.
Regardless of previous entries on this humble blog, the little things in life usually don't upset me. I'm generally pretty relaxed, even when I am forced to employ Egyptian slaves to transport my junk mail and catalogues from my mailbox to my living room. Junk mail is typically the perfect representation of wasted paper and slaughtered trees but occasionally I'll find a bargain within the tonnes of cut price pamphlets and not be too bothered by its overall existence.
Until now.
Every once in a while, a publication entitled 'B Magazine' will arrive in the mail slot. A free, local rag filled with real estate, fashion and general pointlessness. Pretty harmless and not really worth the time and effort to be inflicted by my wrath. That is, until I saw this:
Now, can you guess what I take issue with here? Prince Caspian? Barkins having a sale?
I'm afraid not.
Cast your eyes top right and you'll see what my blood is currently boiling about. And through the wonders of the interweb, I can make it clearer for you here:
sami lukis
single in the city
My sister watched Grey’s Anatomy for
the first time last week ... (I know!!!!
Can you believe it??) And afterwards
she had only two comments.
1) “I love that show...can’t believe I haven’t been
watching it all this time” (helloooooo??)....and
2) “What’s all the fuss about Patrick Dempsey.
He’s not that hot!”
OK. I needed a moment. I was speechless. Did I
hear right? She didn’t seriously just say McDreamy
wasn’t that dreamy. Did she?
Oh yes. She did. Which is why I spent the next
45 minutes explaining to her why Patrick is Perfect.
Period.
You see, McDreamy is my “Mr Right”. He’s
the perfect Patrick Package. The attraction began
when I first spotted Dr Derek Shepherd in his
scrubs cutting open someone’s brain on Grey’s
Anatomy. Attraction turned to obsession during a
recent trip to Hong Kong where I saw a larger than
life photo of the Dream-man on a massive billboard
near my hotel (I think he was advertising watches.
Or tinea cream. Who cares?) A girlfriend and I
found ourselves having simultaneous “McDreamy
Moments” in the back of the cab, every time we
drove past. The world would literally come to
a standstill whilst we sat and stared in silence,
beholding the beauty of the billboard (I’m fairly
sure there was an occasional moan and there could
have been a little dribbling at some stage too).
I don’t know one woman (other than my sister)
who doesn’t think he’s the bees-knees. In fact, it’s
fair to say, he gets McDreamier by the minute.
So, what is it? Because let’s face it ladies...his
eyes are a little too close together, his top lip is a
little too thin and that bouffant hairstyle sometimes
has a life of its own. He’s not insanely handsome
like Brad Pitt, or Halle Berry’s model boyfriend
(what’s-his-name-oh-my-lord-yes!)
So, is it his voice? His demeanour? The quiet
confidence? Well, after in-depth discussions about
the McSpunkster with my girlfriends, we’ve
decided that it’s because he’s what we call “Keeper
Hot”. He’s not “Player Hot” – he’s not so drop
dead gorgeous not that you’d be constantly worried
about him cheating on you, like McSteamy (the
other spunky Doc on Grey’s). Perhaps it’s best to
summarise as follows: McSteamy is your one night
stand dude. McDreamy is the guy you’d marry.
OK, I realise that it’s a realllllllly long shot that
my dream of living happily ever after as Mrs Lukis-
Dempsey-McDreamy will ever come true. But if I
can’t have him...I’ll have one just like him, thanks.
First off, I wish upon you a long and drawn out death Sami Lukis. Preferably featuring some type of burning aircraft. Your presence on this earth is as welcome as a fucking bulldozer in an injured penguin nursery. I would rather welcome a host of flesh-eating viruses into my life than have you over for tea.
It's drek, pure and simple. Not only that, it's outdated drek. A Sex And The City-style column written about a how a fictional character is attractive. I'm sorry, but what fucking year is this? 1999? A column written in the style of Sex And The City? Even when the program was still on the air, this would have been met by responses such as "Oh, they're just ripping off Sex And The City!" But now in THE YEAR 2008, the response is inevitably "Um, is that a Sex And The City-style column? What fucking year is this?". When I was reading it, I swear I could hear a colossal sucking sound from the magazine as the whole point of its existence was drained from the page. Do you understand what I'm trying to say? The page would have benefitted more from being left completely fucking blank. The stark white expanse that should have been printed instead would have held my interest for a second then I would have continued with my day.
But no. You and 'B Magazine' have crossed a line. You have made yourself a powerful enemy this day and mark my words, you will rue the day you allowed me to become this enraged at the directionless jabberings in a free publication.
Stay tuned...
