Vacuous - The Women's Magazine for Women Who Strive to Be Less

Submitted by Tom Edwards

As President and Head Editor of the new fashion magazine Vacuous, I'd like to extend a clammy, dead fish handshake to all those females who strive to be less-and are intimately aware of what it means to be able to use a balance beam as a fainting couch. The purpose of Vacuous is to breed a deep sense of psychosis in all women who lay eyes on our startling images and wry copy. We want readership. We also want to create a magazine that will have enough pages for high dollar perfume ads filled with women who look like they've been dipped in varnish, yet avoid the common deathtrap of so many other high fashion magazines by simply weighing too much.

Yes, in this age, it's chic to be weak. Just ask one of my Italian clients who couldn't even lift a rice cake to her purple lips. Chic-very chic! Unfortunately, she was inadvertently sucked up into a ceiling fan at a Milan fashion show. The ensuing pi-ata-like debris was made of rice cake confetti. It was like an impromptu fashion party with all the pomp and glitter of the Italian Riviera as our canvas. But later I found a Clark Bar in her handbag. That cheater!

To be frank, our methods employ the same methods used by Joe Camel of Camel Cigarette fame. (I do not condone smoking. It is evil. If you must though, smoke the best. Capri Ultra Lites-taste great, good for figure, look like Pixie Sticks and match my models' femurs when they wear white suede pants. )

We've created 'String Bean Celeste' as our new advertising caricature. She adopts the body form of Barbie-- if she were the Jolly Green Giant-except cuter-and with better hair. She will be more effective in planting the self-doubting mindset to make the pony-tailed girl in the cafeteria ask herself, "Are you sure you really want that snack pack, Tubby?". She will after she reads Celeste's views in Lil' Miss Vacuous-our sister publication that is precisely geared to the Duck Tales demographic.

We think young women will respond favorably to our upcoming issue with articles entitled "What Does He Really Think of You?", "8 Steps to Saying No to Eating Glue", "When to Start Considering Breast Implants", "So What? It's Just a Spelling Bee. Yea, Sure It Was, Fatty.", "It's Your Birthday Party, and You Can Have Popcorn Cake If You Want To", "It's Never Too Early to Divorce Your Parents" and "Got The Tinsel Teeth Blues? Let's Talk About PMS". The Lil' Miss Vacuous issue will come with a special bold expose entitled "The Tacky Epidemic of Latch Key Kids Who Wear Oshkosh B'Gosh".

Moving on, for the older set, we offer the newest issue of Vacuous. It features our breakout model, Clairvoyance, as the cover girl. I found her while driving home one night from a Beverly Hills party at which I had taken too many ginseng tablets and gimlets. It was pitiful. She was wedged in the slats of a storm drain. I had to call a cat retrieval squad from the fire department to loosen her free. With a little coaxing from a guy named Hank and some petroleum jelly, they got her out while I took the Technicolor yawn and tossed my biscuits behind a palm tree. While motoring home that night I took a gander over to the cheekbones protruding from her leather pants and I sensed some potential-an aberration if you will. I ringed her up on my cell the next day and got her kitty wagon rolling all the way to Venice.

We whipped her into shape with a little bronze cheekbone toner, a few quarts of Aqua Net, and a daily 15-minute workout. It often turned into a mere 12 seconds, however, when she would immediately faint. We'd have to call the paramedics to resuscitate her previously fluttering heart. I'm happy to say that we no longer have to worry about our little hummingbird getting stuck in any more storm drains-we only force her to wear a large, brightly colored hat now-so when she falls through a drain after a night of Vodkas, Marlboro Ultra Lights, and Phenobarbitals, we know which cover to pry up along the Sunset Strip. I think our work speaks for itself.

Also in this issue we ask women to ask themselves "Is He Cheating on Me?: A Primer on Keying Cars, Dramatic Outbursts, and Taking Away All He's Got-Including His Rumpleforeskin", "Proven Ways to Bolster Your Self Esteem with Chinchilla", "Carrot and Celery Boredom? Welcome to the Wonderful World of Water Chestnuts", "Puffier Lips Made Easy By Smacking Yourself in the Mouth", "Let's Face It: A Guide to the Improper Use of Blush", and "Overcoming a Nervous Breakdown: Are You Wearing the Right Mascara?".

On pages 328-329 we showcase another brand new model, Chantilly, who proudly struts the catwalks of Rome with castanets over her perky, tennis ball sized breasts. She also works a pair of titanium stilettos, a face that's spray painted orange, and a hairstyle that is vaguely reminiscent of that of a ravenous Pomeranian. In another striking pose she is dressed in nothing more than green Saran wrap, a pair of hot pink thigh high pumps, and a baby seal on her head. She also appears in the gossip section. She took a jockey whip to an overzealous French photographer. He offered her a bite of his tofu, alfalfa sprout, and basil (pronounced BOZ-il, for all you Midwestern hayseeds) sandwich with a light drizzling of vinaigrette. Hell hath no fury like a vegetarian scorned!

In our "People Perspectives" we have profiles of 7 women who have found the courage to get out of bed. We also plate up the harrowing last days of Mama Cass Elliot's ham sandwich. (We know it's not really a 'People Perspective' but many of our profiles feature women who happen to be inanimate objects, as well.)

Our readership is swelling, our neuroses are deepening, our sense of community is as strong as our bone structures, and our belief in what it means to be a woman is grounded in self-loathing with a little spritz of self-mutilation through attrition. Remember, it's not how you look. It's what you're reading when you look the way you look that counts. It's Vacuous. It's chic Vacuosity!

Letter from the Editor, Publisher, and Fashion Guru Extraordinaire

Tomas Edwardsissimo