I’ve got all these horrid fashion magazines at home. Not Vogue even, Glamour and InStyle and crap. I hate them hate them hate them, especially because I read them so voraciously. They’re from McCallum street (used books) so I’m reading mags from random years as well. They’re interchangeable. There must be (are) so many moving parts in a woman, so many things to tone and buy and accessorize for things to be just right. And I suppose they never are. The amount of pseudo-science and lists and fears and dears is mind boggling, mind boggling I say. Especially when I’m feel like I can condense all of it in a few sentences.
- Here’s a hot sex tip. Give him a blowjob. No candles, no ice, no chocolate, just give him a fucking blowjob. If they printed only this women would be much more successful and men far less baffled by foodstuffs and random theatrics in bed
- You probably are fat, maybe you should lose weight. There are plastic surgeons listed at the back
- [Insert celebrity here] is surprisingly normal and disarming
- Adjusting levels of this [nutrient/food/activity] will [cause/prevent] cancer… if you’re a lab rat and that’s all they feed you for a month. If you’re human it’s pretty much up to chance. Don’t smoke so much.
- If you buy more expensive clothes maybe you can land guys with more money, though it’s really more vice versa.
- If you want to land a man, refer point one.