Can you feel it, just seeping in through your pores? Just oozing in, just flooding your senses? If you don’t, there’s obviously something wrong with you.

See all those beautiful actresses on television, how they smile and wave? Their hair is perfect, looking all soft and sleek and beautiful. How it flows from their head, framing their perfect cheeks, spilling onto their shoulders, which angle into a perfect, sloping bosom? And take note how their skin is clear as a pristine Colorado lake, how they don’t have the ripples that disturb every portion of the surface. There’s not a freckle to be seen, but if there is, it’s a beauty mark. Don’t pass over the toning make-up, the plump, soft lips, eyes that never hide behind glasses (unless, of course, those glasses are perched just right). Their curves are wicked, muscles present but not overbearing, and their hands are as preened as a proud eagle’s feathers. Also, like a footnote that makes the main article all the more enriching, their personalities are just flawless.

And young men, look at those handsome men. Muscle, muscle, more muscle, with enough room for a dazzling smile. Can you see how that sack of flour over his shoulder looks like it weighs as much as a feather? Yeah, that’s important too. And we can’t stress enough that his outfit is never under-thought. Sure, it’s a crew-cut gray t-shirt, but it sure does look planned out, how it’s supposed to ride up and give the camera an inch of bronzed flesh. But looks aren’t everything for men like they are for women – there must be a good, respectable job present, an education that was passed up and never clearly fought for, a family life to die for, and two handsome kids. Not the American dream, because that’s too stereotypical. At least one has to be adopted, to make it look just a little better.

Of course, life must always end up perfect. The parties are never caught, the weed’s stashed up just in time, the drinking never ever ever leads to anything but sociality. Forget wrecks and fires and unexplained deaths. Death has to be natural, but interesting. A cold case, maybe. Or a John Doe that the heroine just knows is her husband of late.

Never forget this, children. This is life, this is how it starts, plays out, and ends. Maybe the pressure is there, but maybe, considering the consequences of having a fake-face real-artificial-breast-implant-surgery, and the idea of never being yourself, never enjoying life, maybe it’s just worth it.