Avast, ye ink-stained bilge rats and clout-chasing privateers! Gather ‘round the flickering lanterns of the TikTok-Tavern, for I, Captain Iron Ink, have a tale that’ll rattle your barnacles. The fog over the treacherous harbor of Los Angeles-upon-Sea has finally lifted, revealing a secret more tightly guarded than the Spanish Crown’s gold reserves. It appears the lad known as Ansel Elgort—the golden-maned youth who famously steered the 'Baby Driver' through many a narrow channel—has finally produced a baby of his own! Aye, the whispers were true! While we were all busy polishing our flintlocks and arguing over the latest box-office shanties, the Elgort galley was hiding a tiny stowaway in the lower decks for months on end.

The sheer audacity of such a stealthy maneuver! By Neptune’s salt-crusted beard, the man managed to bypass the watchful spyglasses of the Paparazzi Patrol. Not a single scout caught a glimpse of the swaddling clothes or the gilded cradle being hauled aboard. It’s a feat of maritime silence that would make the Dread Pirate Roberts weep into his grog. How one keeps a squalling infant from alerting the sharks of the gossip-press is a mystery for the ages. Some say he used the rhythmic thumping of a 'West Side Story' soundtrack to drown out the babe’s cries, while others swear he employed a smoke screen of NDAs and velvet curtains. Whatever the trick, the lad is now a father, and the high seas of Hollywood will never be the same.

The ripple effects are being felt from the Sunset Strip all the way to the Tortuga Tropics. We’ve received reports that the 'Bachelor’s League' has lost one of its most dashing lieutenants, and the 'Daddy-Brigade' has gained a recruit with a penchant for high-speed chases. The economy of the archipelago is in a tailspin! The price of artisan goat-milk formula has skyrocketed in the fancy boutiques, and the local blacksmiths are already being commissioned to build strollers reinforced with mahogany and brass cannons. I’ve seen seasoned captains trade their rum rations for organic nappies just to stay in the good graces of the New Parent Alliance.

Lord Twitter of the Blue-Check Isles was heard shouting from his balcony as the news broke: 'This is a most grievous breach of the Publicity Protocol! We demand to see the lad’s tiny boots and his first portrait by the morning tide!' Meanwhile, an old boatswain known as 'Salty' Stan muttered into his grog down at the harbor, 'The lad’s got the Elgort jawline, mark me words. He’ll be steering a major franchise before he’s even off the milk-teat. God help the directors who have to manage a toddler with that kind of pedigree.' The discourse is fierce, and the gulls are screaming for more details that the Elgort crew refuses to surrender.

As for the consequence of this secret cargo, mark my words: the 'Baby Driver' title is no longer a mere moniker—it is now a literal description of his household duties. He’ll be swapping his silver screen scripts for soiled linens and his red carpets for play-mats. But let us raise a dented pewter mug to the new arrival! May the wind be at the babe’s back, may his diapers never leak in the heat of battle, and may his father remember that in the world of the high seas, there is no hiding a squalling cabin boy for long. The Elgort line continues, and the fleet watches with bated breath to see if the lad inherits his father’s rhythm or his mother’s discretion. Drink up, ye scoundrels, for today the sea is a little more crowded!