How I tried to Hurt Good Looking Girls in High School
by Regis Boff
I grew up with dour, scaly, old men relaying world events to me as though the news demanded unappealing but venerable newscasters to dampen our population’s suspected tendencies to giggle at the world’s misfortunes. We are drawn to the news because we don’t like to miss stuff and because we, each of us, are deluded enough to think we are vital in shaping our nation’s direction.
Cable networks revealed that all news is far more enjoyable if it is brazenly biased. Every American is appalled by the slant of television reporting, so we each pick news people we think are telling the truth and if our goal has been a bisected, persistently testy country it seems to be going well. I am the only person I know who watches the news with a genuine disregard for his own beliefs. I accomplish this by first screening the newswomen who are delivering it for their beauty alone. Then I put together the prettiest into a viewing time line and presto, the news!
When I was in high school, me and my friends always made sure good-looking girls felt insecure about how smart they were. I know now this sabotage was horribly mean but we who were plain were jealous of how unearned physical attractiveness opened all doors for them. We believed that being smart would make us the successful ones, the ones who would be on TV.
I get my news, my weather, my traffic and broker’s advise, even my political commentary only from the most alluring women in the world. I refuse to a take a pill unless I have been warned of its side effects by a preternaturally exquisite woman ( and, I confess, sometimes a drop dead gorgeous man) I would love to date.
I have warned the media that I am fickle, that I am immune to truth, facts and intellect, and that I am as shallow as they. They have nervously responded by shoving ever increasingly more breathtaking women onto the air.