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Oct. 17th, 2005
The Obvious Conclusion
Oct. 17th, 2005 01:49 pmAfter decades of observing the human race, I have found myself unable to avoid an obvious conclusion: pretty girls have all the luck.
Don't think so? Well, how about this:
When there aren't enough seats on a train, who has to stand all the way home - the pretty girl, or the ugly fat guy?
When their arms are full of packages, who gets the door held for them - the pretty girl, or the ugly fat guy?
Who gets more smiles? More "hello"s? More "thank you"s?
In decades - DECADES - of going to the gym, I, your token ugly fat guy, have been ignored by the trainers hundreds of times. Today, for the fourth time in a row, I was ignored during the scheduled "X-press Line" time, during which club trainers are supposed to set up machines for all users. Somehow they missed me...over and over and over. But let a pretty girl come NEAR a machine, and two or three trainers will be panting all over themselves to help her in any way possible.
Even the female trainers - pretty girls themselves - ignore fat ugly guys and go out of their way to help other pretty girls.
Who do children love more: their mothers, or their fat and ugly fathers? Do I really need to ask?
When the departmental managers are talking behind closed doors about company budget cuts, and the question comes up: "Who shall we let go? The pretty girl, or the ugly fat guy?", whose bloated, flabby neck gets stretched out on the chopping block?
Mine!
Who gets flowers? Who gets chocolates? Who gets taken out to dinner? Who gets a million fucking comments on their journals?
All of this leads me to a very clear and rational decision:
I have decided to become a 17-year-old girl.
I'll be pretty, of course, with long red hair, bright green eyes, and golden skin. I'll stand 5'7", weigh 123 lbs., and my measurements will be 37-24-36, if you were wondering (a "C" cup, or possibly a "D" depending on my mood). Perhaps I'll have a piercing somewhere secret on my body, and let people go crazy trying to figure out where. I'll have a lovely singing voice with a wide range. I'll smell good. People will want to be around me. They'll write to me, talk to me, call me on the phone.
They'll send me presents. Anything my heart desires.
I'll have exhibitionistic tendencies, and frequently post photos of myself in various states of undress. To make myself extra interesting I'll have an odd problem or two - got to keep the boys hopping (and hoping), after all. Perhaps I'll have PMS, or depression, or be allergic to peanuts, or something like that. One thing's for sure, I'll get plenty of sympathy. I'll get more sympathy for a stubbed toe than your typical fat and ugly guy will get for getting diagnosed with terminal cancer on the same day his entire family is axe-murdered and eaten by cannibals.
This new me will benefit everyone! There will be one less fat ugly guy in the world, and one more pretty girl - a definite plus, both ways. I, myself, will presumably become unable to see ugly fat guys myself (that's a power I've noticed that pretty girls have), so my world will become more beautiful. Only the most attractive people will vie for my attention. The rest will skulk in lonely, well-deserved misery and isolation.
But I won't have to feel bad about their suffering. I won't even know that they exist! So there won't ever be any reason for even the slightest hint of a frown of pity or sadness on my pretty face.
The greatest tragedy I'll ever have to face will be...come to think of it, there won't be any tragedies in my life!
I'll wear pretty clothes, and have a large circle of fans dedicated to my every whim. I shall never want, never be lonely, never lack for a back rub or foot rub.
Yes. I shall become a girl. It's really the best option for everyone.
As long as I get to keep my penis, of course.
Don't think so? Well, how about this:
When there aren't enough seats on a train, who has to stand all the way home - the pretty girl, or the ugly fat guy?
When their arms are full of packages, who gets the door held for them - the pretty girl, or the ugly fat guy?
Who gets more smiles? More "hello"s? More "thank you"s?
In decades - DECADES - of going to the gym, I, your token ugly fat guy, have been ignored by the trainers hundreds of times. Today, for the fourth time in a row, I was ignored during the scheduled "X-press Line" time, during which club trainers are supposed to set up machines for all users. Somehow they missed me...over and over and over. But let a pretty girl come NEAR a machine, and two or three trainers will be panting all over themselves to help her in any way possible.
Even the female trainers - pretty girls themselves - ignore fat ugly guys and go out of their way to help other pretty girls.
Who do children love more: their mothers, or their fat and ugly fathers? Do I really need to ask?
