I don’t like the Pretty People.

    I tell myself that sometimes: I don’t like the Pretty People. 

    The truth is, I, dear reader, am more likely than not like you. I do like the Pretty People. I love watching women. I love the way the way they’re built, I love the way they move – the bounce of their step, the bend of smiles on glossed and plain lips, the bounce of full breasts underneath shirts tight or otherwise, the curve of hips and the tilt and sway of a nicely filled out pair of jeans. 

    I love the way a woman smells – the scent of her shampoo, of her perfume and bodysplash, of the way her skin smells underneath all of that. 

    But, now I’m sounding like an apologist, so fuck that. Here’s my beef:

    Pretty People fuckin’ suck, ok? It’s not wholly their fault, either, true! It’s jackasses who swarm around them, filling their heads with absolute bullshit about how, somehow, because they’re beautiful they’re good people, they’re smart, and funny and blah, blah, blah. They get gifts and presents and generally have certain things in life so much easier than us, the Not Pretty People. 

    Well, let me be more specific: us Not Pretty People without pussies. 

    Ladies, you with me on this?

    Oh, I know… a lot of you ladies DON’T have it easy, that’s true. But, it’d be far easier for a Not Pretty Girl to get laid than it is for a Not Pretty Guy. THAT is an indisputable fact, and if you say otherwise, I tell ya… you’re stupid, full of shit or completely nuts. 

    But, getting back to the Pretty People, yes?

    Yes, I know. Being one of the Pretty People ain’t easy. 

    No shit. It can be summed up in one word: obligated.

    As in: A guy puts in all that time and kind words and dinners and Shit and therefore he feels you’re obligated to do something for him.

    Like, drop trou’ and let him ravage the pussy.

    But, here’s what kills me, what absolutely kills me: too many Pretty People allow their heads to be filled up with absolute tripe. Beyond the pretty face and killer tits, what do they really have to offer? Ego, that’s what. Ego, and drama, and petty, narcissistic empty-headedness that makes you wish the bitch would just shut the fuck up already about how horrible it is the Banana Republic ran out of her favorite fucking khakis. 

    Actually, now that I think about it… it isn’t so much the Pretty People I don’t like. It’s the system, man, the system! Why? Because, who’s going to provide the Pretty People with a reality check?

    The people who fill their ears with crap? The men who’re hanging around them and giving them money and gifts’n shit to crawl into their panties? Yeah, and I can hear them saying, “But, no, no! I really care about her!” 

    Bitch, please. SHE knows the only reason you’re doing anything for her is because you find her attractive. You talkin’ some crap about how she’s special shows just how clueless you are. 

    She’s special, right? What MAKES her so special, huh? No, really! What does? 

    Is it because she’s pretty?

    That doesn’t make her anything, motherfucker, that just makes you superficial.

    Is it because of her personality?

    WHAT personality? She smiles and giggles a lot and wants world peace or some shit? Because it’s so cute the way she answers her cell phone in the middle of a date and yaps on about some dumb shit with some other person about American Idol and how the Banana Republic restocked her favorite khakis? Because her eyes light up when you talk about the money you’re gonna give her and the vacations you can take her out on?

    Funny, that seems to be the only time she gives a shit about what you’ve got to say.

    To you Pretty People who I just described: …ya know what? I don’t fucking blame you. At all. Not one bit. It’s the Games people play, and you’re just trying to get yours. But… read a fuckin’ book sometime, and know that the world, contrary to popular belief does NOT revolve around YOU.

    But, fuck you nonetheless, you vapid, empty-headed bitches who make it so much harder for decent guys who just don’t KNOW any better to really meet women who they really DO like. 

    Anyway!

    How does this shit affect me? It’s quite simple: I’m admittedly shallow…to a point. Nothing I love more than a beautiful woman with a mind, who shares and enjoys my interests. A woman who loves to laugh, is aware and has an interest – or at least an intelligent, reasoned opinion - of politics and religion and history and Spongebob Squarepants, who has a helluva sense of humor, and who I’d love to lick all over. 

    Including her no-no places.

    ESPECIALLY her no-no places.

    But, whose fault is that? Mine, obviously. Well, dear reader, I shall leave you with this thought, and then I'm going to watch some porn and wonder - as I'm wont to do - whether or not the woman is really liking it, or just faking it:

    I could take the easy way out and blame Mine Penis, but instead, I shall be mature, I shall be responsible, and I shall be wise and blame the Pretty People's Tits. 

    And, their Asses. Can’t forget those, either.