The Curse of Having Eyes

Well, I was going to fill this space with an absolutely fascinating blog entry about why people in Knipton, Nebraska are so much more intelligent than people in Wheatip, Nebraska (and I know, I know, you've heard that from me a million times, but I swear to God, if you saw how people in Wheatip hold an orange, you'd just up and die). Now all that has flown right out the window, and my night has been completely ruined. Ruined because I just saw the world's ugliest dude standing in the parking lot of my apartment building. This is not an exaggeration, dear friend: I just saw the world's ugliest dude out there in the parking lot. And let me preface this by saying that I love all peoples, from the selfless Mennonites of southern Pennsylvania to the drunken butt freaks of Reno, Nevada---but this dude's face was just uncalled for. It looked like, I swear to God, someone started to make a pizza from scratch and just gave up halfway through. This guy made it over the evolutionary hump by mere seconds. The light was yellow, and he floored it and just made it through the intersection. Imagine if you will a countenance so ghastly, they have to cancel the World Series this year, simply because---and I know it's difficult to get your mind around this---but simply because it was discovered that this face exists somewhere on the planet.

Okay, that's enough of that. Let's get back to business. I was standing in 7-11 yesterday deciding whether to buy a Twix and a Charleston Chew, and---

No, I'm sorry. I can't get past the face. It was UGLY, I say. I beseech you to now use your imagination to envision a secret medical compound in Helsinki, where a world-renowned team of reconstructive surgeons labors around the clock for a month on the face, after which the lead surgeon takes the podium at a live press conference beamed around the world to millions of horrified onlookers, and he says, "Yes, we've been working on the face for thirty-two straight days, and we think we now have something approaching TOM WAITS."

That is the kind of ugly I am trying to convey to you.

Entertain for just a second, dear reader, the notion that the act of even speaking about the face causes time to move backward to a moment when the first existing strands of DNA look into the future and exclaim, "As the building blocks of the entire human species, we have a responsibility to remain dormant for the next seventy million years lest one unsuspecting person lay eyes on the stupefyingly nasty mug that shall drift one night like an accursed ghost ship through an apartment parking lot somewhere in the eastern United States!!"

To recap: I am just not happy with the fact that I was witness to this man's visage. (I apologize for hitting you. There was no call for that.)