It began with Liz Jones (or, “Lord High Exalted one” to use the name she demands her minions call her, under pain of death) lording it over us with her super-evolved powers of empathy, but now the fabled Pantheon has another member.
Mere mortals, quake in terror in the presence of Samantha Brick. Much like the legendary Gorgon, avert your eyes from her radiant form lest you be enchanted, not into an eternal unthinking form of stone, but through an unnatural compulsion to buy her bottles of wine, train tickets or to present her with flowers.
For Samantha Brick is BEAUTIFUL. And with said beauty comes a dreadful self pity, a longing to be as hideously scarred as you and I with our facial features that resemble nothing more than a plastic mould approximating a human face that’s been left on the top of a hot radiator.
You've always dreamed of being beautiful, haven’t you? Of having the type of figure and face that both men and woman would long for and lust over. But you never will be, will you? Let’s face it – the majority of you look like caricatures of normal looking people drawn by an over-excited seven year old child. You there, with your clothes hanging off you like you’re some manner of fleshy skeletal lopsided clothes horse. Compared to Samantha Brick, you’re ugly. A hideous warty troll-thing that can only dream of true beauty when not retreating to the safety you feel when huddled up under your bridge.
But you can feel a little better about your tiny pathetic life, at least for the time being. Being beautiful isn't all its cracked up to be, apparently. It’s actually quite tough. A point which she bemoans at some length in this Daily Mail article.
|What you look like to Samantha Brick. Christ, look at you.|
You're hideous. You should be ashamed of yourself.
YOU DISGUST ME.
PITY HER - She can't even walk down the street without men lustily staring her up and down and threatening to buy her things. Women, sometimes complete strangers, come hurtling out of shop doorways to attack her because they've caught their husbands fiddling with themselves as she walked past. UNABLE TO HELP THEMSELVES. Imagine the sheer burden of being perfection personified. She HATES looking the way she does, absolutely H-
As you were.