They say being beautiful ain’t easy.

Actually I don’t know if anyone said that. But it’s true. For starters, it’s goddamn expensive. Like, CRAZY expensive. The truth is that you’re probably not ugly. You’re just poor.

I learned this the hard way with my Faustian bargain to be hot. Before I corrected my balding problem, I was a normal, schlubby Joe. But with the hair, I’m now a hot dad; perhaps on par with Luke Perry in Riverdale.

But you see, when I finally got the hair on my head, I had a dark realization: I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care that I was an ugly, stupid-looking jackass with a poor sense of style. Sure it cost me a lot of money to realize this but it was all worth it. Because I finally overcame a problem that I’ve experienced since 13 years of age. My self-worth no longer hinged on my shitty looks. I was a new man.

I should’ve listened to that strange voice in the back of my head. It’s not schizophrenia. It’s clear rationalization; of clarity. It’s a rationalization akin to Marx’s commodity fetishism, as if plain objects have some sort of holy power. But they don’t. They’re merely products that civilization programmed to make us think we need. I first heard this voice on Christmas Day in 1994. I got the very present that I wanted: a toy replica of the Enterprise D. I was ecstatic. But then a strange thought occurred to me: what was it about this object that made me so happy? It was just a piece of plastic. In short, I became a Marxist at 7 years old.

So back to present day, I knew that this hair would not fill the deep void of happiness in my heart. But I forked over a FUCKTON of money for it anyway. And now, here I am, hot as shit. Not only am I sexy as all get out, but my bank account is empty.

All that’s left now is a beautiful shell of a man.

All that crazy hot sex for nothing.