So, remember when I was all like, "You stink, and your articles stink, and you're boring and out of it, and oh jeez why don't you just write a giant ass cover story about the semiotics of Deal or No Deal or something? Losers."
Today you have a cover story about bipolar kids (whatever) and . . . and . . . wait, what's this? A giant feature on giant British famous crumpet Katie "Jordan" Price? For me? Oh . . . oh gosh. Really. Wow. That stuff I said? That was just the gin and tonics talking, baby. Everything is better now. You come right over here. What's that? You want to tell me something?
When someone noticed last fall that Price’s second ghostwritten novel had outsold the entire Booker Prize short list, there was much wailing about the death of literature.That was the best. It's like falling in love with an elitist Sunday magazine for the first time all over again. Tell me--what do you know about Jodie Marsh?