Yesterday’s Times revealed something rather disturbing about the state of our nation. Are you ready for this? Parents actually favor attractive children to ugly ones. In short, ugly kids are getting the shit end of the stick, and no one seems to care. Those pug-faced, genetically-scorned, and let’s be honest, sort of smelly youngsters are scurrying around your local grocer infesting the produce with their—dare I say it?—ugliness. They are uglifying the entire place like a nightmarish episode of Trading Spaces: The Dogface Edition. Moreover these homely kin are free to run loose, careening from freezer to butcher’s block to cheese slicer as their parents subconsciously hope for a tragic accident that affords their little tykes an Extreme Makeover courtesy of their local Food Emporium.
This startling exposé teaches us a thing or two about procreation. Fucking “up” is of utmost importance to ensure that your nine months of pregnancy and 26 hours of labor aren’t for nothin’. Who wants to invest all that time, money, stretch marks, and sagginess in the tit area only to be met with a six month old that looks like a troll doll, circa 1995? Next time someone introduces you to Brad with a “really lovely personality,” and a “wonderful career,” remember to think twice before you procreate—even if you are 35 and desperate for a hubby and a split-level ranch style home on Wisteria Lane.
Sure you can treat your kids like second-rate members of the Surreal Life house when they’re growing up, but what happens to those scorned tykes when they reach puberty? Oh, right, they get uglier. But what about adulthood? Do the scars of a disfigured upbringing translate into a desperation-wracked adulthood? Why, yes. Yes, they do.
The ugliness may fade, but the love-me, love-me, love-me effect of being second choice don’t. Go to a bar any night of the week, and you will see some formerly unattractive tot who has blossomed into a full grown decent looking man begging for some love and affection.
Take a couple weeks ago, a few girlfriends and I found ourselves in a random dive bar just north of cool. We had indulged in several bottles of wine at dinner and were excited (drunk) for the night of merriment that lay ahead. It was a Monday evening and the place was relatively empty, except for a few lonely stragglers cozied up to the bar. One of the said stragglers sent the bartendress over to offer my friend Jill a drink—”on him,” she told us, with an overly made up smile. Not wanting to be rude and decline, Jill accepted, and stopped by the bar on her way out for a cigarette to thank the guy for the drink. He interpreted her politeness as an invitation to join the rest of our group. We talked to him for a while and soon discovered he was severely socially retarded and managed to make every conversation massively awkward by staring into your eyes just a little too long and using expressions such as “cutie pie.” Soon, feeling trapped and suddenly understanding why the caged bird sings, we decided to gather our belongings and leave before things took a turn for the even worse.
But the formerly ugly-tot-cum-dangerous-man would not let us go.
“What’s wrong with me?” he asked us, “Why don’t you like me? I was just trying to be nice. What’s your deal? Is it something I said? What happened? I thought we were friends? Were you going to say goodbye? What’s the problem? Why? Why? You guys are rude.”
This kung fu approach to picking up chicks was one we had never witnesses before and quite frankly was a little off-putting and scary. He made Corey Feldman look like Mr. Romance and Paul Krugman seem less like a rabid rottwieler. A really smart rabid rottweiler, but still.
Fearing for my life, I apologized on behalf of the group and explained we had to leave to meet friends.
“Bitches!!!” he screamed after us, “I hate you!” and then a pause, “No one wants me,” he whimpered.
Here were the effects of an ugly childhood, rearing its even uglier head in adulthood.
So you see, the lesson here is that though ugly now, those ankle biters may grow up to be even more, ahem, frightening. So to Britney and K-Fed; take care of that precious babe while you can. After all, odds are already stacked against it.