Dear owners of American Pharoah,
I am so happy for you. Delighted. Amazed. And you are right, the sport needs heroes, and your horse has claimed a title that seemed like it would be forevermore out of reach. Fantastic. However…
You do know that millions of American children will now not know how to correctly spell “pharaoh,” right?
Dear Entertainment Weekly,
I do not read Vogue for a reason. Or Elle. Or Marie Claire. Or Vanity Fair — Caitlin Jenner notwithstanding.
But you? Perfume ads? Seriously? I know that Chris Pine looked hotter than July in Kansas, but that’s no reason to permeate your pages with the overwhelming stench of Giorgio Armani cologne.
I do not want to cancel my subscription, but I may be forced to. Migraines are too high a price to pay for winning award show betting pools without being having seen (or heard) any of the nominees.