In which I liveblog the discovery of an ‘InStyle’ magazine (part two)

All right, you beautiful bastiches, let’s get this crazy train rolling again. I’ve had six hours of sleep and I am ready to muffpunch the universe. I mean read this magazine.

Where were we? Oh yes, page 50. OH FUCK, THERE ARE WEREWOLVES. Hang on while I make a pot of incredibly strong coffee to help me cope. … Okay, that’s better. Sheesus, magazine, werewolves? Because vampires are so played out? Teen Wolf, Taylor Lautner, Shakira in a cage, Wolf Blitzer—WAIT WHAT? Oh god, it hurts. Make it stop. I can’t wait until the spread on how mummies are the latest supernatural hotties. The rest of the page is devoted to Spanx swimwear. Because, remember? We love our bodies this month. Even if that means wearing a full-body glove in the pool.

Simon G. has a giant rock for you to put on your finger. I’ve got a finger for Simon G.

More after the jump!

>>> All right, we are in the content biz now. Here’s a smattering of photos from the American Music Awards. The hypothesis? These singing ladies are wearing outfits that remind us of buildings! J.Lo in something that looks like the Georgia State Capitol Dome! Rihanna wrapped in something that resembles the Guggenheim Museum! Carrie Underwood is an ancient pyramid! There are no jokes I could make that would adequately highlight how dumb this is! The bottom of the page is dedicated to the pressing question: “What song could you dance to for the rest of your life?” Keith Urban says Britney Spears’ “3” and I hit the iTunes store to see what that sounds like, and immediately have to take a moment to donate some money to Haiti as a means of karmic rebalancing. Ick.

Lancôme, not to be outdone by Dior, offers up its own flawless brunette with an accusatory glare. I once again spend unnecessary seconds trying to make that idiotic “ô” letter, which is looking more and more like a target I want to fling big, pointy arrows at.

>>> WHAT’S THE SEXIEST PLACE IN NEW YORK? Heidibot watches over this page! Miranda Kerr, standing awkwardly in a leopard-print gown, answers, “I don’t know—my house!?” I award InStyle ten points for keeping the interrobang in place and then immediately deduct twelve points for having a picture of Jay-Z without an accompanying “I don’t know—my limo!?” answer.

>>> I HAVE FOUND THE PERFUME AD! It’s Ralph Lauren Romance, and I am so scared of its raw power that I am only going to peel back a corner of the sample, very slowly. Hmmm. Papery, with notes of glue. I will continue not remembering that this perfume exists.

Another InStyle house ad. This time for the magazine’s mobile app. In case you want to feel bad about yourself on the go!

>>> Here we go, we’ve got a spread. It’s The Bachelor, who is actually pretty cute and doesn’t — in print, at least — radiate douchiness, and his harem. Er, part of it. Apparently this photoshoot was the first challenge of the season, and the bachelor chose his favorite brood mare lady from the bunch, based on her confidence and sense of self hot ass.

>>> OH MY GOD, IT’S HILLARY SWANK FEEDING HOMELESS KITTENS AND HOLDING PUPPIES SQUEEEEE

Rimmel lays claim to the only ad in this magazine that would dare to offer to make you go from “skinny to fat in 10 seconds flat.” Of course, they are talking about eyelashes and not your disgusting, horrible not-worthy-of-love ass. NOW GET BACK ON THE TREADMILL, IN YOUR MUUMUU, IN THE HOLE.

>>> Olay’s graphic designer just could not stop with the lens flare thingy in Photoshop. It’s okay. I love it too. I forgive you, Olay graphic designer.

Singers in “pitch-perfect” dresses at past Grammys. I just cannot even begin to pretend to care, except to say that I wish that every time I opened a magazine page featuring Mary J. Blige, it sang like one of those $5 Hallmark cards.

