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Come on, Vogue

Laying around watching Devil Wears Prada this evening. Does anyone else hate the way that ends? Why does she have to wipe off all her makeup and start dressing like a schlub again? Then they hint around that she may get back together with that douchepacker from Entourage? If my job made me over into Anne Hathaway, dressed me up in Chanel, and flew me to Paris to procure, you can bet your sweet ass I wouldn't throw it all away in the end. Gawd, what a bummer.

I'm sure it has some moral l'm not getting. Like the time they read us a stupid story in kindergarten about good things coming in small packages. At the tale's end, two women emerged. One with a big giant sparkly gift-wrapped box, and the other with a paper bag. "Pick a present," the teacher told us. Of course, I scooted over to the lady with the box. I wasn't about to go sit by an ugly woman with a brown lunch sack. "Now you will recieve the contents," the teacher had said in 5-year old speak. Much to my dismay, the box contained wadded up paper and everyone over at the paper bag (which was indeed everyone) got gummi bears. Son of a bitch, I thought to myself as I looked over at all those twits with their candy. That is fucked up.

Ah, the struggle.