PEOPLE, Not People Like You

Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings, thus painted child of dirt that stinks and stings; whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys. Yet , and beauty ne'er enjoys. --Alexander Pope, Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot

Epistle to Dr. Wacker

shut the door, Warren! (fatigued. I said). up the knocker, say I'm sick. I'm dead. I've got a People magazine so fat With reminiscent slush and self-congrat That I could barely lift it off the stoop. (Not from my door--I stole it off the some dupe) It seems this month the rag is ten years old; Too bad. I hoped that they were soon to fold. Their editer says their style is really new; They feature People, not people like you.

"We gone home with newsmakers and interview... Even in bed (see page 152)." The editor claims that they make our days With a "poignant profile" or a "sassy phrase." Now, that's what I like in a magazine Sassy not a Woodward or a Bernstein. People has all the stars that give me pains in the neck --It's a Paperback Elaine's. They picked the "Top Celebs of the Decade." And there are ten. (Can you have a celeb spayed?)

They start off in 1974 And do updates for every media whore: A Nixon comeback, to Park Avenue, For a Dick who should have done sepuku A million bucks from David Frost he took. To tell the nation he is not a crook. Of all the comebacks, though, this is the worst: The "contented mom" that was Patty Hearst. Then I grab the mag. I almost toss it. More annoying drip from Farrah Faweett!

And John Travolta is making lots of green Oh. How did he get beyond Barbarino? He deserves, for all his "Stayin' Alive"s A pat on the head. With a couple sharp knives. You can bet that that would please the next zany. OH! Man Smiles: Ayatollah Khomeini. (Think they read The Crimson in Iran?) A Prettier face is Princess Diana.

Under a blitz like that of the Nazis. She's chased around by press paparazzis, Well, maybe not chaste the girl, as we've seen. Has luck next to Chuck a baby machine. Now, back from the sixties (help me Rhonda') It's that scrawny, loud-mouth witch. Jane Fonda. Selling fitness books, dressed in sweats and sneaks. What's this? A quote? Oh Jesus, still she speaks

And, says People's experts resident. Last but not least the celeb-president. With twinkling eves and a smile that is Puck's. With show business hair and a sparkling tux? He is here, folks, the man who brought back "deluxe" To budget deficit: Ronald king of the clucks. Well those are the biggies whom everyone knows. ButPeople goes on with less popular Joes. Like Hiroo Onoda, a stubborn old man. Who hid in the woods half his life for Japan. The great war had ended, but no one told Hiroo, (Why does he remind me of Spiro Agnew?)

The next page has something that we see a lotta: Bo Derek and Dolly--bodacious tata. This cage holds a singer, her name is Grace Jones Her case is a sad one, she plays with hormones. Now, only in People are such contrasts--Miss Piggy eats, while Mother Theresa fasts... Divine and Bella Abzug pose and groom, (Have they ever been seen in the same room? I'm not saying that they are one and the same. But, when two things differ only in name...)

And then there's the pies of born-again stars (As if once wasn't enough). Just when the scars Of their first debut were beginning to heal They're back at out throats with evangelist zeal. Enough is enough: I'm beginning to cry From all of the dreck that's assaulting my eye. Oh. Doctor, this magazine sure needs a cure. But only a blow-torch could render it pure. I'd throw it out, in the compactor yet. But they're going to publish a bound volume set. Oh, they're stronger than me. They'll print volume seven, While I grumble and gripe from a cloud up in heaven.

"We gone home with newsmakers and interview... Even in bed (see page 152)." The editor claims that they make our days With a "poignant profile" or a "sassy phrase." Now, that's what I like in a magazine Sassy not a Woodward or a Bernstein. People has all the stars that give me pains in the neck --It's a Paperback Elaine's. They picked the "Top Celebs of the Decade." And there are ten. (Can you have a celeb spayed?)

They start off in 1974 And do updates for every media whore: A Nixon comeback, to Park Avenue, For a Dick who should have done sepuku A million bucks from David Frost he took. To tell the nation he is not a crook. Of all the comebacks, though, this is the worst: The "contented mom" that was Patty Hearst. Then I grab the mag. I almost toss it. More annoying drip from Farrah Faweett!

