Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Tiresome vapid prattle that I will soon be rid of

It's exhausting to hear women talking about how other women look all the time. Most people pretty much look like hideous deformed drooling beasts most of the time anyway. It's basically a ridiculous unrelenting irony to stare at the magazine and deliver mean, objectifying commentary about the physical appearance of strangers (who all make more money than we can comprehend mostly because they're so good at being perceived as beautiful). And it makes my brain leak out in a sizzling puddle. And it makes every reflective surface (including the dull penetrating empties nestled in their hardly-graduated-from-mongoloid skulls) become a fluorescent magnified mirror that exposes and trumpets every errant hair, revolting pore, and darkened sack of haggardness. I just want to lay face down on the carpet and moan like the slimy, writhing, temporary masses we all are. Good day.

AND THEN WHEN I GET HOME I REMEMBER: The point is, as partially expressed pictorially above, you too are a hag. These are your hag things. Embrace and rejoice.


  1. May the pungent body odors of an unfragranced horde of humanity melt the shiny news stand avatars of the cult of the pretty, forever and ever amen