Gossip rags are officially trying to gross us out.

Rather than wow readers with juicy tidbits on how their favorite stars are more unusual and unique than fans originally knew, the trend is to tell us how gross and oddballish celebrities truly are.

It’s like a real-life biology experiment. Kind of like dissecting the frog, except the cute, dead specimen lying on your lab table is now Ashley Olsen.

Yep, it’s the latest news. Ashley Olsen was seen canoodling with Lance Armstrong. Normally, such news wouldn’t really stray far from normal celebrity romances. This one, however, is laden with a nice, big age gap of 25 years.

That’s like … as old as you. Ha!

But that’s not even the best part. In a Nov. 14 article on radar.com, a site that prides itself for bringing readers the best of pop culture, scandal, style and politics, the writer refers to Armstrong as “part-eunuch” and Olsen as “slightly less boobtastic” than Barbie.

Wow. That radar is a bit too highly honed even for my scathing tastes.

Not only have we compared the seven-time Tour de France winner and cancer survivor to a sexless creature, but we’ve painted the story of a pair that gives the creepy tabloid Bat-Boy a run for his money.

So … when were we going to start talking about their career accomplishments?

Gossip already annoys me. It’s like admitting your life isn’t exciting enough and being up to date on everyone else’s business makes your existence that much more worthwhile. It’s official: Gossip has, by dictionary definition, become disgusting. Not just from a human standpoint, of what’s decent and what’s not, but what’s just gross.

For example, instead of doing my environmental report on present-day Germany, I could go and vote on which Lindsay Lohan jail mugshot I like best! Golly, how ever shall I choose? The one where her face is as pale as my legs, or the one that looks like she just finished doing a line?

Or, how about the rags that compile photos of bikini-clad famous folk and compare cellulite?

I’m so glad bikini season is over. Not just because I don’t have to get cancer-red sunburns, but because my eyes can heal.

Seriously, I don’t want to see that! If they’re trying to channel the fat-lady greeting cards found at Gadzooks, they haven’t quite succeeded. The effort, however, has nailed the nasty, sick, foulness factor on the head.

Oh, you feel the need to buy one? Stop! It’s like the equivalent to saying watching E! News is an acceptable replacement for watching CNN. Just take that $2.50 out of your wallet and promptly put it into the garbage outside Wally’s Market if you really want to waste it.

At least that would stop the tabloid crap lining the checkout lanes from destroying my corneas.