chyna claims Kardashian physically abused her which seems odd since he can't make it up a flight of stairs without oxygen, but 110 pounds beats 300 pounds in a restraining order battle over domestic abuse.
The whereabouts and condition of the toddler seem somewhat muddled. She's got a million followers on Instagram and not a single post. Her net present commercial exploitation value is in the millions of E! dollars, so you assume she's at least being fed and kept from noticeable bed sores. But that's assuming the owners aren't a tweaking sex industry worker and a diabetic high fashion argyle sock designer. Shit falls through the crack. Literally. Somebody produce a recent picture of this kid and quickly.
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