Written by Chris Kourlas

Images of perfection flood the air
    And fill our T.V. set,
Repeated, unending, until the message
    Is drilled, and impossible to forget;
Telling us that we are nowhere near beautiful
    And could stand to lose a few,
We are fat, we need more sun,
    Not to mention a little muscle too;
We should grow a few more inches,
    Buy some new shoes, maybe dye our hair,
And even if we do all these things,
    We will still be nowhere near;
As beautiful, or as handsome
    As they say that we should be,
So in turn, we stay at home, more depressed
    And watching even more T.V.

I guess this is why
    We refuse to eat for days,
And lie in the cancer beds,
    Soaking up those U.V. rays;
We take tons of steroids,
    And blow 150 bucks,
On a new pair of shoes,
    And somehow we still think life sucks;
So in one last attempt,
    We take up the knife,
And we try to put and end
    To our endlessly ugly life;
All of this happening just because
    We found it so impossible to be,
All the images of perfection
    As scene on T.V.