Uncle!

Okay, okay! I am a good American. I will go see Mr. and Mrs. Smith as soon as possible! Just shut the hell up about Angelina and Brad! Angelina and Brad. Angelina and Brad. Brad and Angelina. Billy Bob. Jennifer. Brad and Angelina. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. Trees. Bees and birds.
Listen, I don't give a shit who tied up whom, I don't care if Brad was boning Angelina while still married to poor spinster Jennifer Anniston. They're beautiful people. Breathtaking. Both of them. Do I care about their lives? Would I Google search them to find as many details as I can about what they eat, where they vacation, how they stand when next to each other in public? No. But everytime I load boston.com or Yahoo! I cannot help but be deluged with links to the latest bit of gossip about Brad and Angelina. I'm hearing their names in my sleep. Brad and Angelina. I am sick of looking at them, together or individually. They are people. Just people. Named Angelina and Brad. They make movies. They play dress-up and pretend and get paid more than the President to do so. You know who else plays dress-up? Kindergarteners and transvestites. They don't get put on the cover of US Weekly or People or inSight or Star.
The mission has been accomplished. Despite my fortitude, the advertisements have broken me down. Brad's chisled and handsome face, Angelina's captivating eyes. I cannot. Look. Away. I. Will. Shell. Out. $10. To. See. The. Movie.
...Katie and Tom can keep trying, but there is no way I am going to see either Batman or War of the Worlds. At least Brad and Angelina don't have herpes. This week.