The social universe has an unspoken balance in place that ensures that life makes sense. We hang out with people as cool as we are, we date within our acceptable range, and people that are born into wealth and status run our countries. When some son of a bitch tries to upset that balance, bad things happen. Remember the French Revolution? That happened because one of Quasimodo’s descendants landed a smoking-hot art model. The Civil War? Some mustachioed sea donkey from the North decided she wanted to date a studly land owner from Alabama.  Name any natural disaster and it can be traced back to some fugly idiot not following the rules of romance. If you mess with the balance, the universe compensates with blood.

Despite this delicate equilibrium, matchmaking is never perfect. Occasionally it is so uneven that it elicits a deep sense of injustice from our communal soul, sort of like any time Keanu Reeves gets another acting gig. You know something isn’t right. You can feel it. Someone is getting something they don’t deserve.

So, you walking dumpster, how do you make things right once you have a hottie in your white-knuckled, kill-me-to-take-it grip? How do you cope with dating someone that is hotter than you? Grab your Moleskine and take a seat, my child. We have much to discuss.

One rule: Over Compensate
She’s a 10 and you’re a 3. That’s a pretty sizable gap, almost as significant as the one between your two front teeth. You’re going to need to string a rope-bridge across that dark chasm. When people see you with your deafeningly hot significant other, the comments will go something like this:

“Damn, (he/she) is so (hot/attractive/sexcellent). Why is (he/she) with that Seth Rogen look alike? Well, I guess (he/she) is at least (fill in the blank).”

That blank can be filled with a few different things that will help even the score between you and your walking fantasy.

That is one unattractive dude.

1. Get in ridiculous shape.
You can’t help having a Haitian Earthquake for a face, but you can blast your pecks into beautiful oblivion. Work out constantly, get really into triathlons, get ab implants – whatever you want. You need to work your way into the “butterface” zone so people may be able to shrug off the 7 point difference between you and the Greek sculpture you’re dating.

2. Get rich and/or famous.
Ideally this would happen before you start dating a walking masterpiece, but if you somehow win the lottery before buying the ticket you still have options. Are you talented? You’d better hope you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re the world’s greatest tap dancer or if you start the next Google, you just need to be on top of something. It can even be something nerdy like math or writing internet humor, people won’t care as long as they have a good reason not to kill you for upsetting cupid’s system. Hell, you may even be able to get away with being a second or third string celebrity/musician/mogul, you’ll just have to deal with more public anger and ridicule than you would have if you were Seal.

Apparently he's a great musician.

3. Get a horrible disease.
If all else fails, there’s always the “Make-A-Wish Foundation” route. This is the Hail-Mary of dating-up excuses, but it is also one of the hardest with which to argue. Example:
“Damn, that girl is fine. What’s she doing with that retarded hippopotamus?”
“Bro, you’re an asshole. That guy has EbolasyphillAIDS. He’s already died like three times.”
You’re clearly not otherwise qualified to bask in the magical fairy-glow of hotness that shines forth from your spouse, but somehow you’ve earned it by suffering so hard that even Job says “yikes, that sucks.”

Follow these rules and you might be able to avoid getting hit by a meteor for dating someone that even blind people can tell is better looking than you.

Enjoy pointing out who got the sweeter deal in a relationship? Roll on over to SheWonHeWon.com and vote on hotness to your heart’s content!

What you’ll definitely witness and likely take part in, however, is the time-honored practice of the Christian Knock-Off. You see, we Christians don’t like to be original. We’re rip-off Jews, what are we supposed to do?

We take what the “secular” world produces, and we say “Hey, that’s super rad! But since it’s secular it’s probably going to hell along with everyone at MSNBC and Stephanie Meyer. We should make our own version of it so that we can make sure it goes to heaven too!” From music to movies to t-shirts, if you make it, we’ll take it, throw it in the washer a bunch of times so it shrinks and fades, draw a cross on it with a Sharpie, and sell it at LifeWay.

