This blog was intended to lambast the vapid, mind-numbing, useless and thoroughly pointless atrocity that was Elizabeth Wurtzel’s - of Prozac Nation fame- featured article in June’s Elle magazine. An article where she spends the first of four pages describing how beautiful and adorable she was as a child (no, sweetie, you looked like that child whose mother comfortingly says “you’ll grow into them, honey”) and the next page talking about her fading beauty (Beauty? Wooooow, what lies men tell for a cheap f*ck.)
But you know what? I honestly can’t draft this blog. Because to fairly draft this blog would mean that I once more have to try to read beyond the second page of that drivel and I can’t.
I just can’t.