I'm Boycotting All Tabloids
I’ve been going buck wild with my mom’s professional home waxing kit. I shall not divulge the exact details but I will say this - I love all painful beauty treatments. Painful in the spiritual sense and sometimes physically because I’m disgusting like that. Have you ever heard of the Obagi “The Transformation Begins Here” System? Apparently your face flakes off all hours of the night, you will look like the Crypt Keeper, and will probably cry yourself to sleep. But you know what? If I were on Obagi, I would secretly be feeling that shiez because you got to get real ugly before you can get real pretty.
Oh and P.S. I don’t want to read about Britney Spears anymore. I do not want to know how her C-section scar looks like and the fact that she doesn’t wear any underwear. Can I really spend ten minutes writing a blog about another grown woman and wonder if she’s applying vitamin E serum to her scar?
Yes.
I know she’s self-conscious about it. But doesn’t being self-conscious about something mean you try your hardest to conceal that part of you? Or at least keep that part of you looking its absolute best at all costs. Is she serious? How is this happening? Damn Paris. Help your friend. No friend of mine would allow this. I wouldn’t allow this to happen to my friends. Wait, am I actually pleading for Paris Hilton to help somebody in a more precarious situation than herself? Britney Spears is in worse shape than Paris Hilton? This is crazy.
I don’t even want to talk about this anymore. It’s a shame. It really is. It’s depressing actually. I just keep thinking maybe I can’t have a little girl. If my little girl becomes a nasty two-bit ho just by looking at tabloids or watching television, I’ll just die. I’m going to have to be one of those super protective mean moms that hides her Flavor of Love DVD box set behind the washer and dryer. I’ll have to sneak to the computer late at night to look at my celebrity gossip and then empty history and clear cache so she’ll never know. All the while lying about the fact that I think all celebrity gossip is vile and should be ignored.
I thought I’d be able to share my tabloid obsession with my daughter, just as my mother shared her tabloid obsession with me, but the tradition stops here. I mean, it was all so simple back then. Even to the point where tabloids were used as positive lessons. My mother would take out the National Enquirer and say, “Lethe look at this. This baby has four extra fingers. This is why you can’t drink water from the garden hose.” Every major deformity in those tabloids, including the one with the baby that grew a thigh out of its back, could have been avoided by never drinking the water. And I believe that. I only drink purified water. See! Thank you, Mom.
Because of Britney, my child will be robbed of the joy, the process of being able to simultaneously feel better and worse about yourself by flipping through a magazine about people who have way more money than you, some for absolutely no reason. When my daughter is 18, I will show her the Britney photos and say, “This is what I’ve been protecting you from! This is why I threw that can of Ajax at your back while you were scrubbing the bathroom floor as punishment for sneaking that issue of US Weekly into your bedroom when you were 9.”
It’s all over now. All the celebrity gossip will just get nastier and nastier. T and A everywhere, crack dens all about. This one’s starving. That one’s a pedophile. This one’s cutting her coke with her platinum Amex. Crystal methamphetamines. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s interesting, but damn.
Oh and P.S. I don’t want to read about Britney Spears anymore. I do not want to know how her C-section scar looks like and the fact that she doesn’t wear any underwear. Can I really spend ten minutes writing a blog about another grown woman and wonder if she’s applying vitamin E serum to her scar?
Yes.
I know she’s self-conscious about it. But doesn’t being self-conscious about something mean you try your hardest to conceal that part of you? Or at least keep that part of you looking its absolute best at all costs. Is she serious? How is this happening? Damn Paris. Help your friend. No friend of mine would allow this. I wouldn’t allow this to happen to my friends. Wait, am I actually pleading for Paris Hilton to help somebody in a more precarious situation than herself? Britney Spears is in worse shape than Paris Hilton? This is crazy.
I don’t even want to talk about this anymore. It’s a shame. It really is. It’s depressing actually. I just keep thinking maybe I can’t have a little girl. If my little girl becomes a nasty two-bit ho just by looking at tabloids or watching television, I’ll just die. I’m going to have to be one of those super protective mean moms that hides her Flavor of Love DVD box set behind the washer and dryer. I’ll have to sneak to the computer late at night to look at my celebrity gossip and then empty history and clear cache so she’ll never know. All the while lying about the fact that I think all celebrity gossip is vile and should be ignored.
I thought I’d be able to share my tabloid obsession with my daughter, just as my mother shared her tabloid obsession with me, but the tradition stops here. I mean, it was all so simple back then. Even to the point where tabloids were used as positive lessons. My mother would take out the National Enquirer and say, “Lethe look at this. This baby has four extra fingers. This is why you can’t drink water from the garden hose.” Every major deformity in those tabloids, including the one with the baby that grew a thigh out of its back, could have been avoided by never drinking the water. And I believe that. I only drink purified water. See! Thank you, Mom.
Because of Britney, my child will be robbed of the joy, the process of being able to simultaneously feel better and worse about yourself by flipping through a magazine about people who have way more money than you, some for absolutely no reason. When my daughter is 18, I will show her the Britney photos and say, “This is what I’ve been protecting you from! This is why I threw that can of Ajax at your back while you were scrubbing the bathroom floor as punishment for sneaking that issue of US Weekly into your bedroom when you were 9.”
It’s all over now. All the celebrity gossip will just get nastier and nastier. T and A everywhere, crack dens all about. This one’s starving. That one’s a pedophile. This one’s cutting her coke with her platinum Amex. Crystal methamphetamines. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s interesting, but damn.
posted by Lethe at 11:46 PM
1 Comments:
i think i'll do the same.
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