You know how we are supposed to all hate Rupert Murdoch? Well, don’t worry, I still hate how he’s destroying The Wall Street Journal and Fox News is definitely the Antichrist. But I swear, Michael Wolff, in a scathingly upbeat Vanity Fair profile, makes Murdoch seem like unintentionally hilarious company — as long as you take it all with massive heap of salt. First off, he loves gossip, and it’s oddly endearing. Like he’s totally in touch with his inner teenage girl, even with such high-stakes rumors as Bloomberg buying The Times. And then there is Murdoch the hapless patriarch, at the mercy of his adult children and their young step-mother. Who wouldn’t laugh at the vision of the 77-year-old arch-conservative living Wendi’s Manhattan life of toddlers, “nannies, dogs, play dates, and a father picking up after them”? Or at the cut-throat businessman being so scared to tell Wendi that their two children would not get a voting interest in the family trust — that he told Charlie Rose on the air instead? What’s more, he’s kind of become a social climber, and he’s really digging Wendi’s liberal friends like Bono. All of which makes me wonder: If we sicced Wendi clones on contemptuous conservatives like Karl Rove, and the Wendi Clone escorted him to the Aspen Institute Ideas Conference, could we win their hearts and minds, just as we seem to be winning Rupert’s?

Doesn’t an irritable-bowels club sound like such a gas? In case you skipped Sunday Styles yesterday, a DNA testing company held a “spit party” for generally overexposed socializers like DVF and Jared Kushner last week, where everyone could submit their saliva in order to learn killjoy news like a propensity for breast cancer, and then use the information for social networking. So, like, you can totally have a pre-pity party with, say, Wendi Murdoch, because she is also genetically predisposed to, say, baldness! Watson & Crick would be so psyched.

No wonder Emilia Fanjul got into the public relations business — her Big Sugar family needs a serious spin-meister for all the ugly business it conducts. First, in July, Gawker revealed that Emilia’s mother’s publicist is a Klanslady. Then, yesterday, Sunday Busines ran an expose of the Fanjul sugar monopoly, which not only extorts consumers — i.e., you and me — with government price supports but also is trying to block the State of Florida’s historic Everglades restoration. Even if Emilia has little to do with such unseemly matters, the revelations are a pointed reminder of how girls like her land in the society pages — ruthlessly profit-seeking, rule-breaking forebears. Until this Everglades thing gets resolved, I am boycotting Casa de Compo, the family’s resort in the Dominican Republic, and I’m embarking on a no-sugar diet. God, I’m going to miss Splenda.