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Why Wasn’t I Even Considered For The Title of Sexiest Man Alive?

Beetlejuice

 Okay, so, apparently, the fascist fashionistas at People magazine think people with cystic acne and box cutter scars don’t qualify for the title of “sexiest man alive”. What, spastic, highly stretchable lips that can be pulled over the nose or flipped under my chin, like an upside-down set of flipped eyelids, doesn’t fit in with your idealized, unapproachable, entirely unrealistic concept of male beauty? No, apparently it doesn’t, because you, editors of people magazine, refuse to believe that male beauty can be a lot more than whatever George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Ryan Reynolds, and this year’s sexiest man alive, Bradley Cooper, have got going for them.

People like me, we’re what real men look like, and not some cartoon character on the cover of a dollar store romance novel.  A good-looking, non-surgically enhanced and non-pampered male in the real world, such as myself, uses their disadvantages and very slight, very human, imperfections to their advantage. For example, I don’t have a team of personal trainers monitoring my every step to ensure that each step I take achieves the maximum level of caloric destruction so I can burn as much fat as I possibly can whenever I walk. I’m just a regular Joe! Regular Joes like me have to fasten our fat flaps down with leather straps and reinforced iron ore buckles as to prevent our more slippery organs from sliding out of place and collecting atop our pubic bones. Why? Because we’re real people; not some phony like that Cooper guy, who might as well be made of CGI.

All of these “sexiest” men all have these perfectly symmetrical faces that have been touched up endlessly by makeup artists and photoshop experts. Of course they’re pretty! They aren’t real! I’m real. I don’t need to dab any foundation or concealer on the tooth protruding horizontally through the flesh of my cheek on the left side of my face, nor do I feel I have to go comb through my eyebrows with a fine brush and a pair of tweezers, intricately removing any and all traces of stray lice. Sure, my facial insects may not meet your ideal of sexiness, but my sex life is still rockin’ even though I don’t live up to your impossible standard. How do you think the lice got there to begin with? Sex-related stuff, that’s how.

The shallow, frivolous folks over at People magazine may take one look in to my infected, yellowed eyes and see someone that, due to a few minor brain-related catastrophes, finds it difficult to differentiate between sterilized contact lens solution and ham juice. The truth is, I’m so much more than that, just as I am so much more than the guy with one snake nostril and a mild case of candle ear, which is when the ears build-up an astounding amount of wax at an accelerated rate in a short period of time. Above all that, I’m just a guy — and a decent-looking one at that. Sure, I may not win any accolades anytime soon, but who will?

None of us will.

So all you Regular Joes out there, just keep on applying salve to those boils that look like alien egg pods and just keep on plucking your tongue, because you’re perfect the way you are!

 

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