December 28, 2005
I Want To Cut Your Face Off.
Well, 2005 isn't even finished yet, but it has already become shatteringly clear that the revolution that we have all been so desperately praying for isn't even close to coming to fruition. It will be a bloody revolution - a revolution in which the war for the soul of western society will be waged in a savage face-off between the forces of good and evil, leading to a truly apocalyptic finale - the details of which I daren't reveal to you at this point.
But, with the year slowly limping to an anticlimactic grand finale, the one thing that becomes painfully apparent to me is that I am truly sick of the one salient constant in the physionomy of all western culture - I am sick and fucking tired of having to see - and hear about - good looking people.
This might sound petty - but, frankly, fuck you. Everywhere I look, I am taunted by sets of perfect, gleaming white teeth, winning smiles, firmly separated abs, enticingly auburn hair, well-defined cheekbones and eyes, and a seemingly endless parade of Frankenstein-esque body parts, which have been surgically altered to fit in with the airbrushed fantasies of the terminally adolescent twentysomething male.
I probably reveal nothing when I admit this to you, loyal reader - I am one ugly fucker. Nobody can ever accuse me of moistening the loins of the fairer sex - at least, not without Rohypnol and a super soaker. I am so hideous to the eye that when I drag my oozing, pustulent carcass out of my sweaty, dank hovel in the northern suburbs, women are heard to scream and drag their children indoors, while grown men - tattooed, bearded, and recently released from prison - fall to their knees, losing control of their bowels and vomiting over themselves in twitching spasms of fear and repulsion. I have rarely had an intimate experience with a woman that hasn't ended with her vomiting uncontrollably through the nearest window, and spending many, many hours in the shower, scrubbing at her skin with steel wool until she is a shredded, bleeding mess of ragged epidermis, hollering at the seemingly uninterested gods about how she will never be clean again.
But, listen up. I come not to seek your sympathy - nor your pity. I have found solace and wisdom in my physical decrepitude. Like Samson, I draw a seemingly endless supply of power and strength from every open, weeping sore and bulbous, misshapen bulb of veiny, glistening fat that hang from my carcass-like body. This power comes in the form of my sheer coolness, but also in the clarity that it provides.
Because, after all, good looking people are total a-holes. You know that, and I know that, and I'm fucking sick of people telling me off for pointing this out loudly in pubs. We're taught from a fairly early age that there is some strange connection to be drawn between having piercing blue eyes and a muscular, sculpted body - and being really cool. The truth is, people who don't look like deformed mutants are almost always boring, annoying turds. You would have to have the balls of a jackass to take a person seriously who has never known the sting of a coke bottle bouncing off the back of his misshapen head. The only people in life who are ever truly cool are laced with skin diseases, and have exposed bones of their spinal column bursting out of the skin of their hairy back. I can categorically state this as something that is irrefutably true. I go out, after all, from time to time. There are those in this life who take pity on the beast, and poke me with a stick until I slither into a car, leaving a shiny trail of thick, propulsive mucus in my wake, at which point, I end up on Brunswick Street, watching the people walking by and trying not to stare or vomit. And, I meet friends of friends of friends. But, the one thing that remains true is this - any of them who are lucky enough to resemble human rather than beast are always screamingly tedious, self-obsessed bastards. If you go through life with a winning smile, and a set of sexy pectoral muscles, doors are opened for you, and the entire planet engulfs your throbbing manhood, with lips covering teeth, staring up at your steely blue eyes with a look that asks sensuously: 'Am I doing it right?'
After all, I was always one hideous fucking bastard. Even as a young boy, before I began the process known in my family as 'The Diseased Chrysalis', I always had to watch other dudes getting by without having to do homework, without having to clean the chewing gum off the undersides of desks, and without having to suffer the punishing indignity of anal rape - simply because their teeth hadn't been stained by the vomit that spurted from their throats at the sight of a reflective surface, and because their bodies weren't jigsaw puzzles of ill-fitting flesh, muscle, and bone. I have documented the kaleidoscope of violence that my younger years saw on other parts of this site, but - I assure you - those who deemed it appropriate to chase me into my swamp, throwing rocks at my gills and white, scaly underbelly were almost always far better looking than I.
Of course, you don't even have to actually BE good looking to THINK that you're good looking - which means that you'll behave like a complete and utter cocksucker anyway. I'll give you an example of what I'm talking about. An old, estranged friend of mine genuinely thought that he was some hot shit - while, in actual fact, he looked like a smelly, beady-eyed weasel - yet, he would stand in the mirror and wax messianic on the subject of how awesome looking he was, and how Tha Chicks were desperate to drain a little love sap out of his throbbing pink sex truncheon. Then, he had the audacity to let me know that I was a fat, sad, sexless creature - borne of a unique fusion of mollusc, cripple, and aborted foetus.
But, he was wrong. For, I rise - like the phoenix - from the ashes of my own status as a shambling, diseased parody of humanity, and I am suddenly aware of one truism - I am cooler than everyone else in the world. I have achieved this level of coolness because of - not in spite of - my total and complete physical deformity. And, that's awesome.
I forsee a future - fuelled by the glorious reality of nuclear assault - in which humanity will have been reduced to an amorphous blob of pulsating flesh, with brains and eyes bobbing along the surface. We will all be a gestalt entity - a sloshing ocean of veiny, sweating flesh that fills the streets and roads and parks like a pink blanket, with the screams and protests of the former physical elites ringing hollow as we feel the soft sprinkle of fallout on what remains of our bodies. We'll be a single beast - molten skin with spine and brain visible beneath the surface of the skin. And, I will be the ruler. I will assert my place as the ultimate conquerer of the galaxy - with humankind having already sacrificed their bodies to me in homage.
There is something satisfying about the thought of violent disfigurement of the attractive and privelaged.
Posted by David at December 28, 2005 11:45 PM | TrackBack