There is strength in art. There is beauty in art. The taut sculpted body of perfection with those aloof stares of indifference. And that gorgeous hair!
I hate pretty people. Bam! There, it’s out there!
Maybe it’s perfect people that I hate. You know… the ones that always have the answers. They always say just the right thing at just the right time. They always wear just the right clothes at just the right tightness. Fuck ’em. Even the perfect spell check in this text program I’m using right now wanted to replace “Fuck em” to “Fuck ME.” Now that’s perfection.
Perfect people must have issues. Maybe they’re into animal porn or they look up nude photos of Republicans via Google. I just can’t wrap my insecure, over-sensitive, unfocused head around these perfect pretty beings. At least not today.
Pretty people never have to work hard. Oh sure, they tell the rest of us that it’s SO difficult to be taken seriously as one so beautiful, but let them just try to ace a job interview with a flaming zit in the middle of their nose. Or just try having one blue eye and one brown eye. Try smiling with a mis-colored cap. I dare them. Oh the horror.
Pretty perfect people never fart. At least not that I’ve seen or heard. It’s as if their perfect bodies have an extra organ that takes care of stuff like that. Sort of like an extra spleen. They never make that face after a fart that shows disgust or pride at what just transpired from the behind. Maybe they actually are at a disadvantage.
I think not.
I have days that I too think I’m pretty. Some days I’m perfect. I just don’t think they ever happen on exactly the same day though. Friday evenings after the second glass of a good Chilean wine I’ve come damn close. But no… never truly on the same day.
I take selfies of myself (how’s that for perfection?) on days that I think I’m pretty. I take good photos then. I should post selfies of when I wake up in the morning. Or after I get out of the shower. Or sitting on the toilet. I bet pretty people have some sort of built in filter that makes them look stunning even after a colonoscopy. Maybe there’s an app for that?
I think I’m about finished with my rant about the beautiful beings that grace the Internet, that cover the grocery store newstands at my local Shop Rite during senior citizen Tuesday, the ones who drive nice cars, and have high paying jobs, have teeth straighter and whiter than an evangelical minister, and get everything just a little easier than the rest of us.
In the meantime, I’m going to go practice my selfies. Maybe it’s the light.
“Herc” @ the Met in NYC. Just look at that perfect pretty hair. And that nipple…