When the departmental managers are talking behind closed doors about company budget cuts, and the question comes up: "Who shall we let go? The pretty girl, or the ugly fat guy?", whose bloated, flabby neck gets stretched out on the chopping block?
Mine!
Who gets flowers? Who gets chocolates? Who gets taken out to dinner? Who gets a million fucking comments on their journals?
All of this leads me to a very clear and rational decision:
I have decided to become a 17-year-old girl.
I'll be pretty, of course, with long red hair, bright green eyes, and golden skin. I'll stand 5'7", weigh 123 lbs., and my measurements will be 37-24-36, if you were wondering (a "C" cup, or possibly a "D" depending on my mood). Perhaps I'll have a piercing somewhere secret on my body, and let people go crazy trying to figure out where. I'll have a lovely singing voice with a wide range. I'll smell good. People will want to be around me. They'll write to me, talk to me, call me on the phone.
They'll send me presents. Anything my heart desires.
I'll have exhibitionistic tendencies, and frequently post photos of myself in various states of undress. To make myself extra interesting I'll have an odd problem or two - got to keep the boys hopping (and hoping), after all. Perhaps I'll have PMS, or depression, or be allergic to peanuts, or something like that. One thing's for sure, I'll get plenty of sympathy. I'll get more sympathy for a stubbed toe than your typical fat and ugly guy will get for getting diagnosed with terminal cancer on the same day his entire family is axe-murdered and eaten by cannibals.
This new me will benefit everyone! There will be one less fat ugly guy in the world, and one more pretty girl - a definite plus, both ways. I, myself, will presumably become unable to see ugly fat guys myself (that's a power I've noticed that pretty girls have), so my world will become more beautiful. Only the most attractive people will vie for my attention. The rest will skulk in lonely, well-deserved misery and isolation.
But I won't have to feel bad about their suffering. I won't even know that they exist! So there won't ever be any reason for even the slightest hint of a frown of pity or sadness on my pretty face.
The greatest tragedy I'll ever have to face will be...come to think of it, there won't be any tragedies in my life!
I'll wear pretty clothes, and have a large circle of fans dedicated to my every whim. I shall never want, never be lonely, never lack for a back rub or foot rub.
Yes. I shall become a girl. It's really the best option for everyone.
As long as I get to keep my penis, of course.
The Obvious Conclusion
Oct. 17th, 2005 01:49 pmAfter decades of observing the human race, I have found myself unable to avoid an obvious conclusion: pretty girls have all the luck.
Don't think so? Well, how about this:
When there aren't enough seats on a train, who has to stand all the way home - the pretty girl, or the ugly fat guy?
When their arms are full of packages, who gets the door held for them - the pretty girl, or the ugly fat guy?
Who gets more smiles? More "hello"s? More "thank you"s?
In decades - DECADES - of going to the gym, I, your token ugly fat guy, have been ignored by the trainers hundreds of times. Today, for the fourth time in a row, I was ignored during the scheduled "X-press Line" time, during which club trainers are supposed to set up machines for all users. Somehow they missed me...over and over and over. But let a pretty girl come NEAR a machine, and two or three trainers will be panting all over themselves to help her in any way possible.
Even the female trainers - pretty girls themselves - ignore fat ugly guys and go out of their way to help other pretty girls.
Who do children love more: their mothers, or their fat and ugly fathers? Do I really need to ask?
When the departmental managers are talking behind closed doors about company budget cuts, and the question comes up: "Who shall we let go? The pretty girl, or the ugly fat guy?", whose bloated, flabby neck gets stretched out on the chopping block?
Mine!
Who gets flowers? Who gets chocolates? Who gets taken out to dinner? Who gets a million fucking comments on their journals?
All of this leads me to a very clear and rational decision:
I have decided to become a 17-year-old girl.
I'll be pretty, of course, with long red hair, bright green eyes, and golden skin. I'll stand 5'7", weigh 123 lbs., and my measurements will be 37-24-36, if you were wondering (a "C" cup, or possibly a "D" depending on my mood). Perhaps I'll have a piercing somewhere secret on my body, and let people go crazy trying to figure out where. I'll have a lovely singing voice with a wide range. I'll smell good. People will want to be around me. They'll write to me, talk to me, call me on the phone.
They'll send me presents. Anything my heart desires.
