When someone who can’t successfully combine a collection of words together in order to form a coherent sentence releases a magazine; and when that someone is mostly famous for having big crap tits; and you know, even though you hate to have to admit the fact to yourself, that a bunch of IQ-dodging low-achievers will buy that magazine and try to emulate said large-titted no brain, then you realise, beyond doubt, that there is a problem with society. And it’s a biggun.
Katie Price aka Jordan, although ‘moron’ might be more pertinent, is so self-obsessed and greedy that she is releasing a monthly publication called classily Katie: My Magazine. Katie has already admitted quite admirably that she is not responsible for the books that are published under her name – but she does come up with the ideas.
Celebrities used to be famous for doing something exceptional. They acted, sang, composed music, wrote books and were generally better than us at least something. Then all of a sudden they had to endorse a perfume or a clothing range, then actors were singing, singers were acting (Madonna was crap; Cher was good) and then they started ‘designing’ their own ranges of lingerie (think Elle MacPherson) or clothing ranges for trashy high-street stores (Kate Moss, Madonna, Penelope Cruz.) And now, the grotesque monstress that is Katie Price – with her porn-rag glamour and bloated femininity who appears to have all the class and charisma of a beef and tomato pot noodle, goes and does a magazine.
Katie Price symbolises a new and grotesque celebrity type. She is famous for having big tits that aren’t hers. Yet Katie Price has been elevated to some kind of Madonna to council house types who see her as one of them come good.
Unlike Gaga, who does have a modicum of talent despite being the world’s greatest media whore, Katie Price has no talent. And that takes some doing, to have absolutely no talent and still be considered emulation worthy, even if it is by a pack of dribbling benefit-seekers whose idea of a good meal is a tin of corned beef and a can of stout consumed in a vandalised bus shelter in the north of England.
At just £3.99 per issue, the glamour moggle is offering her readers insight into her favorite recipes, beauty products that she simply cant live without: grout, scaffolding, Botox etc; and will include her fashion ideas (think pink), and Katie’s thoughts (I’ve generously used a plural there).
Katie Price has risen, turning herself into a lucrative and marketable product much as Madonna and Lady Gaga have done. She’s become a working class heroine for a hoi polloi too uneducated to see beyond the pages of Hello! Magazine. As a business woman – like Madonna – she is almost admirable but I’m not sure it’s a good idea for young women to be reading the thought (s) of someone with the IQ of a pencil and the personality of a rice krispie
What a hugely sad and worrying indictment of our times it is when a stupid basket ball breasted munter with no discernible soul acts as a beacon of hope for young women. Surely the British general public haven’t sunk this low yet. I pray that Katie; My Magazine is an unmitigated flop. If not, Britain is really and truly doomed.
I wonder who helped her come up with the title.
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