Let me start by apologizing.
This is not the sort of thing you want to round out your Saturday news reading with, and if it hadn’t come across my desk, you wouldn’t be reading it now. It did, so now here we are — sorry about that.
With that out of the way, let’s just knock out the next order of business:
I think I speak for everyone when I say, Cosmopolitan, what the hell is wrong with you? We all know the 1980s were crazy, and we understand that the world viewed Donald Trump much differently back then — almost like a movie character, actually. We kind of preferred it that way. He was bad hair, a cheesy board game, and a ridiculously unnecessary accent.
Was it you that put the idea in his head that he was some sort of sex symbol? Was Cosmo the reason that this septuagenarian still thinks he can lie to us about what 239 pounds looks like? Are you to blame for the mental image we have to contend with every time he and Joe Biden talk shit about each other in the news and it gets weirdly physical in nature?
Because according to the Miami Herald, you offered The Donald an opportunity to bring the original Don Jr. onto your set for the most horrifying photoshoot I think most humans could possibly conceive of in honor of the 25th anniversary of your transition from a literary-style magazine to a women’s mag. Your editor Helen Gurley Brown came full circle from publishing Sex and the Single Girl, a liberated tome on experiencing life to its fullest as a woman to nearly publishing an issue of Cosmo that would liberate your lunch from your stomach if you accidentally stumbled across it today.
We can actually see why you hit up most of the guys you were after for that issue: Tom Hanks, Dennis Quaid, Paul Newman — heck, your humble author might even have glanced at a layout with Cool Hand Luke stapled strategically in the unmentionables. We can even get behind the macho man you finally went with, David Hasselhoff. Before that drunken floor cheeseburger incident, he was a force of nature.
Don’t get me wrong, Cosmopolitan: I thank you from the bottom of my heart for not pursuing him further, and I lie prostrate before the constellations laid out by every God to grace the heavens in gratitude that Donald Trump didn’t take you up on it.
But you know, gross. Why would you even ask him? Even in 1989, that would have been like asking Phil Donahue or Richard Dawson or something — yeah, he was famous, but NAKED? That just leaves us scratching our heads.
In summary, this is the worst thing I read today, and I’m hoping I break a bone or something to get my mind off of it. Thanks, I hate it.
Featured image is a screen capture