A Writer’s Curse upon the Enemy
Every facet of your being will be exaggerated for my own means. Should your nose be a hair disproportionate, I will make it bulbous, so fiercely hooked that it doubles in upon itself or shapeless and blottsome as a potato. Should your nose prove small, I will make it pinched, a piggish snub or altogether withdrawn, inverted, a gapping hole where once was.
A cleft chin is easily changed into a cleft pallet. A slight spacing of the teeth is turned into a gap in three pen strokes. A single pimple, however faded, to an insulted mind multiplies to cover the face so thoroughly as to be its distinguishing feature.
Beware a bad haircut! It will make you secretly bald under tuft concocted of badger hide, else gorgonish.
A sun’s forced squint becomes permanent and couples with beady preceptors. Should you be fair, it will be as parchment. My readers will long to roll you out for their children to scribble on. Your “healthy, glowing tan” will be applied from a dollar-store can. Any tone associated with “ethnicity” shall have been a pre-born bias of the soul intended as your personal insult to any race associated with such shades.
Be ye full bodied or an otherwise healthy plump? Think your weight again! You are bloated as a beach humpback left to rot in the sun, equal in both diameter and crevices to Earth’s moon and incapable of moving to any verb save waddle. Should you be reversely afflicted, worry not, I have many affectionate names for you: You grab bag of ill-welded bones!
Your skin will always be too tight or too lose, broken with the strain of movement else perpetually tripped upon. Your vanity wrinkle will become a fissure deep enough for an assortment of mythological creatures to recreate in.
Your toenails will never cease to fungus, no matter how tackily they are lacquered. No amount of cheap lipstick in the shade known a “hooker” will fix your lack of lips, or oversupply of them. Fret not men! I haven’t forgotten you in this. Of course you would constantly be wearing a hooker’s lipstick.
No matter how much money you devote to soaps, perfumes and colognes, they will only serve as the underlying harmony to your melody of bodily rank. You will ebb Chanel and corpse else Estee Lauder and sewage.
And if all this I can pen to your outwardly appearance and pretences, think, without the benefits of self-mercy, what I can do to your already cantankerous character.