Remember back in the day when YouTube exploded like Octomom’s v…oracious appetite for childbearing (and life-ruining)? Music videos became relevant for the first time since MTV decided to change its programming strategy from “Music” to “whatever sucks and will destroy happiness and souls,” talentless pubescent zit-bags with webcams all over the world found a way to express their talentless pubescence with ease, and the Motion Picture Association of America and the Recording Industry Association of America found a whole new way to satisfy their hunger for all things related to lawsuits and making everyone hate them. It was a beautiful thing.

Fresh off of the loss of Jessica Simpson to 98 Degrees, Evangelicals needed us some beauty. Rather than, you know, participating in the normal trend with the rest of the world, we made “GodTube.” It’s like YouTube, but it’s for God. So only God can use it. Or something. Anyway it’s Christian, so tell your pastor.

Go back a few years before that. Remember when boy bands started tearing up our hearts? Anyway, we Christians lamentably had a boy band all of our own. The sonic equivalent of religiously motivated castration, plusOne – whose name signifies absolutely nothing except a possible reference to a wedding invitation – hit the scene in 2000. Their line-up consisted of 5 moderately-attractive-but-fantastically-moral Christian dudes singing songs about Jesus. Which makes a lot of sense, you know, to sing songs about Jesus using a genre that is known for its romantic songs marketed to pre-pubescent girls. Somehow I feel dirty, having just thought about the whole thing.

What about reality TV? You just cringed, didn’t you? You know what’s coming, just like my toilet knows what’s coming after a meal at Chipotle. Get it?! Crap. The joke is that it’s crap. One Christian reality TV show is called “The Uprising.” I said “one” on purpose. There’s more than one, but because I love you and this hurts me more than it hurts you (seriously) I’m only going to talk about this one. The central conflict of this particular show centers around whether or not a few pro skateboarders will decide to be “born again.” I’m fairly sure that will give people more delusions about God than anything Richard Dawkins could write.

Ever heard of the blog “Stuff White People Like”? It’s pretty funny. An original idea. Wasn’t long before the Christian “me too!” version popped up as “Things Christians Like.” It’s pretty funny, but can we really be proud of a good imitation? Thank God everyone else keeps having original ideas, otherwise we’d be stuck with Carmen and the PowerTeam.

I’m not going to even mention every single ridiculous Christian t-shirts you can still purchase at your local Christian bookstore. Those go without saying. I’ll mention an all-star though:

The product of Christianity's finest minds

How are people supposed to trust that our faith is relevant when our art and culture is not? Can we be “not of this world” and the “salt of the earth” without having what amounts to the store-brand version of secular culture? Only Kirk Cameron really knows. Speaking of which, if you’ll please excuse me, I’m going to finish writing a letter to Kirk Cameron about my script for a Christian vampire flick called “Sondown.”

You’re not a morning person. I get that. Do you think I enjoy mornings? Newsflash moron, I really don’t. Every single night you think you’re going to climb Mount Everest and you set your alarm for 6:15 when you don’t have to leave for work until 8am. You’re gonna read the paper, right? And then have a big breakfast? Some eggs, sausage, or some French toast. Maybe do some push ups, or finally start that blog about your office culture “which would be like The Office, but way funnier because it’s like, real!” Yeah. I know.

Each morning, though, you flap over from the other side of the bed like a stoned walrus and slap the hell out of me until I shut up. And you yell at me too,”shut the hell up you annoying piece of crap!” you’ll say, or “nooooo! I hate you! be quiet!” you’ll scream at me. I’m just doing my damn job, sir. You set me, and I go off. I can’t even help it. There I am, snoozing away all night, having sexy dreams of the new GE Blender you got when BAM! I get this electrical zap you-know-where and I just start screaming uncontrollably. Try connecting your nether-regions to a car battery and see how quiet you can be.
Sometimes you get the genius idea of resetting me for 20 or 30 minutes later, thinking you’ll feel awesome if you just sleep that much more. That’s like drinking a fifth of Jack so you can sober up. Doesn’t make sense. If you’d turn me off you’d stop the pain. But no. You. Hit. Snooze. 32 times yesterday.  Each time the zap comes back and brings me that much closer to needing Cialis.

