“What? Would you rather talk about love? Love is complete bullshit, and I can prove it. It’s a product manufactured out of the prettiest people in society. They give ’em all the money, all the clothes, cars, houses, everything, because they’re so fuckin’ pretty. That’s happiness, being pretty and drowning in expensive shit. Those people get to fall in love.”
The crowd writhed.
“The rest of us assholes are the ugly fuckers. The pretty people take our hard-earned money, ’cause we buy their movies and their stupid fuckin’ reality shows. And their magazines you see at the checkout stands in every God damned supermarket in the United States. Who buys those idiotic, pathetic magazines? The ugly people! That’s who. So they can feel like they’re having some of that pretty people love and happiness shit rub off onto their miserable, mundane, excruciating existences.”
Gary stalled to gauge reactions.
“This bit would be a lot funnier if it wasn’t so true. And if you’re not laughing, well obviously it’s because you’re an ugly motherfucker. And I can understand that. I can’t help you. But luckily there is plenty a alcohol in the world.”
Excerpt from Wrecking Balls, a novel about stand-up comedians.