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Quasimodos of the World Unite

By Diane Sokoloski

Good looking people must be wholeheartedly pitied by the rest of us, especially if they are also rich. Scientific studies have repeatedly shown that everyone believes beautiful men, women and children to be more intelligent, innovative, and trustworthy than their hideous looking counterparts. Of course it is not true, and the ridiculously radiant realize this fact. How empty their lives must be, always having to live up to the expectations of the hunch backed, hook nosed masses. These dukes and duchesses of dupe, rise every morning and retire each evening with one sad thought on their minds- can we fool the world, and fake our happiness and success for yet another day?

The visages of the unnecessarily attractive smile from billboards, television screens, and magazines the world over. Their haunting eyes peer into the streets from behind steamy cafe windows, while their perfectly manicured hands clutch martini glasses in desperation. Five star hotel lobbies across the country resound with the pathetic peals of their empty laughter, begging an answer to the unanswerable- How can I cut away the useless baggage from my life when I am the useless baggage?

The silent pleas for help are deafening to my ears as their Botox induced souls cry out for a cross to bear in life. All honours graduates of the Rocky Balboa School for Underdogs must make sure that those in need have a little cross to bear, even if it is a 24 carat gold diamond studded cross with matching earrings and nipple ring.

We must take every opportunity to send out little psychological I know what you're all about barbs in the general direction of the well-coiffed and well-heeled wherever they may be. These barbs emanate from our persons, and are intended to let the stunningly statuesque know, that not everyone thinks they are as peachy as they have been duped into thinking they are, and not everyone thinks they are as peachy as they know everyone thinks they are.

Time is of the essence. Those of us with Quasimodian blood running through our veins have a duty to disperse the fog which surrounds the gluteally enhanced jet set.

Here are a few suggestions:

a) Loiter near a canine make-over and electrolysis clinic. Give all patrons a sniff down, and lustily munch on organic dog biscuits.

b) Position a large cantaloupe under your shirt in the centre of your chest and strut around the waiting room of a busy breast expansion centre repeating the word- juicy.

c) Locate sparkling, thong wearing pool side couples and flaunt your unshorn bikini line while eating an overripe banana. Emanate at all times. Remember, our tormented brothers and sisters of privilege long to overcome their bidet addictions in order to feel worthless like the rest of us.

How will we know if our efforts have been successful? Perhaps some day there will be a brief acknowledgment of our selfless services from some poor pompous prat. He will catch a glimpse of our crossed, slit-eyes and clucking slaver covered lips, through the highly polished sheen on the door of his black BMW. The poor thing will rush away in the direction of a local law enforcement official- sick of the ruse, continually pretending to be clever, and loaded with self-esteem. He will decide at that moment to tell the officials- his jig will definitely be up. Then we shall quickly make ourselves scarce to save him the embarrassment of himself.

© 2004 Diane Sokoloski

OTHER HW ARTICLES BY DIANE SOKOLOSKI:

Advice for the Modern Street Busker

Peacekeeping with Style!

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Diane Sokoloski earned a BA in music and BEd as an Artist in the Community. She has performed in children's theatre, political theatre, musical theatre, puppet shows, stand-up comedy and yes- as a street busker. Diane had brief experiences as a police officer and a high school teacher but her psychiatrist advises against talking about it.

Diane's writing credits include numerous magazines, newspapers and her humorous erotica can be read online in Toronto's NOW magazine. She contributes regularly to The National Post's satirical column- Post Mortem.

Diane is working on a children's book based on a true story about a skink who travelled across North America in a lunch box.