JU LIKEA ZE EYEBROWZSSS

Jes, I know ju are admiring zese eyebrowzsss. I know zis, even without ze imagery evidence of zere arch-ed beeoooty; I know, for zese are, after all, joost wordzsss. Fear not, dough, az only seeing ze eyebrowzsss iz like only hearing ze fireworks—a gross and inelegant undereztimation of ze many senses zese eyebrowzsss teekle.

Ju must feel zem, roll around een zere dense, booshy love-a-liness to trooly grasp ze sensory overload, ze coomfort—eet iz like ze wondrous hugging of a thousand poosy-weelows; an armada of luxuriousness dispatch-ed upon ju and jour pedestrian ideas of romance, for zis battle rages, and will rage, so long as zere are zose who stand against ze complexities of love.

Do not eyebrowzsss feet een zis community of awakened minds, een zis age of fluidity? Of furriness? Of acceptance? Jes, and zis war on eyebrowzsss—zis plucking, zis shaping, zis embarrazssment een ze face of an embarrazssment of reeches—zis iz a forbidden dance between the shame-ed and the shameful zat has overgrown eets place, like eyebrowzsss reaching over sunglasses toward ze sun.

Ze battle has ever been thus, ze hirsute elbowing zair way eento popular consciousness een a cycle of rebellion against zose contented laying on the hairless beeches of the unfluff-ed, een ze indefatigable mediocrity of texturelessnezsss, een ze sadnezss . . .

Fear not, dough; do not find disilluzionment weeth your lot een zis life; one day ju will feel ze fainting powair of zese eyebrowzsss. Ju will drop az dough felled by electro-shock, yet it will be zose eyebrowzsss zat catch ju . . .

Jes, and as ju fall een love, zey will catch ju and catch ju again until zere is no more ju to be caught.