The Ugly Man Syndrome

The funny-looking fiance of Rep. Haley Stevens, who lost the Michigan Democratic Senatorial primary to Abdul El-Sayed, has illustrated the Ugly Man Syndrome in action.

Steve Villano

49 minutes ago

(Jason Turkish, fiance of Representative Haley Stevens (D-Michigan), has promoted Islamaphobia in the Senate Race in Michigan, and endorsed the GOP Candidate, another MAGA Islamaphobe, before his sore-loser girlfriend did.)

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I am Haley’s fiance, a belching example of the Ugly Man Syndrome.

Nothing can penetrate my reptilian dome,

Not love, nor kindness, nor reason;.

Distraction from my looks is always in season,

Especially when a better-looking man is breathing.

So I flap my arms and tongue, like a whirling

Turkish dervish, hoping to make you so nervous,

You forget the ugliness of my face and heart.

The trick, you see, is for my soul to become uglier than the me you see.

If I’m cruel, and drool, I can make you my fool,

And you’ll avert your eyes from my face,

Which scarcely masks a ghoul.

Frightened by the depth of my evil,

My girlfriend folds into the creases of my cotton,

Like the boll weevil, seeking protection from its own fears;

If she wants to keep me, she knows she must look beyond her tears,

And her loneliness, and think about the life she wants to have

In coming years.

I am ever present among ugly men who glower

To preserve the trappings of their power.

I am just like Swastika’d Stephen Miller,

Serial killer,

Of children, families and whole villages,

Whose homes he happily rapes and pillages

For the pure joy of being hated for his sadist business,

Which takes his mind, and yours, off his own hideousness.

I am just like gnome-domed Stephen Cheung,

As attractive as elephant dung,

Bur not as useful. The more he spreads his manure,

The more we are inured to the disfigurement of of his figure,

And every furrow of his brow, sewn into the rolls of his skin,

By each burp and act of his own male-evolence..

And so, we Ugly Men will have our day,

In the White House, in frat houses and brat houses,

On social media and in encylopedias of monsters

Where we stomp and shout like facist gangsters;

To steer your eyes away, away away

From the portraits of Dorian Gray,

Which hide our ugliness from all,

Except those who see right through us

And threaten the very existence

Of the pestilence we are upon humanity.