.
Regardless of previous entries on this humble blog, the little things in life usually don't upset me. I'm generally pretty relaxed, even when I am forced to employ Egyptian slaves to transport my junk mail and catalogues from my mailbox to my living room. Junk mail is typically the perfect representation of wasted paper and slaughtered trees but occasionally I'll find a bargain within the tonnes of cut price pamphlets and not be too bothered by its overall existence.
Until now.
Every once in a while, a publication entitled 'B Magazine' will arrive in the mail slot. A free, local rag filled with real estate, fashion and general pointlessness. Pretty harmless and not really worth the time and effort to be inflicted by my wrath. That is, until I saw this:
Now, can you guess what I take issue with here? Prince Caspian? Barkins having a sale?
I'm afraid not.
Cast your eyes top right and you'll see what my blood is currently boiling about. And through the wonders of the interweb, I can make it clearer for you here:
sami lukis
single in the city
My sister watched Grey’s Anatomy for
the first time last week ... (I know!!!!
Can you believe it??) And afterwards
she had only two comments.
1) “I love that show...can’t believe I haven’t been
watching it all this time” (helloooooo??)....and
2) “What’s all the fuss about Patrick Dempsey.
He’s not that hot!”
OK. I needed a moment. I was speechless. Did I
hear right? She didn’t seriously just say McDreamy
wasn’t that dreamy. Did she?
Oh yes. She did. Which is why I spent the next
45 minutes explaining to her why Patrick is Perfect.
Period.
You see, McDreamy is my “Mr Right”. He’s
the perfect Patrick Package. The attraction began
when I first spotted Dr Derek Shepherd in his
scrubs cutting open someone’s brain on Grey’s
Anatomy. Attraction turned to obsession during a
recent trip to Hong Kong where I saw a larger than
life photo of the Dream-man on a massive billboard
near my hotel (I think he was advertising watches.
Or tinea cream. Who cares?) A girlfriend and I
found ourselves having simultaneous “McDreamy
Moments” in the back of the cab, every time we
drove past. The world would literally come to
a standstill whilst we sat and stared in silence,
beholding the beauty of the billboard (I’m fairly
sure there was an occasional moan and there could
have been a little dribbling at some stage too).
I don’t know one woman (other than my sister)
who doesn’t think he’s the bees-knees. In fact, it’s
fair to say, he gets McDreamier by the minute.
So, what is it? Because let’s face it ladies...his
eyes are a little too close together, his top lip is a
little too thin and that bouffant hairstyle sometimes
has a life of its own. He’s not insanely handsome
like Brad Pitt, or Halle Berry’s model boyfriend
(what’s-his-name-oh-my-lord-yes!)
So, is it his voice? His demeanour? The quiet
confidence? Well, after in-depth discussions about
the McSpunkster with my girlfriends, we’ve
decided that it’s because he’s what we call “Keeper
Hot”. He’s not “Player Hot” – he’s not so drop
dead gorgeous not that you’d be constantly worried
about him cheating on you, like McSteamy (the
other spunky Doc on Grey’s). Perhaps it’s best to
summarise as follows: McSteamy is your one night
stand dude. McDreamy is the guy you’d marry.
OK, I realise that it’s a realllllllly long shot that
my dream of living happily ever after as Mrs Lukis-
Dempsey-McDreamy will ever come true. But if I
can’t have him...I’ll have one just like him, thanks.
First off, I wish upon you a long and drawn out death Sami Lukis. Preferably featuring some type of burning aircraft. Your presence on this earth is as welcome as a fucking bulldozer in an injured penguin nursery. I would rather welcome a host of flesh-eating viruses into my life than have you over for tea.
It's drek, pure and simple. Not only that, it's outdated drek. A Sex And The City-style column written about a how a fictional character is attractive. I'm sorry, but what fucking year is this? 1999? A column written in the style of Sex And The City? Even when the program was still on the air, this would have been met by responses such as "Oh, they're just ripping off Sex And The City!" But now in THE YEAR 2008, the response is inevitably "Um, is that a Sex And The City-style column? What fucking year is this?". When I was reading it, I swear I could hear a colossal sucking sound from the magazine as the whole point of its existence was drained from the page. Do you understand what I'm trying to say? The page would have benefitted more from being left completely fucking blank. The stark white expanse that should have been printed instead would have held my interest for a second then I would have continued with my day.
But no. You and 'B Magazine' have crossed a line. You have made yourself a powerful enemy this day and mark my words, you will rue the day you allowed me to become this enraged at the directionless jabberings in a free publication.
Stay tuned...
.
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