One of the little talents I am proud of is my penchant for snippy titles. For books. For articles. For blog posts. Today's is not so memorable, but I can count the absolute WTF horror still stuck in my brain from learning that Jon Gosselin is in talks with Playgirl to parade his schlong for the world to see. Really?


Kate's gonna go on Dancing with the Stars and Jon's gonna get naked?

My. Brain. Hurts.

I remember purchasing one issue of Playgirl when in college. I honestly can't remember why I did. There was some hotty movie celeb I was drooling over and just had to have it. But when I got to the much anticipated spread, I found myself looking at everything but the goods.

A strong face? Wide shoulders? Strong arms to fantasize about being held in? A tight stomach? Hell, even an ass tight enough to bounce a quarter off of were all nice things to go gaga over before throwing the magazine away and denying I ever bought it.

But the actual, ahem, package? (Because really, people, even the word itself is unattractive) It's just not something I want to see.

Guys get in trouble for mooning over cleavage all the time. But I don't know of any female who's ever forgotten what a coworker was saying because she was too busy staring at his crotch.

Whatever. Jon can pass Go and collect his reported $20 grand (plus the $10 grand bonus for every inch over four inches) while Kate tries to explain to her children why Daddy's a jackass and I go and throw up at the mere thought of the train-wreck to be. (No, I'm not saying she's mother of the year, but I think she might win this round of Who's the Better Parent cuz um...he's getting naked!)




And seriously? Remind me not to click on any celeb news links in the future. I'm much happier when I'm clueless.