Everyone Hates Me Because I Am Gorgeous
Curse My fatal allure! Curse it!
Ever since I bloomed into a devastatingly beautiful child, I have had to deal with people’s scorn. And because I swing both ways and My beauty transcends conventional norms, I am hated by both sexes, equally.
Men hate me because they want to be Me (and because they are worried their wives secretly touch themselves in the shower thinking of Me). Women hate Me for my stunning legs. They are all nice to My face, of course. But that is only because they want to take advantage of Me, sexually. Even the lesbians.
Last year, I was about to exchange contracts on My flat. Suddenly Brad Pitt stepped out of a limo, tapped me on the shoulder and offered to pay for it. I thought it was strange, but I let him. I was terrified of what he could do, if I didn’t.
Was £260k worth the pain I went through for the following two weeks? Brad calling Me at all times of the day and night – because he couldn’t work out the time difference; Angelina following me, lobbing threatening notes through my window, wrapped around bricks or adopted babies, going through my rubbish… Probably – £260k is a LOT of money. But I digress.
Let me give you an example. Just the other day I was shopping in Iceland – the frozen goods retailer, not the country. When I had finished selecting my purchases, I noticed there was a massive queue to the tills. Naturally, I pushed my way past the waiting commoners (or “muggles” as I call them), elbowing a few in the process, to the front of the queue. Oh, dear reader, you should have seen how they looked at me. The hatred in their eyes. It was because I am beautiful.
On Tuesday evening, at the party for the Damien Hirst Retrospective opening… I knew it was a mistake to make an effort with My outfit – it made Me even more blindingly attractive. Oh, dear reader, you should have seen how I was avoided. How I was shunned by the shallow celebrities at the event. I was feeling down anyway, because I was having a spastic colon episode, which caused Me to emit incredibly smelly gas. Only one guard spoke to Me all evening, detailing the dreadful story about how he lost his sense of smell in an LSD-related accident in ’76. I am seeing him again on Sunday.
And when I was cast as Dorian Gray in a big West End production last year, the audiences booed and critics seethed. It wasn’t because I forgot to learn My lines. It wasn’t because I got distracted with all the mirrors in the rehearsal room (who wouldn’t?) and didn’t know any of the blocking. It was because I am blighted by this utter handsomeness.
So, stop hating on Me, dear reader. I AM THE VICTIM. I may be obnoxious, arrogant, talentless, empty-headed and (on occasion) surrounded by methane. But on this one point, My Exquisite Pulchritude, as Lady Gaga says: I was born this way.