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Home | Columns | Horrors of Humanity | Horrors of Humanity: Dead Gorgeous Edition

Horrors of Humanity: Dead Gorgeous Edition

What is horrible about the world of course is a subjective and individual interpretation depending upon many psychological and sociological factors. If you ask me I say it’s all horrible and everyone and everything sucks, and you should all die. By the way, I am a hit at parties and especially Bar Mitzvah’s because I wear my swastika and carry a toaster.

In all fairness, my general attitude toward humanity is a typical predisposition of the misanthrope, a fancy word allowing me to say “f*ck you!” But let’s get on with the article.

Many people consider vanity, pride, and narcissism sinful undesirable qualities but those people are usually fat, ugly, and couldn’t get laid in a morgue but let’s leave my Saturday night out of this conversation ok? I thought we were talking about equality bitching losers who are stupid, fat, ugly, poor, and generally only worth the leftover drippings from the intercourse their mom drunkenly banged out to pay for her lobster bisque dinner on the blind date arranged through Myspace.

I do not consider vanity a negative thing. I mean where will you keep your toothpaste and razors not to mention prop your chick’s ass on while you…wait a minute. I am getting something confused here.

What’s wrong with some self-idolatry? Hell, if you don’t praise yourself no one else sure will. The world is full of people ready to criticize and take you down; you do not need to be one of them. Muhammad Ali, a perfect example of someone with a self idolatry complex, once said “I’m not the greatest; I’m the double greatest.” That’s f*cking fantastic. Although sadly he may not be so great anymore especially since he misses spots wiping his ass because he has that shaking disease Michael J. Fox contracted after travelling through time because he kissed his mom. 

Vanity of course is normally attributed to the living, not the dead although some of these plastic surgery disasters blur the line between who is living and who is dead. Such physical confusion can be a frightening event for us with necro fetishes. Can you imagine my shock when they actually move and moan once the ole’ flesh trocar is inserted? That ain’t just embalming fluid in that chamber! Yeah, tell me about it! Of course I still had to finish, otherwise that’s just a sad waste of deviant lust. Thank God for chloroform! If such an unfortunate confusion were to arise it would be totally my fault. Having once been married I should be an expert at differentiating between a dead chick and just a dead f*ck.

It all ends the same so I guess the difference is negligible. Well maybe it doesn’t because one ends with more duct tape, aerosol spray, and a shovel than the other but I digress.

There has always been a degree of vanity within the mortuary business of course. That usually deals with the reconstruction of your dead sisters mangled face from the car accident she got in because she was “sexting” all of her top MySpace friends cell phones instead of watching the road. Cosmetology has always been an aspect of the mortuary business and a quick career move for those EMO high school dropouts getting knocked up in the cemetery by their fancy little girl-boy boyfriends who can also fit into their unisex tights pants and share makeup. What was I saying? Oh I remember, stay out of my booze!

Funerary cosmetology is not so much an example postmortem vanity as it is of not giving mourners a heart attack when they see their dead friends and relatives looking like they just ran in victory naked through a barbed wire stadium after playing dodge ball with naked dead babies covered in…barbed wire. What did you think I was going to say?

The postmortem vanity I am discussing here is not of the kind typical in the funerary business where your mommy’s cranium is rebuilt from her “fall” down the stairs after arguing with daddy after his night of drinking and banging bar whores. What I am talking about are humans wanting to look all sexy as they lay in the coffin pumped full of preservatives and having their assholes stitched shut like they were recuperating from anal prison rape. The ultimate narcissism is caring about your looks after you are long dead.

The new phenomenon entering the mortuary business deals with chicks wanting their tits all pointy through the burial gowns so all of the guys wish they really had listened to you when you were alive so they could have suckled that lactation. Now all they would get is a mouth full of formaldehyde and who the hell wants that? Sociological vanity has taken on such extremes that ones appearance after death is now just as important as it is in life. As Dr. 90120 states, “Society is unfortunately getting more and more vain as time goes on. Fifty years ago, no one would have thought about how good they’re going to look when they die, but now that’s probably something the ‘Real Housewives of Orange County’ talk about. If they die, they want to look good in their casket. It’ll be one last time to show off their new outfit and their plumped lips.”

It does make sense to want to look good as you transgress this mortal coil and walk before the pearly gates. The bigger your tits are, the better chances you have at getting into Heaven quicker. It’s kind of like going to the clubs in LA right? Nothing like flashing St. Peter a little cleavage to gain early entrance and get all the good seats, although I suspect St. Peter (Is it a coincidence that his name refers to a penis?) would prefer a pearl necklace to the pearly gates but that’s all up to you. Guys are just f*cked (figuratively unless you were a choir boy, then literally) because at that point St. Peter ain’t interested in your c**k size. Well maybe he is, I cannot really speak for ORGANized religion. The image below is St. Peter at the pearly gates right?

I of course would prefer the back entrance to the pearly gates but let’s move on.

The psychological reasoning behind most of the cosmological procedures on the dead is more for the living than the dead, typically that is. Wakes and funerals are about final goodbyes for loved ones so they can lock their last visuals within the coffin. If you should be able to say, “Damn, she’s got some nice tits” I guess that’s just a plus for the dead. It is the vanity and ego of consciousness in life about ones state in death that suggests that humanity is nothing but a parasitic cosmological virus and hence an embodiment of evil and horror. So unless you prescribe to one of the traditions that believe in a fairy tale life after death, once your dead you are not going to know whether mourners thought you were dead sexy or just a rotting wax sculpture.

How does this subject matter fit under the category of “real world horrors” you may be asking as well as to what is the moral of the story? Well I suppose since I brought it up I am thus in need of providing an answer. Postmortem cosmetology is a “real world horror” because it is yet another indication of how misaligned the collective consciousness of humanity is. It does not matter whether such vanity is attributed to life or death; it’s all the same ball of wax (or grave cheese). I do of course have to wrestle with myself with that statement. I strongly believe that those lacking are the ones whining about sh*t like this. Ugly people complain about how society places significance on a physical beauty that they do not, or cannot have. How dare we live in a world where beauty and form may adopt classical standards such as those of the Greeks and not of those of Ronald McDonald (Is that Irish?) in life and death?

Regardless of how ugly you are in life or death the song remains the same; you probably just suck anyway and it’s good that you are dead. If you sucked in life than you suck in death. If you were too poor to fix yourself up while alive I guess paying on all that life insurance may be able to fix you up in death and you get the last laugh. Well maybe not because your lips are sewn shut like your asshole and genitalia.

I am not too sure whether I provided an accurate answer to those questions but I confess I do not care anymore and it’s not just because I am tired and drunk (well maybe a little bit). It’s just I really do not care what you think anyway. My Jerry Springer like final thoughts would say caring that much about what the f*ck you look like as you are rotting within an abyssal black eternity suggests at least one thing. It says that you planned on taking your various insecurities and vanities into the grave. It my not be so much a final statement of about leaving a beautiful corpse as it is that you are leaving the impression that you were an ugly person to begin with on more than the outside. All of the plastic surgery in life and death will not change that fact. It’s ok though; as I said you all suck anyway. Here’s the link to the story because I am done with this…


Have a good life, but have a greater death!

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