The road to success is paved with lipglossed saucers

I accidentally glance at the cover of a fashion magazine and see the x or y starlet with blond hair and blue eyes and ‘juicy’ lips (like she’d been stung by wasps, it seemed to me.) I take a look at another magazine, this time for men, and find the same type of beauty rubbed in my face, only she’s wearing her garters and high heels and nothing more. I take this discreet means of promotion more seriously and start looking at all the covers, one after the other. Tits, boobs, breasts, bosoms, udders, hips, loins, assmeats, asscheeks, asses, bums, buns, butts, bottoms, buttocks, nether regions, behinds, hindquarters, rumps and most certainly lips. Lips with ‘devious’ makeup so that they look fleshier, lips with silicone, lips with subtle latest fashion shades of neon fire brigade ‘sexy’ red or been dead for a week ‘mysterious’ white or brown. Monstrous lips which from a point onwards remind me of those natives who insert those saucer looking thingies in their lower lips cause they find it sexy. And it may well be for them, but this is Greece in year 2005, and women my age all try to look like Pamela Anderson. Yes, yes, we must stretch our faces, fill our lips and breasts and asses to the point of bursting and be hungry for sex 24/7 and always impeccable and perfectly dressed/ manicured/ depilated, but why? What about the brain department? Why struggle so much?

There is nothing wrong with taking care of one’s self, and I do not weigh four hundred pounds nor look like the protagonist of Nosferatu, but these things from a point onwards are empty. Like the years these sex bombs live when their star no longer shines. It’s a futile struggle against time; there will always be someone younger, prettier, easier. These women find themselves more desperate with each passing year, or early dead. And a corpse is a corpse: good looking or not, it only bothers those few fanatics of necrophilia. Is that what they are interested in?

At least both male and female life style magazines do agree on one thing: they are not looking for women, but inflatable knick-knacks.