UPDATE: A tad inebriated when I wrote this, I guess I forgot to post it. Some of the facts are dated, but I thought I may as well give it some play.
Once again we’re bending the bars for stars. Paris Hilton beats jail and gets out of the slammer after only three days in the hole. Thanks to Hollywood not only is our perception of beauty skewed but apparently the justice system too. Why do I care? I don’t actually. Yes there is an opinion of moral outrage burgeoning within, but quite honestly, in my daily feast for current events, the trivial affairs of celebrities rarely become the focus. I don’t log on to the CBC, BBC or the Guardian Unlimited for stats on how much ass Britney Spears has packed on since she shaved her head and went loco like her Lousiana redneck backwoods brethren.

The spice girls are in talks about a reunion

No, I want to know what the fuck is going on in Iraq, who the US has bullied in the last 24 hours, yesterdays market trends, stories of hope, innovation and disaster.

Sean Connery has confirmed he will star in the next Indiana Jones film.

Sadly, for some reason, I do keep current. However, it’s not because of genuine interest. Dotting the checkout aisles of supermarkets the world over are the mundane matters of Brad and Angelina’s adoption status, Katie and Cruise’s love child and its place in the Church of Scientology, loathsome woes of Lohan’s coke binge and the who’s who of fab celeb summer beach bodies. Osmotically my persona just seems to ingest the world around me with its voracious appetite for information. It’s not a terrible affliction and often the random facts stored between neurons are no more useful than a rain coat in the desert.

Coca Cola when it was originally invented was green, now, tell me how fucking useful that is?

I use this dribble as a means of reinvigorating conversations that quickly become dull and awkward. The types all too common on first dates, trying to drum up interest as you look at your shoes searching for questions and answers in the divine wisdom of shoelaces. Like somewhere coiled in cotton you’ll conger up the brilliance that will swoon some interest.

Tennessee used to be called Franklin

Oh, you’re wearing loafers you say? Well, you’re fucked. Either that or you’re the vainest person alive and gather pleasure by admiring your reflection in a shiny pair of shoes or perhaps you’re dating a short skirted beauty and have strategically stacked your feet beneath the table trying to catch the reflection of something else? Pervy bugger. Makes me wonder if some sneaky bastard out there ever conceived the revelation of designing mirrored shoes? Eek!

The Sears Tower in Chicago has its own zip code

Back on track, the sad fact is that gossip always sparks conversation to new levels. The common reaction mirrors the delight when receiving a present. A facial explosion of joy at the expense of others.

“Happy Birthday! It’s a Fred fucked his secretary in the stock room and his wife is boning the pool boy.”

“Oh my! How did you know?”

I’ve seen it a million times. Blooming eyes of pure interest and the finest attentive focus money can buy. Telling a tale of infidelity blossoms an ears acuity and comprehension far better than Gore’esque terror tale of climate change. Suddenly your shoes have garner a medusa like evasion.

A coked up Lohan crashed her car on Memorial Day weekend

Why do we need to relish the fallies of others and vicariously pass judgment? It’s really a sad fact how we use gossip as a vehicle for our own sense of insecurity. Why is Paris Hilton so popular? Well, for the most part I believe she’s the scape goat for all our nasty habits and character flaws. A case of running with the devil. Of course you’ll look thin standing next to an obese person, sober next to a drunk and a virgin in comparison to a “Night in Paris” Okay, that was just the tabloids talking…

Nicole Ritchie Prego?

She’s the celebrity we love to hate. Everything we’d never do… or would we? Hypocrisy is the biggest injustice of all, and really, that is the very essence of gossip. Nearly 34% of people have cheated, so why not hide behind that character flaw by blasting Sally Sue’s character when she blew that carny at the fair.

We’ve all done (______) at some point in our lives, so pestering Freddy Farackas about his scrape with (______) until he cuts his wrists really makes no sense now does it?

If you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days you would have produced enough sound energy to heat one cup of coffee.

Anywho, congratulations for meddling in the affairs of others. You’ve proven to no one, although you’d believe your audience was the mass populace, just how much better you are. Morality may speak otherwise, but sadly it works and it sells.

Sells? Oh does it ever! Gossip mags enjoy a healthy market to the tune of roughly twenty billion dollars. Wow, a multi-billion dollar industry based on misinformation. Now, isn’t that the American Dream? Oh wait, no, that’s the American Foreign Policy.

You burn more calories sleeping than you do watching T.V.

But it doesn’t stop with the back cover, just think of the spinoff industries it fosters. Therapists to heal damaged self esteem. Personal trainers to tone that tummy after the inquirer caught you letting loose on the beach. Drug dealers where therapists fail and excess begins. Cosmetic surgeons because it’s hard to stay healthy with a drinking problem and a coke affliction to boot.

All of that shit to combat callous intentions and line somebody’s pockets a few million dollars at a time. But let me reiterate, gossip works. Regardless of monetary value, gossip sells. From upper echelon of celebrity melodramatics to the small talk in highschool hallways.

Sally is a slut, Billy is a coke fiend, Jessica’s mom is a cheating whore and I’m on a date staring in the eyes of a beautiful girl instead of oggling the smudge on my loafers.

Jay Yeo is not Chinese.