I feel bad for celebrities. I absolutely hate most of them, but I pity all of them immensely. It seems that our society in particular has grown ob-SSSSSSSSSSESSED with hovering over their lives like black clouds or vultures or losers, and has found a ready outlet for said obsession: tabloid magazines.
God, tabloids are probably the worst piece of anything created by human life. I’ll be frank in admitting that I use “People” or “OK Magazine” as a companion for when I use the restroom. It’s therapeutic to read about lives way farther off the tracks than your own, however sick that may sound. But we all love it, that favorable comparison between you and that washed-up junkie who was really big in the eighties. That’s why these magazines exist, after all.
But it’s still inexcusable, their existence. I DO feel pretty terrible leafing greedily through the pages to read about Kristen Stewart’s infidelity, her broken engagement to Robert Pattinson, the marriage she helped destroy. It’s really unforgivable, the pleasure we take from these stories–and if humans stay true to form, this pleasure is probably everlasting.
So embrace yourself, World–we’re all a bunch of assholes, and the latest “National Enquirer” has already hit the shelves!