En Vogue

Because this morning I couldn't, I just COULD NOT, bring myself to watch what was on offer at the gym, a hazardous-waste cornucopia that included "The View" and "Highlights of Sporting Events" and "Some Local Newscast Featuring Graphics From '92," I grabbed a magazine at the door. Please, no snap judgements:


It was either that or "Men's Health" and the thought of parsing Viva Viagra ads to get to articles about jock itch was just about as depressing as a limbless kitten.

Seventy-two pages of ads later, I found myself spacing out on this chestnut of a quote:

Lo siento, perras, but this is irresponsible and despicable, and most importantly, doesn't work, as I just pictured my last meal and immediately felt my body inching closer to the fridge for the leftovers. Ahh... cold pancakes. But I digress. Thiz gross.

After realizing I had gone into a fugue state pondering the effects of such a quotable and had been staring at the wonky eye of the dude on the treadmill a few doors down, I focused on the task at hand: Getting through the Nicole Kidman article.

WTFuckness? Did somebody iron her face?

OK, so I couldn't get through the article. The pics stopped me in my tracks the same way the Juvederm stopped Nicole from physically hitting 17.

At least the mag was kind enough to juxtapose a photo of Karl Lagerfeld and a fembot.

That got me to the end of my workout.