. . I long for the day where I can open a newspaper without being faced with an over enlarged picture of an item number girl donning spaghetti straps accompanied by about ten words of actual writing that explain to me that she had spaghetti for dinner at the opening of an overpriced Italian food place that is owned by a Sardar.

What the hell happened to useful information, current events, world tragedy, politics and business? How integral is it to the existence of the average man to be informed at six thirty

in the morning when he rises to go to work that a socialite at a party three nights ago was sipping a rum and coke? How the hell is this going to improve his life? All this really tells him is that the socialite knows how to swallow, which is something that could easily have been figured out without having to read a newspaper.

I remember the days where you had to either do something great or something really messed up to get in the pages of a newspaper. If you got elected and passed a law you were on page one, and if you passed away or broke the law you were on page 2. Because either way, newspapers celebrated such feats. Sometimes I think the collective intelligence of our society has dropped to lower than that of a dying mosquito drowning in a half full glass of gin and tonic. Have we really become such an average species that putting on a pair of clean boxers (or frenchies, lets not generalize), donning a shirt and jeans, combing your hair, brushing your teeth, driving to a party, mastering the ancient art of the air kiss and getting intoxicated is suddenly a monumental achievement?

And to the newspapers, I realize that you are trying to sell copies but your strategy seems more warped than an architectural drawing by Stevie Wonder. If you are trying to sell me information then every morning, don’t remind me that there are people out there whom have a much better life than I do, are better looking than I am, and are being written about for doing shit that I knew how to do the first time I looked at my baby bottle and tried to kiss one of the other infants at the day care center because I liked her fashionable low rise quartz studded huggies. You’re not selling me, your only pissing me off.

But I am not naeive and I know newspapers will not change so the only community left to appeal to is the Page 3 types. If you are going to be written about then you owe it to society to not be so damn boring. It is now your responsibility to keep us sufficiently entertained. So the next time you are at that party; punch someone, flip the camera man off, don’t smile and look so damn good, don’t brush your teeth for about five weeks, don’t wear spaghetti tops but come in wearing a jute potato sack and for petes sake let go of the umbrella drinks and let me see you scarf down some bhang samosas.

Cause the next time I read that some miscreant with bad breath, no tact and a 1000 blood alcohol level gate crashed the snooty party causing the item number girl to fall into the pool while trying to get her number; and causing the rum and coke drinker to run and choke after spiking his drink………………..that is when I shall read page 3.