Bigfoot, Alien Abductions, and Jesus’ Face on a Tortilla

I had hoped to write a timely Halloween blog about the scary creatures that live among us. When I was growing up, these stories graced the front cover of The National Enquirer every week. The paper was one of the few places you could find the in-depth scoops about the unnatural and freaky events happening in our world. Even the movie Men in Black touted the papers value, holding it as some of the best journalism on the planet. Excited about doing research for my blog, I trotted off the store and bought the newest copy. What a horrible disappointment.

The first disturbing thing I noticed was the cover. It looked like every other cover that flanked it. Movie stars in bathing suits. Movie stars locked in passionate embraces of other famous people. I would not have been nearly as disappointed if one of those celebrities had turned into a zombie and had eaten its film crew. But no, these were ordinary stars doing ordinary star stuff. Where were the predictions of Nostradamus? As a young girl, I used to pour over my grandmother’s copy of The Enquirer, trying to decipher the secrets of his prophecies. The cover held no mention of the world ending, or the dead rising, or Billy Bob’s neighbor turning into a werewolf. It’s almost Halloween, for crying out loud, where’s the horror?

As I flipped the pages, I became frantic looking for headlines like; ‘I GAVE BIRTH TO BIGFOOT’S BABY’, or ‘I SAW JESUS’ FACE ON A TORTILLA SO I ATE IT AND CLEANSED MY COLON FROM SIN.’ There was nothing, not a single mention of the half shark man, time machines, or a 100-foot sandwich. I also noticed a stunning lack of alien abductions, anal probes, and crop circles. They have all been replaced by story after story of too thin movie stars, divorcing movie stars, yoga gurus dishing the dirt on movie stars, and new mom movie stars who got their bodies back within 48 hours of giving birth. Sure these articles are scary, but they're not worthy of a Halloween blog. Thankfully, The Enquirer still had over forty listings for psychic hotlines in the back, but where were the hard-hitting scoops about the Batboy, or the prehistoric dinosaur caught in a lake in Alaska, or the 700-pound ballerina? I’m sorry to say, my friends, that those days are gone. The once solid icon of sensationalized journalism has sold out to the lure of Hollywood.

So when you need to know about the cannibalistic tribes of the Serengeti, the latest sighting of the Loch Ness Monster, or when the world is going to end, don’t bother looking to The National Enquirer for answers. The only thing you will find there is how to cleanse your colon just like the stars do.