That part ain’t ugly

(From Suburban Misfits)

 

 

I don’t understand it.

Hank’s so ugly it would take a freight train over him to fix his face.

Yet he – our theater’s ugliest usher -- gets all the best girls.

And it isn’t fair.

I see myself in the mirror. I know I’m cool.

Sure, maybe I put a little too much grease in my hair and glanced at myself a little too much.

Not that Manny’s right when he says I never pass up a mirror or an opportunity to comb my hair.

But God! Hank doesn’t even comb his hair (and can’t without a wire brush) and the girls love him for it.

That’s why I’m always checking out where he is and what he’s doing, and dropping hints to Berkner, our manager, as to where he might find Hank, since Berkner wants more than anything any excuse to fire the son of a bitch.

Finding him making it with any girl anywhere in the balcony is more than enough to get rid of Hank, only whenever Berkner gets to the place, Hank isn’t there any more, and it’s pissing me off.

Most of the time I can’t even find Hank unless he makes one of his girl’s giggle or moan, and that pisses me off, too, because I’m the one who wants to make the girls do that.

Ben, our so called head usher, won’t call Hank to task, even when I tell him about how we all need to so something about him, his womanizing and his singing.

Maybe deep down I even admire the son of a bitch because he’s so real when I’m not.

I don’t tell many people this, but I was shy when I was young, and I didn’t come out of it until I started dressing up to look cool.

Maybe I don’t even believe in my own cool, and hate Hank for believing in his.

But he IS ugly, and still the hottest bitches practically beg to go upstairs with him.

So I follow him around, trying to figure out what it is he’s got that I ain’t, and not until I accidentally stumble into him when he’s stepping away from the urinal do I get the drift.

That’s part of him ain’t ugly, it’s just BIG!