Story of an Ugly Homeboy

**This is a hate post. Because I loathe this dick with a hatred that's reserved for incompetent sons of bitches that's just as conceited as they are ugly.

It's bad enough that you're ugly. No, we're not talking about the garden variety kind of ugly doomed to spent a lifetime of masturbation because they ain't never gonna get themselves laid, oh Lord no. We're talking about the repulsive-type ugly that causes people to cross themselves as a reflex. It's the Quasimodo-type ugly that's best left alone in a bell tower to isolate the children, oh the dear children, from what can be a lifetime of psychological anguish towards a very specific childhood memory. And by "memory," we're really talking about your face.

What makes it worse is when you're That ugly turd, and you're in a position of power. The funny thing is you're not that accepting of your shortcomings. To you, ugly is relative, and you don't understand why the guys snicker and snigger as a general response to your time-tested coolness. The faggots point at you and break out in fits of devilish laughter. As if they'll ever experience your fantastic manhood, you tell yourself. Those horsefaced freaks, you tell yourself in what can be a rare display of wit, Bray! like the fucking donkeys they are. The kids are awful with their blameless innocence. You could punch these little goblins everytime they question your biological make up.

You've grown accustomed to the unprovoked shower of spittled insults from these dicks, but it's the females you can't stand. You don't mind the fugly bitches; they can jeer all they want, but they're still not getting a piece of you. But the hot ones, oh merciful Jesus, those ones are an entirely isolated pain the nuts. You're, what, 28 in human years, and you have yet to score. Fucking virgin.

You wonder what went wrong as you repair to your family to shelter you from all this unfair response. Your mother, being the frog that she was, spawned a foaming pod full of healthy eggs. These eggs eventually became you and your siblings. You were the most likeable of the lot, the handsomest even, because you had the biggest frog mouth, the longest frog tongue, the largest frog eyes, and the slimiest frog skin. Your frog piss created super wartsin record time, and that potency is a big plus. That potency gave your siblings the frog equivalent of what is called penis envy in human terms. You so rock, you tell yourself.

And so you have good reason to challenge these narrow minded retards that call you ugly. You tell yourself.

The tadpole that is you mutated into a thoroughly horrifying bullfrog. And you wore glasses, for good measure. You croaked your way into a supervisory position in that call center job; you know you've got it made when you finally have underlings towards which you can endorse your thoroughly repulsive person. But they're not as much as underlings as they are opportunities, you tell yourself. You imagine kissing one of them smack on the lips to undo your frogness. Maybe even half a kiss, just enough to give yourself an idea as to how a woman's kiss feels like. Maybe you'll bring that up on your next coaching session. Maybe you'll get lucky enough to get laid, you tell yourself. Might as well schedule the next team building.

But as it goes, the spectacular black magic that caused your promotion came with a curse. You will be blinded towards your spot-on incompetence. That resulting blind spot, furthermore, will be reinforced by an unprecedented lack of personality that does nothing to even your chances of getting laid.

You will be a supervisor, yes, but it will not be enough that you're ugly.