Cosmo: $4.29 I Could Have Spent on a Gallon of Gas

. . . and should have. Because upon purchasing my first Cosmo in, oh, 18 years, I discovered that it sucks. Eggs.

I made this purchase, of course, spurred on by the attention a previous post on Details and Marie Claire had garnered, and my own current obsession with the superiority of men's magazines. I had anticipated crafting a clever, irreverent and ultimately thought-provoking post, but instead I found fodder for, well, nothing. I can't believe people actually read this drivel. On purpose. And pay for it. Like I did. D'oh!

Here's the thing. Cosmo is 89% about sex. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Were it useful/intelligent/remotely intriguing information, that's be totally fine. But instead we get "Taboo Sex: The Dirty, Sexy Moves a Man Craves in Bed" (which are different how from the dirty, sexy moves Cosmo has written about in the last 1,647 issues?); "Caught Butt Naked" (Tee Hee!); and "Sexual Health: How to Decode the Sneaky Signs of an STD (Ah, those sneaky STDs. Little scamps!). Ummm, I knew all this stuff before I bought that last issue of Cosmo 18 years ago. But maybe that's just me.

The other 11%? Fashion and beauty (which they do a passable job of, actually, but it's not anything I couldn't find online in about 8 seconds and for free), and indispensable advice pieces like "Summer Dangers You Don't Think About," which gives us this startling revelation -- "Going out for a run in the evening can be convenient -- and the views at sunrise or sunset can be beautiful -- but those times are far less safe." No shit! I feel so informed now. Thanks Cosmo!

Finally, I can't possibly read a magazine that, in a subhead, states: "This is the kick-ass season, but the high temps and humidity can bring challenges." What, am I 12??? The kick-ass season?? What does that even mean??? "A" kick-ass season, maybe, as in, "The Packers had a kick-ass season this year," but . . . It's enough to force me to utilize multiple question marks. And you know that's pretty freakin' serious.

Okay, here's the score on this one:

Cosmo: 0

Me: also 0, for spending my hard earned cash when I had a perfectly good GQ waiting at home.