3 hours, 5 thoughts
Sometimes it gets me down a bit. All the ugliness in the world. I’m not talking about poverty, disease, hunger or hatred. I’m talking about physical appearance.
People walking around with their big ugly faces and flawed bodies. Just walking around inflicting themselves on everybody. They know they’re ugly and yet they still crawl from their homes each days and interact with the population at large.
I’m just sick to death of it.
I know, I know … what can you do? You can point it out to them all day long and yet they still want to hang around everybody else. The worst part is that they want to find a way to procreate and pass on their hideous genes to another generation of ugly people. You need a license to drive a car, right? Isn’t there a way that we can pass a law that requires people to have some sort of committee give them a quick looking over before letting them run off and create more of the same?
I’m just sick of some people’s unrelenting ugliness. Day in and day out with the same repulsive mug. How hard is it to buy a cloth sack and throw it over their unsightly head?
Suddenly, I’m the one that has to sit there all day looking at this fucking ugly person and I have to keep my mouth shut while it’s perfectly ok for them to crash around inflicting their face on me? Even cracking what passes for a smile and making the bile in my stomach lurch up into my esophagus.
What the fuck?! Has the world gone mad?
Put your fucking head in a wood chipper you ugly fucking person. Either go join a freak show or tie rocks to your feet and go drown yourself! That’s what I want to scream every time I have the misfortune of stumbling into one of these abominations with their moles or too-thick eyebrows or non-apple-bottoms or chipped teeth or too-long noses or too-long toes or stubby noses or non-flat stomachs.
You can’t teach a robot to cry. That’s what I always hear when people talk about artificial intelligence, that we’ll never be able to teach robots emotions
Don’t. Just teach them when they’re supposed to act a certain way. Look down at a dead body and cry. It’s what you’re supposed to do. Have the ducts in their eyes release a few drops of water and they are everything that we think we are. Everything we’re told we are. Everything we are supposed to be even though sometimes we’re not.
Teach them to lie to themselves. Instruct them how to pretend and they’ll figure out the rest. Just sit over the box containing a body and release the tears and hold everything else in. Teach them to fear what they feel or don’t feel. Even better, give them the serenity of knowing they don’t feel anything but it’s ok. Be themselves … which is nothing but a ghost walking through a finite period of time.
Until it’s their time to be in the box. Not seeing the parade of people walk by, some of the crying and some of them not and some of them wishing they could and others wishing when they cried they meant it.
Maybe robots are too honest to cry.
I think it’s important to every now and then treat myself to a little subtle upgrade. While I am not typically a fan of cosmetic surgery, having seen too many vain women end up looking like some sort of melting creature from space, I don’t think a little work here and there is a bad thing, as long as it makes you feel better about yourself. That’s why I marched right into my doctor’s office and got my anus bleached yesterday.
I’m telling you, I feel like a million bucks!
Once reserved for porn actors, anal lightening (sounds like a gay baseball team) is now all the rage. It’s no different than getting your teeth whitened these days. They hand you a little color card displaying all the shades of the post-procedure bung, from cheery salmon to ghoul white. You can, for a little extra, do what I did and get a little anal fade going. Now instead of being worried about what people will think about my dark ring I simply can’t wait for the first person to drink in the sight of my new hole.
It’s as easy as bending over, spreading your cheeks and having a cream applied to your asshole. Then all you have to do is sit there holding your butt wide open for 45 minutes while the cream burns your anus. Once you’re done you get a 5 minute break and then you repeat that step two more times. Literally you only have to be in anal agony for a little more than two hours and you get to stagger out with a whole new balloon-knot.
One you can be proud of.
What is it about the nipple anyway?
If you’re a guy, it’s all about the nipple. You haven’t truly seen the breast until you’ve seen the nipple. A girl can have a swimsuit on that exposes 98% of the jug but without that last fleshy little ring you can’t consider yourself as having seen the tit. It’s the difference between the pull-out Sears bra advertisement in the local paper and porn.
Same girl. Same pose. Just the nipple-factor.
They come in all sizes, shapes and shades and once a man has seen a nipple it forever changes the way he sees that girl. Legs and butts and stomachs are all well and good but once a guy has laid eyes on a nipple the relationship has gone to the next level. He is a member of the nipple club.
Now the problem with girls today is that they are not as worried about whom they allow into their nipple club. With picture phones and webcams they are inviting in members at a dizzying rate! I don’t think they fully appreciate how sacred the nipple is. In fact, they risk making it just another body part.
I know what you’re thinking.
What about the vagina?
That’s a whole other issue. That’s a reproductive organ and thus lacks the naïve charm of a nipple. Seen at the wrong angle the vagina is downright terrifying.
Not the nipple. It can say hello from under a t-shirt or lay there quietly lurking under a sweater like an alligator waiting for a gazelle to stray too close to the water’s edge. It’s the great wildcard when it comes to arousal. Men will paw at them clumsily not knowing whether the slightest breeze against one will have the girl’s toes curling in ecstasy or if he might as well be pulling on a nearby doorstop.
Why do you think Hollywood is so obsessed with the ‘nip slip’? If you’re a female celebrity and you think you have cute nipples, it’s only a matter of time until you “accidentally” let one pop out on the red carpet. If you have ugly nipples then you have to be a ‘serious’ actress.
For heaven’s sake, men have them!
But somehow on a girl, it’s a whole different animal.
So, anyway. If you’re a girl …take care of your nipples and try to avoid showing them to just anyone. I know that when you see them every day they become very boring but to the men of the world they are still something special.
I have been fortunate in my life in the respect of having been party to more than one last hurrah. Some final event that brings to a close a particular chapter of your life or becomes some sort of turning point in the lives around you. The question becomes whether or not it’s important, that if at the time you were aware of it being a last hurrah, or if it was only in retrospect that you knew it was, in fact, a last hurrah. Can you have a next-to-last hurrah or even just a plain old hurrah? What if you have a reunion of a last hurrah 20 years later … does that invalidate it?
On August 5, 1945, there were a lot of people in Hiroshima having a last hurrah without even knowing it.
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