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Thursday, 12 January 2012

You Wouldn't Let Her Lie
Gone, but she sure as shit isn't forgotten
Just when you thought our national obsession with Princess bloody Diana was getting creepy, I'd like to nominate the magazine Vanity Fair for reaching levels of weirdness that would make Fred West blush.
I read VF every month - tidy, in-depth journalism on the whole - but what is with it's never-ending probing into Jackie Kennedy? For fuck's sake, she's been dead since 1994 but VF bangs on about her as if she's just risen from the Greek tycoon-shagging grave. VF has never knowingly produced an issue without a photo of Jackie-O shoved in there somewhere. Look, I have the latest issue in my kraken paw and even though there are no J-O features in it they've still managed to include a frigging pic of her on the contents page.
What. The. Fuck? Is J-O catnip for Fith Avenue toffs? Can VF not find a more current woman to bang on about? And what in the bollocks is there that's left to say about J-O? Perhaps we've not yet been regaled about how many shits she took a day or whether her cuffs matched her curtains. And perhaps said information is so vital to our existence that it would almost be inhumane of VF to not pick over it, word by word, until we're actually sicking up pill-box hats with matching handbags.
Look, VF, leave J-O to enjoy her eternal rest, will you? Even she must be spinning in her fabulously accessorised tomb by now. Jesus, you're this close to dusting off the ouija board, begging for a photoshoot before disinterring her for the delectation of the chattering classes. Move the frig on, will you? Just make sure that's it's in an open top car through Dallas. I fear a bullet to the brain is the only thing that'll cure VF of this particular malady.



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