College students have a fascination for celebrities and sex, so news like Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez breaking up gets more attention than developments in the Syrian conflict.

Honestly, I’m also shocked that Bieber has anything remotely related to a sex life, but I’m not shocked enough to actually read — or give a damn — about it.

I don’t care that Gomez is jealous of Bieber tweeting pictures of himself with models with cup sizes twice his age. I don’t care that he met Gomez on Sunday night to discuss their problems and that he still likes her, but is intrigued by other women. And yes, I don’t care that I did more research for this column than I care to admit.

Congratulations, Bieber, you finally hit puberty. Hopefully that means your voice will drop and your popularity will vanish, and my neighbors will finally take down that obnoxious poster of you that I can see from across the street.

You know who you are.

I want to end the absurdity of celebrity, so I propose a change. Let’s raise the bar of what a celebrity must do to make headlines. No more news of Snooki’s latest bang or Zac Efron’s new girlfriend. It’s time to put in some rules to improve news:

Only let Tom Cruise into the news if his head explodes. The man hasn’t made a decent movie since I was in middle school and is one of Hollywood’s biggest jerks. The most impossible mission he has ever been on was marriage. Just ask Nicole Kidman and Katie Holmes.

American’s infatuation with Megan Fox’s latest hairstyle is mind-boggling. And I’m pretty sure that if Angelina Jolie adopted another African baby, the world might actually stop turning. So let’s stop covering these two altogether.

The media can cover Pamela Anderson when she finally floats to space. One of these days she is going to get some serious back pain from carrying around “Baywatch’s” best boobs, and she’ll have the silicone drained and replaced with helium. I hypothesize this would cause her to be the first unmanned human to reach outer space without a vessel. But knowing Anderson, she won’t be completely unmanned.

Write about Lindsay Lohan if she changes her name to Tony Montana. All she has to do is get a scar on her face and she’ll have more right to the name than Al Pacino ever did.

Never publish anything about the Kardashians. Ever. These people have done absolutely nothing of notoriety other than screw up Lamar Odom’s career. No wonder he throws up so many air balls now. He’s married to one.

Stay away from the entire state of New Jersey. The girls have the same skin tone as Otto and the guys all think they belong in a bodybuilding contest. Stay away from the entire state: Don’t risk letting the stench stick to you.

Leave the Osbournes alone. Seriously, Ozzy sounds like Charlie Brown’s English teacher, and Sharon and Kelly have as much right to be celebrities as Charlie Brown has to be the Jets’ kicker. It’s time to get off the “Crazy Train” and let this family get the therapy it badly needs.

Report if Taylor Swift writes a song about a successful relationship. I know I’m being a little hypocritical with this one, but can you blame me? It would be so shocking if the world’s saddest teen artist actually sang something happy that it would have to be reported.

If Emma Watson does anything, it’s news. Everyone has his or her celebrity crush, and I’ve had mine since this star wore that pink dress in the third “Harry Potter” movie.

Screw the rules. Give me more Emma Watson.

Brett Fortnam is a senior newspaper journalism and political philosophy major who will be unemployed in six months. His column appears every Thursday until there are enough complaints to make him stop. He can be reached at bpfortna@syr.edu, but he will not respond.

Published on November 15, 2012 at 1:33 am