You Can Joke All You Want, But It All Comes Down To Appearance

Now, I would sit here and ask you, “what is the meaning of life?” Well, the key word: would. But you see, I’ve already found it and “what is this you’ve found?” you may ask. Oh, I’ll tell you all about it.

The meaning of life? Be beautiful at whatever means necessary -that’s right, go Machiavelli on all their asses-. And I don’t mean being kind and intelligent or all that inner beauty crap. You’ve got to be fucking attractive. I’m not even talking about the “comfortable in your own skin” shit. I’m talking drop dead… anorexic. I mean, you’d make billions of dollars selling your body on the cover of magazines. Every guy would be at your feet, ready to do anything you said. Why bother with pride when you can brag to all your buddies about your 1 calorie girlfriend? Why did I ever hope to find my true love when I can’t even stand to look at myself? All the people in the world, they wouldn’t ignore me if I was a size 0. They wouldn’t mock me if I purged myself of breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They wouldn’t look at me the way they do if I weighed a negative amount.

Why breed animals when you can do the same with eating disorders? Why feel lonely when all you have to do is starve? Appearance is everything, and if you’re not thin you might as well move into Hell. I mean, why would someone eat at all when they can. be. dead.

Take some pills,
It’ll all come up again.
I could be your Barbie
Anorexic’s where it’s at.
Slim down, I want to see
Every single rib.
What else would you want to be?
This is being beautiful,
It’s only 1, 2, 3.

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