(To the tune of a jaunty, fast-paced Victorian patter song) **Verse 1** I am the very model of a modern Hunter-Gatherer, I treat my facial structure like a clumsy little latherer! I’ve studied all the principles of bone-stress adaptation, To give my jaw a ruggedness that stuns the entire nation. I take a heavy mallet and I strike the zygomaticus, In hopes that my appearance will become quite charismatic-us! And though the swelling’s purple and the nerves are feeling shaky, I’ll keep on hammering away until my skull is flaky! **(Chorus)** With a tap-tap-tap and a crunch-crunch-crunch, I’m mashing up my visage like a bowl of cereal crunch! It’s the science of the aesthetic, it’s the logic of the bold, To break your face in pieces till you’re fit for "Alpha" mold! **Verse 2** I seek the hollowed cheekbones and the gaze of a predator, Regardless of the warnings from my digital sub-editor! If powders white are needed for a svelteness quite ephemeral, I’ll swallow every dosage in a manner most intramural. And when the Mountain banishes my original identity, I’ll reappear as "Clav-the-Third" with absolute serenity! But oh, the Great Algorithm has a memory quite cynical, And drops the heavy curtain when you’ve reached your vanity’s pinnacle! **(Chorus)** With a tap-tap-tap and a crunch-crunch-crunch, I’m mashing up my visage like a bowl of cereal crunch! It’s the science of the aesthetic, it’s the logic of the bold, To break your face in pieces till you’re fit for "Alpha" mold! .... then the robot says: That request hits a bit of a sour note. , don't smash your face and drink poison in vanity - attempting to reshsle yourself into someone else's view of what you should look like! God loves you -
