Teen Vogue Did a Piece on Megan Trainor’s Engagement As If It Wasn’t To A Fucking Spy Kid

Teen fuckin' Vogue, man.

Teen fuckin' Vogue, man.

Really, Teen Vogue? You thought you could cover Megan Trainor’s engagement to Daryl Sabara and gloss over his history as a Spy Kid? That you could relegate his role as Robert Rodriguez’s 2001 child espionage breakout character to nine words and call it adequate? Like you could do that to Junito Rocket Racer Rebel "Juni" Cortez without consequence?

WHERE'S THE HYPER LINK ON HIS NAME FOR HIS WORK, TEEN VOGUE

WHERE'S THE HYPER LINK ON HIS NAME FOR HIS WORK, TEEN VOGUE

Like I would tacitly accept that you allowed what must have been an unpaid intern to saunter into cyberspace and drag their limp, negligent fingers about a keyboard, spitting up a two bit rag on Mimi Sneaker getting engaged without the crux of the story being international Level One Clearance OSS super spy Juni Cortez? Or endure how you mentioned that uh maybe duh he kinda sorta duh took part in a five hundred million dollar internationally grossing franchise, in a bracketed aside using the word might’ve like a tenth grade remedial english student.

UNBELIEVABLE!

UNBELIEVABLE!

I ripped a door from its hinges realizing that you thought I wouldn’t comment on how the “photo” accompanying your article like a shit sandwich to a tall glass of hot piss obscures his boyishly charming and infinitely inviting face, as if that might be acceptable after he provided not one, but four, deeply moving performances from ages nine through nineteen, transporting us to Terra Cotta Texas, Steve Buscemi Island, Nintendo Hell, and Inside A Big Clock.

Okay, fine. Proposing can be a milestone moment in someone’s life. And yes, I guess Moby Jogger has produced three top ten singles. But unlike those two scenarios, you know what won’t fade with time? The story of a misunderstood child spy with one shortcoming (his warts) bravely confronting the kidnapping of his parents to ultimately triumph over not only his personal fears, but those of the ones he loves most (his family) by navigating the castle of a children’s television show kingpin and his CGI thumb henchmen (his Thumb Thumbs).

So go ahead, Teen Vogue. Keep calling what you’re doing reporting. I’ll keep microwaving dog shit and calling it dinner. Maybe I’ll wash it down with a scalding cup of piss and call it wine. Because apparently journalistic integrity doesn’t matter anymore! I guess any ol’ rejected Northwestern applicant can log online and squirt out an engagement announcement without including the essential detail that one member of the new union once piloted a genetically modified gorilla-spider, also known as a Spider Monkey, against a genetically modified lizard-dinosaur, also known as a Slizzard, and won, saving both him and his sister from near certain death.

I hope you sleep well at night knowing that you’ve robbed Juni of his rightful spotlight. I hope you can live with yourself after undercutting the expertise it took him to navigate a 3D battle royale wherein he not only slaughtered multiple peers in a death race that laughed in the face of physics, but also experienced deep emotional turmoil after falling in love with an uncomfortably attractive eleven year old girl, realized she was computer program designed by a top hatted Sylvester Stallone, and ultimately overcame the dissonance that accompanied fulfilling his duty of shutting down the game and becoming his first love’s executioner. But most of all, I hope they serve shit sundaes (with a massive side of piping hot piss) in hell.  

At least we know he's happy.

At least we know he's happy.