Sweary’s Jaw: 2010 Wishlist

Surreptitiously sniggering at Sharon Stone’s “I’m all natural, me” claims, so you don’t have to. It might have been a good New Year’s Resolution to stop caring about what celebrities get up to. If you could call it caring. Let’s face it, I haven’t exactly been gracious in my treatment of those richer and more physically enhanced than I am. I’ve been pretty snide. A bit vulgar. Not so inclined to treat celebrities as real people, even if they are a bit helter skelter, a bit removed from the cop on that a good, daily dose of drudgery would bring. You’d wonder why I bother, really. Am I so hollow that I can only elevate myself through dragging down safe targets, people unaware of my existence, and miles and miles away? Or are celebrities really that entertainingly daft? You know, I think it’s the latter.