Hey guys, Kate Upton, right? Good God. She’s everywhere, not the least of which happens to be the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. I’ve spent so much time trying to discern the faintest outline of a vag*na on that cover photo that I think I’ve developed cataracts. I’ve been screaming, “enhance” every once in a while in the blind hope that her top will just fly off. It has gotten to the point with Upton that I actually want to know her; I find that after a few hours of objectifying her through photos on the Internet, I’ll actually start to watch videos of her getting interviewed as if I want to know if she’s funny, or smart, or sending me secret codes through her eye blinks. I am a hummingbird’s fart away from sending her a postcard with letters cut out of a magazine. It’s unbelievable what a beautiful girl can do.

I recently made out with the hottest girl I’ve ever had physical contact with -- and I don’t mean just “hot,” I mean otherworldly, top-1%, Kate Upton-hot. We didn’t have sex, because girls like this don’t just "have sex" -- all the reasons that people casually bang don’t entice girls like this; the feelings of self-worth and satisfaction exist for them all the time anyway. (Actually, what’s more likely is I’m the guy she uses for a few laughs and a free dinner, and there’s some 6'3" masked Russian with 4% body fat waiting in the corner of her bedroom like a floor-lamp and use his nine-incher like a toothbrush.

This girl has eyes like windshields. I think I've deciphered this is her main allure. I know we all go on and on about breasts and ass and all that, and she has those, too -- but her eyes. You know how in cartoons, the way they make an animal character into an attractive female -- like regular dude chipmunk into hot, seductive chipmunk -- by just simply making her eyes impossibly large? She has hot-chipmunk-cartoon eyes. It’s outrageous and now I’m dabbling in cartoon adult entertainment.

But simply, she is retarded. I don't mean that in the offensive "she's an idiot" way -- I mean she's actually retarded -- as in "held back" and I mean, "held back from actual life." Have you ever talked to someone that hot? They say the craziest shit. You can't believe someone is actually talking to you about how Kanye West invited her backstage and isn't giving any meaningful detail, like how it made her feel, what Kanye West smelled like, if he seems as insecure in person, if there was a crudite of vegetables with ranch dip. You've never been so bored by a story of being invited backstage; and it's because these gorgeous retards are so dutifully removed from life that these events don't register as appropriately large. Of course, they get that Kanye West is an international star (that's why they're telling you in the first place) but the intricacies of that moment, or the people around them pass them by unnoticed because… bum ba da bummmmmm… They. Don't. Give. A. Shit.

All those things that we "norms" converse about were learned by evolution. We find what interests people and discuss. We try not to be boring so as not to risk being social outcasts. But this chick will never understand that because she's been so hot for her whole life that none of that matters. She doesn't need interests. She will always be accepted -- and not only accepted, but celebrated. These girls don't have existential crises or hand-wring over how people at the party have perceived them. They never feel weird or out of place. They don't worry about their careers. We create a world around her that caters to her in every way -- she’ll never be poor or lonely or ridiculed. Since I’ve known her, she has been offered a $500 bag for $150, she has been invited to the Super Bowl by a "friend" at the last minute, and when I told her I’d never been to the Hamptons, she looked at me as if I just told her I don’t eat sandwiches. We can barely converse on any normal level. She's retarded.

But it doesn't matter how many times the words that come out her mouth make me want to eye-roll so hard I reverse actual time on Earth. I will do anything to hook up with her. To just absorb that glow, to feel other people's eyes on me as the man who may be showing it to her is a validation I'm not sure I could give up voluntarily. I'm not even sure I want to have sex with her -- it'd be like catching Moby Dick. My eyes might blind from the efficient compactness of her vag*na.

Just two days ago, I caught Kate Upton on CNBC. They asked her for stock picks (I’m now fully invested in sparkly lip gloss) and then they asked how involved she was with her financial decisions. To which she answered, “I’m fully involved in hiring all of my clients.” Then the host took to a knee asked her to be his Valentine, looked to the camera and said, “I’m sorry Courtney” (we found out later that Courtney is his pregnant wife). And the interview ended with three men in their forties giggling like school girls. A 19-year-old just went on a financial network, gave stock picks, proved she didn’t know the meaning of the word “clients,” and NOT ONE PERSON even asked for an elaboration. Then, some pregnant woman just watched her husband ask someone else to be his Valentine. Everyone was fine with this. Do I blame them? No. If I were host, and Kate’s investment tip was to go buy slaves in third world countries, I would turn to the camera and say, “There you have it, start buying up ethnic people. Back to you, Fred.” I will do whatever it takes to create that world of comfort for these girls -- I will lie, I will fake interest, I will smile until my face hurts. Just give me even the faintest glimmer of hope that you’ll touch my pen*s.

Hot Chick, you are retarded. It’s all my fault.

Jared Freid is a New York City-based comedian. Follow him on Twitter @jtrain56.