In Ancient Greece, the birthplace of that most beautiful of institutions we call Democracy, a tradition existed where each town would decide, by vote, who among them was the ugliest. The lucky nominee would be fed fine food on the public dime and treated very well, for awhile, until they were finished eating and driven out of town with rocks, insults, sometimes to they pyre, sometimes over cliffs, sometimes to survive alone, out there in the wilderness, where even the goats believed they were too hideous to even look at, never mind to talk to, or be friends with.

It was called the pharmakos ritual, etymologically related to “pharmakon” which referred to both poison and medicine. Both words bring to mind the wonders of alcohol which cures what ails you even as it makes you sick and, most importantly, casts out the ugly from our lives, if only for a little while. Of course, eventually people sober up or the lights in the bar come up, but remember: people generally don’t awake from these rude reminders of last call or tomorrow’s responsibilities with rocks or kindling in their hands.

And for that reason, I urge you to stand up now, walk over to your bathroom, look yourself in the mirror, and appreciate just how lucky you are, you ugly fuck.