bittercotton

My nose is fucking fantastic like a car port. I’m so not tampering with my perfections.

I want to spend a whole week at a spa. I.E. A whole week! I want to detox, blow things out my colon (preferably that last ten pounds of fat my abs are hiding under), do underwater yoga, hike places, eat from a raw organic vegetarian amish kosher menu, and meditate on my severe inner beauty. EXTREME!! I do not need some $90 sea-floor mud mask dripping into my nose, I need to get whipped into shape so that when I come back people will tell me I’m glowing like a prego. I don’t know what all this crap is about “oh pampering! so fun! Oprah says I deserve it and she’s rich so of course she knows.” Bull fricken crap. Being middle class is like living your entire life in pampers; what I want is health-nut shiatsu dominatrixes exfoliating me with granola bars so that, when I finally make it back home I, realize how sweet it is just to sit around watching reruns of 30 Minute Meals with my silky soft self.

Rancho de la Puerta out.

If we’re flying first class on Singapore airlines or something I can almost see it, but if you remember back to the only times I’ve been in a plane (to and from Miam’s) you’ll remember that the first class we witnessed was TOTALLY lame and jank. Do you remember that damn plane?! Freaking collapsible wal-mart patio looking furniture. That is what I remember.

Besides which, no amount of luxury can make you feel like somebody. At least not for very long. I mean how many expensive things have we already bought? And still we need. Luxury is the pointless pursuit of comfort by people that are already comfortable but feel so empty they don’t realize it. We must protest our own pursuit of all things lux and figure out why we feel so empty in the first place.