Either New York Mag's staff writers are splashing around in a champagne-soaked hot tub in the Hamptons and have left the mag in the clutches of its wretched interns (Bitter that I never got a callback? I think so.), or they're suffering from a massive hangover, because this week's issue is the biggest piece of crap I've ever seen.
The cover story is about breakfast. BREAKFAST! It's called "The Breakfast Manifesto." How fucking retarded can you get? I tried to wade through it so I could give you guys a fair review, but after I read "The Guide to Caffeine Addiction" while drinking my 16 oz coffee lovingly poured by my coffee cart guy on W. 4th and Mercer, I had to stop.
Look, I know caffeine is bad for me. We all do. Now pour me another fucking cup.
Another article reviews 100 kinds of cereals. Ceriously? (Get it?!)
We are in the midst of the most important election this nation has ever seen. The murder rate in New York is increasing after years of a sleepy lull in crime. Sarah Jessica Parker fucking wore the same dress as Lindsay Lohan did months prior to the SATC premiere. And this is what you give me, New York Mag? I'd rather read another 10 pages on Emily Gould. UGH.