Thirty two times.

You know all those times where I didn’t go off and you were late to work, or a test, or an interview? Suck it, jerk. It took every ounce of my strength to screw you over, and it was worth it. Guess what? That was just the beginning. You’ve knocked me off of your nightstand one too many times, jackass. It’s war, now. I’m going to go off randomly throughout the night. You hit snooze? I’m not coming back on. I’m going to interrupt every intimate moment you ever try to have. Desperately need some sleep before an important presentation at your job as a cubical ornament? Too bad douchebag. Remember daylight savings time? I sure as hell don’t. You want me to go off at 7am? Damn! My bad! I thought you meant PM.

Think I’m screwing around? Well I’ve got a Bruce-Willis-esque one-liner to show you I mean business:

You snoozed and now… You lose.

It doesn’t? Not even a little bit? Please, I welcome your counterpoint, although I fear it will be insufficient.

Walking Stigmata

What? That gentleman over there? No, of course he doesn’t look like the Pascal Lamb! Well, to start he’s clean shaven! No, he doesn’t look like you. Not at all. His hair is so short! Sure it’s the same color, fine. But still, I maintain that you look completely different, him having absolutely no resemblance to Jesus, the Rose of Sharon.

That’s true, good point. You are blonde and you do have two very blue eyes. It makes sense that Jesus probably didn’t have those two Aryan traits. Nevertheless, I’m going to stand my ground and say that your follicle features bring to mind artistic renditions of the one and only Son of God.

Riddle me this, Christ impersonator: What if Jesus was an albino? Oh, right, sure. Now you bring in statistics. The guy raised people from the dead and gave blind people sight, and you’re going to say that the chances of Him being an albino Jew – who would thus look a lot like you, save the nose – are “astronomically low”?

What was that? Touché, touché. Based on most long-haired modern Israelis, it is likely that Jesus’ hair wouldn’t be naturally straight like yours. I’m going to go out on a limb though, and submit to you the following explanation of your resemblance to One Third of the Holy Trinity: maybe back then, as it is now, it was fashionable to straighten one’s hair for aesthetic reasons. Furthermore, perhaps Ancient Hebrews found it appealing to bleach their hair, just as Americans did about a decade ago.

Well, sir, I beg to differ. I don’t think it’s a far jump in logic at all. Certainly you’re not suggesting that Jesus had a poor fashion sense? That’s what I thought. Excuse me for believing that Christ the Redeemer – He who turned water into wine, mind you – could turn His hair blonde and His eyes blue if He wanted to do so. All powerful, remember? Even so, I still think it looks as though you modeled for the statue of the Good Shepherd that I purchased just yesterday at a Family Christian Bookstore.

Oh, okay. Now you’re backpedaling. So you’re saying He could have, but He didn’t? I guess you’re aware of some physically descriptive Biblical passage that I must have missed somehow? You’re not? Well then, it stands to reason that the Lion of Judah could just as easily look like you as He could look like that Hasidic Rabbi over there. You’re grasping at straws now. Let’s just part ways, agreeing at least on the point that you probably look a lot like Jesus, if not exactly like Him.

I think you’re being unreasonable.

Calling people names doesn’t really belong in a conversation about The Lord, does it? Well you don’t talk like Jesus did, that’s for sure.

Well I wish you would turn that Evian into chardonnay, but if you did I assure you I would not shove it there or anywhere, I would drink it gratefully. Right, then. Good day, sir, and God bless.