And John Travolta is making lots of green Oh. How did he get beyond Barbarino? He deserves, for all his "Stayin' Alive"s A pat on the head. With a couple sharp knives. You can bet that that would please the next zany. OH! Man Smiles: Ayatollah Khomeini. (Think they read The Crimson in Iran?) A Prettier face is Princess Diana.

Under a blitz like that of the Nazis. She's chased around by press paparazzis, Well, maybe not chaste the girl, as we've seen. Has luck next to Chuck a baby machine. Now, back from the sixties (help me Rhonda') It's that scrawny, loud-mouth witch. Jane Fonda. Selling fitness books, dressed in sweats and sneaks. What's this? A quote? Oh Jesus, still she speaks

And, says People's experts resident. Last but not least the celeb-president. With twinkling eves and a smile that is Puck's. With show business hair and a sparkling tux? He is here, folks, the man who brought back "deluxe" To budget deficit: Ronald king of the clucks. Well those are the biggies whom everyone knows. ButPeople goes on with less popular Joes. Like Hiroo Onoda, a stubborn old man. Who hid in the woods half his life for Japan. The great war had ended, but no one told Hiroo, (Why does he remind me of Spiro Agnew?)

The next page has something that we see a lotta: Bo Derek and Dolly--bodacious tata. This cage holds a singer, her name is Grace Jones Her case is a sad one, she plays with hormones. Now, only in People are such contrasts--Miss Piggy eats, while Mother Theresa fasts... Divine and Bella Abzug pose and groom, (Have they ever been seen in the same room? I'm not saying that they are one and the same. But, when two things differ only in name...)

And then there's the pies of born-again stars (As if once wasn't enough). Just when the scars Of their first debut were beginning to heal They're back at out throats with evangelist zeal. Enough is enough: I'm beginning to cry From all of the dreck that's assaulting my eye. Oh. Doctor, this magazine sure needs a cure. But only a blow-torch could render it pure. I'd throw it out, in the compactor yet. But they're going to publish a bound volume set. Oh, they're stronger than me. They'll print volume seven, While I grumble and gripe from a cloud up in heaven.

Under a blitz like that of the Nazis. She's chased around by press paparazzis, Well, maybe not chaste the girl, as we've seen. Has luck next to Chuck a baby machine. Now, back from the sixties (help me Rhonda') It's that scrawny, loud-mouth witch. Jane Fonda. Selling fitness books, dressed in sweats and sneaks. What's this? A quote? Oh Jesus, still she speaks

And, says People's experts resident. Last but not least the celeb-president. With twinkling eves and a smile that is Puck's. With show business hair and a sparkling tux? He is here, folks, the man who brought back "deluxe" To budget deficit: Ronald king of the clucks. Well those are the biggies whom everyone knows. ButPeople goes on with less popular Joes. Like Hiroo Onoda, a stubborn old man. Who hid in the woods half his life for Japan. The great war had ended, but no one told Hiroo, (Why does he remind me of Spiro Agnew?)

The next page has something that we see a lotta: Bo Derek and Dolly--bodacious tata. This cage holds a singer, her name is Grace Jones Her case is a sad one, she plays with hormones. Now, only in People are such contrasts--Miss Piggy eats, while Mother Theresa fasts... Divine and Bella Abzug pose and groom, (Have they ever been seen in the same room? I'm not saying that they are one and the same. But, when two things differ only in name...)

And then there's the pies of born-again stars (As if once wasn't enough). Just when the scars Of their first debut were beginning to heal They're back at out throats with evangelist zeal. Enough is enough: I'm beginning to cry From all of the dreck that's assaulting my eye. Oh. Doctor, this magazine sure needs a cure. But only a blow-torch could render it pure. I'd throw it out, in the compactor yet. But they're going to publish a bound volume set. Oh, they're stronger than me. They'll print volume seven, While I grumble and gripe from a cloud up in heaven.