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FIVE MILLION REASONS WHY I HATE COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE
by Ashley 'Danger' Meeks
Cosmo recently unveiled the shocking revelation that girls who get trashy drunk often get taken advantage of by boys in shiny shirts who've been rubbing baggy spandex black pants against their two inches of pleated miniskirt all night to the pounding bass of Gwen Stefani spelling the name of tropical fruit.
That's not good. But here's an ethical question for Cosmo to tackle: If you go home with a skeeveball from the latest and shadiest club, is the resulting bad sex necessarily to do with the boy? Or could you also blame your nightmare on the bucket of Ketel and Red Bulls you drank and the babydoll tee you wore saying 'fuck me'?
Just a thought.
Cosmo can be summed up on one page: 201. A picture of a woman splayed on a flat sheet of perfect, sparkling blue water underneath a pale cornflower sky, her white taffeta dress drifting upwards as though she had just had a truly spectacularly undigested meal of pinto beans for lunch.
"Beguile your senses," murmurs the copy. "Succumb to the freshness."
You open the stuck-together paper fold and smell what seems to be a standard perfume strip, which smells generically perfumey, with an undertone of coated magazine paper stock pulpsmell.
Then, you look down to the small picture hidden in the scented paper folds. It is a pink box. Of Tampax tampons.
And you realize exactly what you've been sticking your nose in for lo these hundreds of pages.
Naming this magazine Cosmopolitan is appropriate only in light of the fact that "Sex In The City" teaches women how to be self-absorbed, boring genital-gazers.
Naming it Cosmopolitan is like reformatting the Wall Street Journal into a newspaper that promotes Nigerian 419 scams.
We've forgotten what the word even means. Might as well call it "doily" or "privy" or, hey, "class."
A Cosmopolitan? That's a drink, right?
About the author
Ptiza Odelay was created in a factory by Nazi scientists during World
War II. She was to be the ultimate weapon against the Allies, but
before she grew into maturity in her birthing tank, the war ended and
the project was scrapped. Years later, she was found still in her tank
in a hidden sub-basement of a warehouse in Berlin and inadvertently
shipped to the United States. During transit the casing of the tank
was ruptured and she was born seemingly in her early twenties with all
of the knowledge of mankind programmed into her brain. She speaks
eighty languages and has been known to crush diamonds with her bare
hands. She is wanted in twenty countries and was last seen diving into
an active volcano somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. In her spare time,
she writes popular children's fiction, erotica and groundbreaking
journalism under the name Ashley "Danger" Meeks.Read her 'Confessions of a Recovering Teenager' column
