I like to read degrading, idiotic trash as much as the next girl. I bask in the… I like to read degrading, idiotic trash as much as the next girl. I bask in the unapologetic superficiality of Lucky magazine, flipping through page after page of the “flirtiest skirts” and ridiculous instructions on how to achieve that “pretty punk” look (yes, apparently such a thing exists). I enjoy sitting back with a thick, glossy copy of Cosmopolitan, combing through the piles of monotonous sex tips and dating articles in hopes of finding that new, “Oh, I’m So Embarrassed” story about how some chick farted while doin’ the deed with her hottie co-worker.

However, I became very distraught when I discovered an issue of YM — or Your Magazine — in my mailbox recently. Now, for those unfamiliar with the publication, it’s basically the poor girl’s Seventeen, with columns for the adolescent girl soon to be reading Cosmo, touching upon such hot-button topics as “Are Sparkles This Year’s Glitter?” and how freaking awesome lip gloss is. How this infantile crap weaseled its way into my mail, I can only guess. I do know that, upon scanning the cover, I realized that this particular reading material was less mindless, innocent entertainment and more mindless, insulting drivel.

The first feature that caught my eye was the title in big, bold letters, “10 Hot Guys. Help One Get A Scholarship.” Sure enough, further inspection led to a spread of 10 hairless, half-dressed young men brandishing sports equipment that their girly, little fingers had probably never touched prior to that photo shoot.

And how, pray tell, can you help these promising, young jackasses win that coveted $10,000? Why, by judging them on how they answer asinine questions, of course.

It’s a battle of intellect where one has to decide between a date with Christina or Avril, or if he would rather have either a third nipple or a sixth toe and why. When asked the latter question, 16-year-old Derek Ebner answered that he would chose the sixth toe because it could help him “swim really fast.” Gee, logic like that should make any girl want to indulge in some spoiled, pretty boy’s future. Maybe after our little Rhodes Scholar makes his fortune as a brain surgeon, you can totally marry him so that he may bless your womb with one of his bony, worthless offspring.

Next was the ever-insightful “Grade the Guys” column. It seemed harmless at first, with confused young women contributing stories on their latest guy trouble, allowing the scourge that is the YM staff to grade the young man’s character. For example, one starts, “I was totally into this guy and got the courage to ask him out,” only to end with the writer being jilted because, a week later, the boy was still trying to decide between her and another girl. Well, Buster Brown, you get a C-. Put that in your airplane glue and sniff it. Maybe now that she has been reassured of the boy’s unsatisfactory behavior, Karina, age 12, can finally sleep on her pink, marabou-feather pillow at night.

If this wasn’t bad enough, these two features are followed by an article introduced as “Say It: Feminist is Not a Dirty Word.” Dedicating an entire magazine to warping the minds of children into prematurely engaging in boy-crazy, petty dating crap is one thing, but to then try and throw in some weak resemblance of integrity near the end is a whole different story. The demographic this magazine caters to can barely read at an eighth-grade level, let alone comprehend the conflicted, hypocritical attitudes presented in this second-rate rag. An 18-year-old, fully developed, educated woman reading about it is one thing, but to a group that’s 12-16 years old, it’s just another way to manipulate the already impressionable minds of young girls.

After the article on feminism, the magazine presents the statistic that in 2002, 57 percent of all bachelors degrees were given to women, asking the question, “So where’s our girl President already?”

Indeed. Perhaps she’s too busy trying to help some pre-pubescent, skateboard-star-wannabe win a scholarship.