>>> More pitch perfection. Is Fergie hydrocephalic under all that hair? Does Heidibot know that Katy Perrybot is honing in on her empty-eyed territory? Is anyone going to bring me cheesecake while I write this fucking review? How ’bout a spongebath? Anybody?

Fekkai haircare, for all your Kate Beckinsale-ish haircare needs.

>>> More Grammy fashion fun! This time it’s the risk-takers! Remember that time J.Lo stole a sheer curtain from a kitschy Miami motel room and wore it as a dress? Remember when Missy Elliott was like “fuck it, I’m gonna dress like everyone’s aunt”? Remember, uh, Monica?

Fekkai haircare, for all your Claudia Schiffer/Molly Sims lovechild haircare needs.

>>> More Grammy fun, with 100 percent more GAGA! Everyone has been pants-shittingly obsessed with Lady Gaga recently, and I can’t blame them. Last summer when her buzz hit a fever pitch, I read her Wiki because I felt so painfully out of the loop. Now people whose taste I respect are all “Gaga good!” so I can no longer afford to pretend that she is simply a couture Christina Aguilera. Now I am going to pretend that she is a blonde robot from the future sent to battle Heidibot and usher in an age of intersexism. I’m not sure what this page has to do with the Grammys. UNLESS! Gaga and Heidibot are going to have their epic battle on stage. OH GOD. OH GOD!

Fekkai haircare, for all your CHRIST, FEKKAI! DID YOU FORGET YOU ALREADY PLACED TWO NEARLY IDENTICAL ADS JUST BEFORE THIS ONE?

>>> Versace: At least our dead models have their eyes open.

Why, it’s “The Look by Hal Rubenstein”! Where Hal tells you how to elegantly complement your sapphire-encrusted evening gown tastefully, with diamond bands for your fingers.

>>> Sweet fashion-spread action! I was going to say something about Kate Bosworth until I saw the photo of Dakota Fanning in a sweet little red-carpet number. I remember when that kid was just cutting teeth, like, last month. Now she’s no doubt got a killer coke addiction. Sniff. They grow up so fast.

>>> More of “The Look.” You know, “The Look” sure does have a lot of looks. Just saying.

Kinerase: We will put your tulip in a cage.

>>> “The Look” tackles blue sequins. I check Facebook to make sure I still have a pulse.

It’s Maybelline, back to bludgeon you with bad typography! Are your lips neon pink yet? Great, because it’s time to make your face look like a matte eggshell-colored wall that will crack if you so much as blink.

>>> “The Look” is now just fucking with me to see if I’m even reading. “If there is a boot that comes too far up the thigh this winter, we certainly haven’t seen it. Inspired by fly-casting fishermen, Cher in the ’80s, and maybe even Antonio Banderas’s Puss in Boots from Shrek, footwear has become extreme legwear, raising hemlines and erasing questions about pants length and width while promising every woman who dislikes her knees the chance to walk with sassy confidence.” Wait, women dislike their knees?!

Oh, happy day! Kate Moss is in fact NOT dead! She’s in Paris, holding a rose to her chest, but looking very unhappy. She probably just realized that her knees are fucking HIDEOUS and no amount of Yves Saint Laurent perfume is going to distract a man from that fact.

>>> Ooooh, we have our second perfume sample! It smells like that cheap rose perfume little girls used to get in gift sets for Christmas. I accumulated roughly three dozen bottles of that stuff as a kid. It’s all in a thrift store somewhere now, fermenting even further. Little-known fact: Let it set up long enough and you can power a full-sized hottie robot from the future. Now I really regret getting rid of it all. This perfume sample is just a cruel reminder of my shortsightedness, and my general failure at life.

Oh, look. My darling boy cat has just plopped down on the magazine. Kitty says it’s time to stop, and kitty is probably right, because I have to go to work now. Phooey. I wish I got paid to read magazines and say terrible things about them. Everyone’s right. This economy DOES suck.

I’m only to page 80. This pace is terrifying. I’ll try to pick up some slack in part three.

Part one, for your recap pleasures.