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Dear Poly definitely got on her soapbox today!  I have no idea which grocery store rag got her all riled up, but something definitely crawled up her got under her skin.  It’s not that I don’t agree with her. I am sympathetic to much of her sentiments expressed in her poem, but I mean the tabloids aren’t all bad, all the time. For instance, how else would we know the truth about Brad and Angelina, or Brad and Jennifer, or Brad and Juliette, or Brand and Thandie, or Brad and____________(fill in whoever you want – the tabloids do).  How else would we know that Brad and Angelina are actually engaged, but that it’s off, now it’s on.  I am sure they will be the first to get us the truth, as they alone are the ones willing to tell us the real story, or so we are told.  And a story it will be, I’m sure.

Seems Poly dragged me up here on her soapbox, so I’m stepping down and will let you read her feelings – (at least how she feels at the moment):

It seems it has come down to this,
When calculating media worth –
Cheap tabloids often choose to dismiss
All but the “facts” which they unearth.

The ones who excavate the ground
Care not about the tools they use,
But only if the dirt they’ve found
Confirms their own distorted views.

Where else could we get the vital info
On the baby with five ears and nine eyes?
Or know which once-out crowd is in, so
We’ll know just who to demonize?

When standing in the grocery line
Scanning the “impulse buys” rack,
I’ve thought of how I could design
My own cheap rag as payback.

I’d edit out half-truths and lies,
And have true photo-journalists hired
To hunt down, stalk, and terrorize
Each dirt-digger that I’d fired.

They dig up dirt and season it
With pics they’ve “Photoshopped.”
Whatever is the reason it
Still sells? They must be stopped!

But even people so despicable
Have the right to basic privacy.
So, equally my rules will be applicable
To all, from saint to paparazzi.

But, alas, my fantasy’s a pipe-dream.
I fear they’ll always be around –
Such rags of trash and hype seem
Firmly rooted in filthy ground.

The only way I know to end
This assault on human decency:
Refuse to read and cease to spend
A cent on their lurid malignancy.


Poly’s exhausted. . .so am I.  She has said, and we all have read enough. . .