Should I Bite My Tongue Re: Tyra Banks?

"You need to learn to pick your spots." That's what one of my older brothers used to tell me when I was growing up. I was cultivating my bullshit meter back then, and I'd always be speaking out, speaking up, and calling motherfuckers on the carpet for being liars, fakers, dickheads, poseurs, what have you. This, when I was 16. Flash forward a generation, and here I am, taking heed of those wise words for the sake of this blog that maybe one person might happen upon accidentally while clicking the "Next Blog" tab -- you probably stopped here because it isn't written in Portugese, and I'm not trying to sell you cock extension pills or nasty slut webcam dates. But I digress.

I have an issue with Tyra Banks and it pains me, because I used to love her. She, to me, embodied all that was excellent about the Victoria Secret catalogue. She, to me, made the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue legendary (yeah, Kathy Ireland made it so as well, but Tyra took it to heights unseen). When I moved to NYC nine years ago, I had only two real goals in mind: live in a loft in Tribeca... and date Tyra Banks. Neither has come to fruition, but I only feel like half a failure, because, damnit, that Tyra Banks is one of the worst case scenarios littering the wasteland that is American popular culture.

So I threw that out there, and you're probably wondering what I mean by that -- the idea of Tyra being a worst case scenario. And therein lies the dilemma. Should I run with this? Lambaste the Bizanks six ways til Sunday and call her out for the hacktacular mess that she is? Would it be a case of 'airing dirty laundry'? Is there a way to deconstruct Tyra Banks, the brand, without thrashing Tyra Banks, the woman? Would it ruin my chances of ever getting in her pants?

...to be continued... (wish i could write that in the Heroes font).