AUTHOR: Beth TITLE: DATE: 6/30/2002 05:21:00 PM ----- BODY:
Oh! I almost forgot to write about this.


Martha Stewart is the devil. Have you ever watched her show? I have a few times, I'm not ashamed to admit, because it was solely out of morbid fascination. I watched transfixed as she lectured about oilcloth, stunned at the force of her passion for the placemat fabric. I pictured a closet of oilcloth dresses, a new line of oilcloth condoms as she lovingly sewed two layers of the plaid-patterned stuff into a perfect placemat. Then we went into her perfect kitchen for perfect peanut butter cookies. Hmmm...perfect placemats, perfect peanut butter...Today's letter seems to be P. Another time I watched her decorate pine-cones with glitter to make Christmas decorations. But these weren't just any pine-cones. These were special genetically engineered perfect Martha Stewart pine cones, each roughly the size and shape of an antipersonnel hand grenade. Coincidence? If you ever happen across her show, look into her eyes. She always looks like she's right on the brink of snapping. There's something inhuman about those eyes. It makes me nervous whenever she picks up that big butcher's knife. Or if you see her on a press junket, watch her when she smiles, or see above. Have you ever seen a less sincere smile? This woman has some serious rage. I guess I should feel sorry for her, but I don't. I guess she turned to weilding a hot-glue gun with deadly precision following a bitter divorce from her husband. I don't care. Because what Martha has done to our society far outweighs whatever pleasure her rolling pin has brought her. Martha is not normal. No normal human being could physically sustain themselves obsessing over whether or not their hand-whipped cream was perfectly smooth. No normal, non-insane human being could sustain themselves freaking out about the fact that the thread in the bobbin is not the EXACT same shade of green as the thread feeding through the needle. No human being could or, more importantly, should make a living from elevating crafts fifth-graders do when their parents run out of Disney videos to keep them occupied into an art, a science, and oh yes, a multimillion dollar business. What are we paying Martha for? To make us feel inferior because we have mortgages, jobs, bills to pay instead of whipping out the T-square to measure the right angles of our cross-hatching on the top of peanut butter cookies? Why are we buying in to her evil empire of insanity and megalomania? Can no one out there sense the deep and ever-expanding evil? Now there's a Martha Stewart TV show, magazine, Baby magazine (shudder). Martha Stewart house paint. Martha Stewart herbs. A whole line, ever-growing, pinning us as consumers down like so many butterflies under glass. Martha will not rest until we are all perfect and soulless. Fuck Martha Stewart. She's everything wrong with WASP culture. And now, as if having invested in drug companies isn't bad enough--perhaps a designer line of Prozac is in the works?--Martha stands accused of insider trading. You know what that means. For most of us plebians, that would mean a few years at Club Fed, and probably a hefty fine to boot. But Martha, in all her hatefulness, will probably get off on the grounds of extreme wealth and fame (the OJ factor) and continue feeding us her diabolical crap. You and I both know what's really up though, don't we, Martha? There's nothing I'd love more than to see you broadcasting live from Cell Block C, showing us all the lovely things that can be done with cinder blocks and an orange jumpsuit on a VERY low budget. Fuck you, Martha Stewart. I wanna see you crash and burn.