Congratulations Freak-Face!

A lot of people would be afraid of going out in public with a mug like that, elephant man. But you’re out there every day, clubbing it up and letting your flag fly. The weird thing is just how successful you are.

You took lessons from that douchebag who uses terms like “escalate the situation” in regards to sex and women in general, and it turns out they work. They work freakishly well. You have to be kind of weird looking, so you can qualify as a “what the fuck fuck” and you need to behave in a fashion bordering on dickishly aggressive most of the time, but you get a good deal of play.

The problem is that to a woman everyone you’ve ever hooked up with has woken up the next day and recoiled in horror at your fucking face. So even though your sexual conquests could form a reasonably sized secret society you’re almost suicidaly depressed due to loneliness.

You’ve tried picking up only blind women in the hope that they’ll see your “inner beauty,” but you’ve put so much of yourself into that douche bag persona that they touch your brick wall of a face after listening to you talk and usually knee you in the balls. You even gave a “Helen Keller” a shot. We’re not even sure how you found her, but we both know how well that ended.

And that brings us to the present day, when you’ll be walking to Katz’s for a nosh. You’ll be more bummed than usual and you’ll be feeling like life couldn’t get any worse when a construction worker above you drops a hammer. The hammer will fracture your skull, knocking you unconscious and completely eradicating the part of your brain that remembers your past – most importantly the part that remembers the douchebag conditioning which has rendered you incapable of expressing genuine human emotion.

As fate will have it an attractive young blind woman who has no idea how hot she is will be walking by at the time. She’ll use her super blind senses to detect your injuries and use her freakishly well honed skills as a medic who served three tours in Iraq to stabilize you before the ambulance arrives. She’ll stay by your side for a day and a half until you regain consciousness, muttering constantly about not losing another one.

She’ll have felt your head and will know full and well how ugly you are, but she’ll also have grabbed your crotch while she was checking you for additional injuries and she’ll know what you’ve got down there (a 14 inch penis) so she’ll shrug and decide to give it a shot.

And once you wake up and start talking with your default polite, shy personality, the one that made all those sensitive girls who were too insecure with their own bodies to act on their desires want to fuck the shit out of you in high school, she’ll be deeply enamored. She’ll feel like she’s made her first right choice since she got home from overseas.

As for yourself, you’ll be incredibly charmed by this beautiful, intelligent young woman and a little bit intimidated by her raw capability. But her post-traumatic stress disorder will give her a sense of vulnerability to even it out and you’ll love the seemingly unconditional affection she heaps upon you. It’ll be the best possible match for you, really.

Once your family helps you recover your memory and informs you of how unbearable you were before your head injury you’ll take her hand and force her to promise to smash your skull using her Army training if you ever display those old habits. She will dutifully execute her duties until you die of a concussion at the age of sixty-eight, aggressively attempting to hit on a barista.

Congratulations Freak-Face!