My pet peeve today is all these unattractive people.
Doesn’t it annoy you when they want to be friends with you? They come around with their sappy faces all hang-dog, begging to be shined upon by the handsomeness- and beauty-rays that you and your good-looking friends emit.
These Funny-Looking People (“FLP”s, or “Flips”) practically have to wear sunglasses to shade their eyes from our beauty, since they themselves are so unaccustomed to its strength and proximity!
I think it’s God’s will that Flips be aligned with other Flips, so their Flip gene pool doesn’t taint our Studly gene pool.
You know? I’m not trying to be rude, but it’s economic as well. Flips cost me money! I have to have them airbrushed out of photos that I look really good in, if they’re standing next to me! That gets really expensive!
Plus I’m an entertainer, and it doesn’t behoove me professionally to be associated with people who, I’m sorry, but their faces look like donkey butts!
It just makes me furious.
I’m all for mailing them cards and gifts and calling them on the phone when I have free time. (My number would come up “Unknown Sender” on their cells, of course. And when do I have free time?! As IF!).
But God grant me physical distance from such persons! Frickin’ flips! Am I wrong? I think not!
All I’m saying is: Respect my boundaries. I think hanging around me should be treated like trying to get into a really exclusive dance club. If I don’t smile at you, that’s my velvet rope that I’m not opening. That’s me as the tough, smile-free 345-pound door-man with a tattoo of a dead bird on my neck and a super-tight black polo shirt and maybe a Mohawk haircut and definitely a walkie-talkie or, even better, some ear-device I talk to my manager through (even though the thing’s probably not even hooked up!).
I’m not making eye contact with you for a reason, Bub. I’m watching those glamorous people emerge from that black Hummer with the tinted windows across the street.
Wait! Is that David Spade!? That’s David Spade!! My God!
Do you see what I’m saying? Stuff like that. Spade gets right in without paying the door charge, and you’d better step lively out of his damn way. Get me?
You have to stand there and pretend it doesn’t bother you that I refuse to make eye contact with you.
Just Flip off. Aren’t there clubs for people like you?
All I’m saying is, don’t bring me down to your level, looks-wise, by standing so damn close. You pierce my bubble of being securely surrounded by other good-looking people exclusively. And I resent it more and more with each whiff I’m forced to smell of your bologna-like breath.
And you might want to get that mustard stain on your shirt dry-cleaned.
Made you look!