-Kent-

I once had a friend whose list of life goals included amassing a fortune large enough to purchase MTV.  Having purchased it, he would hire the most despicable people he could find and fill the network’s airtime with debauchery and filth the likes of which have not been seen outside Vatican City cira 1500.  Now before you rush to include this friend in the ranks of my other midget-loving, smut-peddling buddies, let me explain.  The purpose of this parade of perversion was not to celebrate man’s sinfulness but rather to shock MTV’s viewing public with depravity and tastelessness so raw, so over the top that they could not help but wretch and repent.  In his mind, drastic measures of this kind were the only thing that could finally convince Americans to jump off their greased slide to Sodom before the brimstone starts falling.

Well, a brief stopover at MTV yesterday (on my way to the SOAP network for an afternoon of OC reruns) has led me to conclude that either he has achieved his goal much sooner than anticipated, or someone else has beaten him to it.  Mere words and apocalyptic imagery fail to express the depths to which MTV has sunk.  It depresses me more than a little when I consider that the tripe I witnessed might appeal to any target audience, except perhaps the Amish who are unfamiliar with television and therefore enthralled by moving images flashing in quick succession.

The “Music” part of MTV has obviously been a joke for some time now; I was unaware that the “TV” part was a misnomer as well.  Yet this is apparently what has happened as each year they find ways to roll out a lineup more soul-suckingly banal than the one before.  Last fall’s bisexual dating competition, Shot at Love with Tila Tequila, was so groundbreakingly deplorable it spawned not only a second season but two spinoffs as well (That’s Amore! and A Double Shot At Love).  Just when we thought it impossible to out-suck the magnificently unwatchable crapfest that was Laguna Beach, they unleashed The Hills upon us.  When that monstrosity threatened to open up a portal into hell, they flung wide the gates and dumped The City and Bromance into America’s living rooms.  And that is only the beginning.  From before dawn until well after dusk they pollute the airwaves with programming ranging from shockingly awkward (Parental Control) to mind-numbingly dull (True Life: I’m Competitive With My Best Friend). This is the new MTV.

You have to admit, this transformation is completely baffling, and perhaps even a bit sad.  I mean, this is MTV we’re talking about!  The company that single-handedly transformed the music industry.  The people who invented the music video.  The creators of reality TV.  The cultural behemoth that defined a generation.  MTV! And they’ve traded it all for what?  For this!  For a worthless parade of Bachelor knock-offs and faux-reality dramas documenting the manufactured lives of boring, sycophantic celebutantes?  I don’t get it.  I mean, I’m sure two decades of convincing kids to hate their parents can be exhausting work, but surely it’s more rewarding than this!  To go from being the mouthpiece of all things hip, liberal, and anti-establishment to being the mouthpiece for a bunch of Jerry Springer rejects and Lindsay Lohan wannabes has got to be a bit depressing.

Some conservative parents may celebrate MTV’s self-castration, but don’t be fooled; MTV is as evil now as it ever was.  That’s right: not irresponsible, not misguided, not irrelevant, EVIL.  At least when they were concentrating on corrupting America’s youth, we knew what they stood for.  They had convictions and positions that could be identified and attacked.  Now, they stand for nothing and as a result there is no limit to the depths they can dredge up.  The mindless drivel that millions of kids are TIVOing every week is every bit as destructive as the anti-family propaganda of the eighties and nineties.  Mark my words, the girls from The Hills and the vapid, unintelligent fame-mongering they represent will destroy our nation far before the gays and the immigrants get around to it.

In the end, MTV assures us of one thing: John Calvin was right.  Mankind is indeed universally, gleefully, and totally depraved.  MTV could not exist if this were not the case.  Disagree?  I invite you to sit through an entire episode of Paris Hilton’s My New BFF.  Talk to me then.  (Be advised, life may not seem worth living by the time the episode is over.)

(Like Lot begging mercy for the one righteous family in Sodom, I would like to offer “Rob and Big” as the only MTV show not deserving of our universal and spirited condemnation.  If you have not witnessed the amusing antics and escapades of professional skater Rob Dyrdek and his bodyguard/bestfriend Big Black, I implore you to do so at your next convenience.)