Best Celebrity to Genetically Alter
What is wrong with you people? This alarming response — choosing Eminem as the celebrity you would most like to genetically alter — was enough to make me check if somebody was stuffing the ballots.
Aha! I find out from riffling through the stacks of wrinkled returned ballots, Eminem’s name was repeatedly scrawled in aggressively retaliatory, decidedly male penmanship. What does that prove? Thankfully, just this: jealousy. Phew. I was losing my faith in females — especially the smart birds of this metro area who are usually clawing to stake claim on the bad-boy cuties. Eminem’s extremely sexy. The very bestest part of the boy’s appearance is that he’s also terribly little-boy cute. Adorable, as in fourth-grade trouble cute … as in “I’m-going-to-chase-you-on-the-playground-but-then-ask-you-to-be-my-reading-partner” cute. And he’s a hot-bodied sampling of overwhelming irony. Mathers’ working voice is Brooklyn-tough but not as affected: He’s gritty like this Motor City.
Fellas, you want to get it? Imagine any of your archetypal sirens: the Catholic schoolgirl gone wrong, the librarian-turned-devil’s temptress, Goldilocks eating your porridge.
Physically, Eminem’s nobody to genetically alter. It’s certainly possible you’re all scientists, and you may be referencing the genes that promote Eminem’s poor taste. There’s a large collective of you who assume Eminem is serious when he’s actually spouting extremely caustic irony. You believe his offensive remarks are so tactless that it must be embedded in his chromosomal makeup. But, considering that you voted George Clooney to be the celebrity you would most like to genetically clone, I think what you mean to admit here is that you’d love to rid blondie of the social conditions that have spurred his inflammatory remarks. I can get that. But let’s be big enough to admit that he’s Detroit’s Calvin Klein-underwear model-esqe poster boy … moreover more so than someone like Geoffrey Fieger. No offense intended Mr. Fieger, but until you look that good in a wife-beat … um, I mean, white tank undershirt, let’s hold onto the hope that Detroit femmes are vixens who have impeccable taste for the disastrously desirable.