I need to get out more. I am so far behind the times. Little did I know that I could loose 12 pounds in a week with this new miracle diet, in only 2 weeks I could rid myself of belly fat, and it had been exposed that the NASA used aliens in the space station.
Seriously? It gets worse. Ben and Jen are back together and expecting a child. The palace has a plan to destroy Will and Kate's marriage. And, did you know Beyonce had a big secret. Did not know. Did not care. And to think I learned it in the check out line! How do these publications stay in business? Who believes this nonsense? No one with a sane mind would buy one of these, right?
With the slate of candidates for the presidential election going to Hell in a hand basket, our men and women giving their lives everyday over seas to fight militants who have declared jihad on America in an undeclared war, and a generation of 50 somethings who have found themselves shut out of the work force - do we really care that some a 20 something with a photo-shopped body, a pea brain, and famous for only being famous was found "stepping out" on her boyfriend?
The irony of the "Miracle Diet" was that it was second line on a magazine cover just blow the full color photo of a five layer chocolate fudge tort that touted "You can make this in just an hour". Many of the "stars" they mention on the covers of "The Star", "Us Weekly", "The Sun" (UK), "The Daily Star (UK)", "The Daily Mirror" (UK), "The New York Post", "The Daily News", and the 300 pound gorilla - "The National Enquirer" I have never heard of.
This is just one more reason I prefer the "Self Check Out" lines at the market - they spare me being subjected to the walls of this reading material of mindless made up trash. Only the 1st amendment keeps these scandal sheets, tabloids, sensational journalist, gossip columns, and general disseminaters of untruths at bay. But I can only imagine how much they pay in legal fees every year defending libel and defamation suits.
Yesterday while I stood in line waiting for a customer or two ahead of me, argue with the cashier over whether her coupon would discount one can of fruit or the fifteen she was trying to purchase, I was caught in the canyon of rubbish. Naturally my eyes were drawn to the distorted the pictures, the 18 inch waists wrapped with a measuring tape, the ever promising by-lines, and trashy headlines. Seriously, who buys this crap?
As that thought went through my mind, a fleshy hand reached from behind me and picked a copy of "The National Enquirer" off the rack. I turned to see a 250 pound lady dressed in a floral moo moo, wearing bedroom shoes, with twenty tiny cans of dog food (no doubt for her tea cup poodle named Fi-Fi), a box of donuts, and several boxes of frozen pies in her cart. She put her glasses on, the ones attached to the beaded string around her neck and exclaimed, "I just don't know why she would have married him in the first place, God knows the number of beds he has put his shoes under." No doubt she drove some over sized older land yacht, lived in a trailer park, and believed Elvis was still alive.
Well, another mystery of the universe is answered.