You Say "Hello" and I Say Goodbye.

The catapult to Grantham normally only fires at the end of my posts but this lot have just got to be loaded and blasted off NOW to save us all as soon as possible.
Chat, "showbiz" and celebrity gossip magazines are the absolute pits of the publishing world. They make me want to gnaw on my testicles in rage and I get an almost overwhelming urge to set fire to people I see reading them. They are, quite simply, sick porn for brainless young women - "birds", as they would probably like to be called.
If you are desperate to hand over a quid or whatever to learn what colour pants Angelina Jolie wears then you are a bloody pervert. If you have any interest whatsoever in where Jade Goody is going on fucking holiday you are a stalker. If you cannot resist the temptation to see "inside the Beckhams' home" then you are a peeping Tom (or is it Tomasina?). All of these character traits will normally get you locked up quicker than you can say "What's a CSE?"
The other readers of this trash who manage to evade prosecution can be lumped together in one shabby category - intolerably nosey bastards with an IQ lower than a mushroom and the shallowness of the Royal Family's gene pool.
Women's magazines have always been with us, it seems, and I have nothing against the likes of Woman, Woman's Own, Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire and Elle etc. Like Intestinal Tract Monthly and What Goat?, they cater for a niche market. It is this plethora of tacky, showbusiness and gossip rags which has exploded onto the world in the last ten years to which I object.
The publishers claim they are only supplying a demand which exists. Bollocks! That's the crap bosses at The Sun come out with to justify the fact that their rag has disappeared down the pan in which celebrity and tat float like a stubborn turd. They just want to make money and are prepared to pander to the worst human habits to get it. What next? The Joys of Child Abuse? Poisoners Gazette? How To Kill Pensioners Monthly? There are fuckwits out there with an abiding interest in all those areas. Does that mean we should cater for them?
My anger was gently poached today by an advert for yet another of these brainless, crud mags and it then boiled over when, in the same "telly-selly" break, yet another was plugged. Grazia was thrilled to announce that it knew why the Beckhams were off on holiday. Fuck off! The other piece of glossy bog roll was an addition to the stable of shite, was imaginatively entitled New, and its selling point was that it contained seventy pieces of completley irrelevant information about seventy equally irrelevant things, all for seventy pence. Didn't you hear? Fuck off!
Why are some people obsessed with the cult of celebrity? It's because their lives are so pathetic and empty that they have to try to live through some gits who have managed to get their fizzogs in front of a camera.
I believe this brainwashing and conditioning begins with little girls. Remember Jackie comic/magazine? I used to borrow it from girlfriends when I was at school to read the Dear Cathy and Claire agony aunt page. It was superb! "Dear Cathy and Claire, I am three and I haven't got a boyfriend yet. Am I an alien?" The bosses claimed they were not planting in the minds of their young readers the thought that if they didn't have a boyfriend or behave like some drunken, chavette
tart they didn't fit in and so might as well kill themselves. Why then did every bloody story in Jackie feature a girl falling in and out of love and trying to be a grown up?
As I said, this is dangerous porn. If a magazine has to be confined to "the top shelf" for featuring photographs of women's breasts and, God forbid, their muffs (all things you either see on the average beach in summer or around the house), then these mags should be elevated as well.
Here endeth the lesson.