I'll have exhibitionistic tendencies, and frequently post photos of myself in various states of undress. To make myself extra interesting I'll have an odd problem or two - got to keep the boys hopping (and hoping), after all. Perhaps I'll have PMS, or depression, or be allergic to peanuts, or something like that. One thing's for sure, I'll get plenty of sympathy. I'll get more sympathy for a stubbed toe than your typical fat and ugly guy will get for getting diagnosed with terminal cancer on the same day his entire family is axe-murdered and eaten by cannibals.
This new me will benefit everyone! There will be one less fat ugly guy in the world, and one more pretty girl - a definite plus, both ways. I, myself, will presumably become unable to see ugly fat guys myself (that's a power I've noticed that pretty girls have), so my world will become more beautiful. Only the most attractive people will vie for my attention. The rest will skulk in lonely, well-deserved misery and isolation.
But I won't have to feel bad about their suffering. I won't even know that they exist! So there won't ever be any reason for even the slightest hint of a frown of pity or sadness on my pretty face.
The greatest tragedy I'll ever have to face will be...come to think of it, there won't be any tragedies in my life!
I'll wear pretty clothes, and have a large circle of fans dedicated to my every whim. I shall never want, never be lonely, never lack for a back rub or foot rub.
Yes. I shall become a girl. It's really the best option for everyone.
As long as I get to keep my penis, of course.
Don't think so? Well, how about this:
When there aren't enough seats on a train, who has to stand all the way home - the pretty girl, or the ugly fat guy?
When their arms are full of packages, who gets the door held for them - the pretty girl, or the ugly fat guy?
Who gets more smiles? More "hello"s? More "thank you"s?
In decades - DECADES - of going to the gym, I, your token ugly fat guy, have been ignored by the trainers hundreds of times. Today, for the fourth time in a row, I was ignored during the scheduled "X-press Line" time, during which club trainers are supposed to set up machines for all users. Somehow they missed me...over and over and over. But let a pretty girl come NEAR a machine, and two or three trainers will be panting all over themselves to help her in any way possible.
Even the female trainers - pretty girls themselves - ignore fat ugly guys and go out of their way to help other pretty girls.
Who do children love more: their mothers, or their fat and ugly fathers? Do I really need to ask?
When the departmental managers are talking behind closed doors about company budget cuts, and the question comes up: "Who shall we let go? The pretty girl, or the ugly fat guy?", whose bloated, flabby neck gets stretched out on the chopping block?
Mine!
Who gets flowers? Who gets chocolates? Who gets taken out to dinner? Who gets a million fucking comments on their journals?
All of this leads me to a very clear and rational decision:
I have decided to become a 17-year-old girl.
I'll be pretty, of course, with long red hair, bright green eyes, and golden skin. I'll stand 5'7", weigh 123 lbs., and my measurements will be 37-24-36, if you were wondering (a "C" cup, or possibly a "D" depending on my mood). Perhaps I'll have a piercing somewhere secret on my body, and let people go crazy trying to figure out where. I'll have a lovely singing voice with a wide range. I'll smell good. People will want to be around me. They'll write to me, talk to me, call me on the phone.
They'll send me presents. Anything my heart desires.
I'll have exhibitionistic tendencies, and frequently post photos of myself in various states of undress. To make myself extra interesting I'll have an odd problem or two - got to keep the boys hopping (and hoping), after all. Perhaps I'll have PMS, or depression, or be allergic to peanuts, or something like that. One thing's for sure, I'll get plenty of sympathy. I'll get more sympathy for a stubbed toe than your typical fat and ugly guy will get for getting diagnosed with terminal cancer on the same day his entire family is axe-murdered and eaten by cannibals.
This new me will benefit everyone! There will be one less fat ugly guy in the world, and one more pretty girl - a definite plus, both ways. I, myself, will presumably become unable to see ugly fat guys myself (that's a power I've noticed that pretty girls have), so my world will become more beautiful. Only the most attractive people will vie for my attention. The rest will skulk in lonely, well-deserved misery and isolation.
But I won't have to feel bad about their suffering. I won't even know that they exist! So there won't ever be any reason for even the slightest hint of a frown of pity or sadness on my pretty face.
The greatest tragedy I'll ever have to face will be...come to think of it, there won't be any tragedies in my life!
I'll wear pretty clothes, and have a large circle of fans dedicated to my every whim. I shall never want, never be lonely, never lack for a back rub or foot rub.
Yes. I shall become a girl. It's really the best option for everyone.
As long as I get to keep my penis, of course.