A Plastic Surgery Plea from the Fat and Ugly
Now, I’m an avid Nip/Tuck viewer and I’ve seen my share of TV shows on operations, so I feel I could perform some of these procedures myself. Plastic Surgery didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know about the actual surgical process, and in fact was a lot less gory than your average Dr. Troy mutilation job. But I did learn a few things from this program.
Our first case was an older gentleman who felt young inside and wanted his outside to match. Therefore he went in for a facelift. We got to see him before and after (hence the show’s second subtitle), and I hope, in addition to feeling young inside, he also feels puffy and immobile, because that’s how he looks on the outside now.
Next up was a woman with enormous breasts looking for breast reduction surgery. Perhaps you, like me, in the past have scoffed at such surgery, thinking it unnecessary. Maybe you saw Christina Ricci after her reduction and thought, man, what a waste of two perfectly good knockers, all so some bimbo can be taken seriously as an actress (she went on to seriously star opposite Jason Biggs. You can see how well that worked out).
Well, scoff no more. This poor woman had 38II breasts. I have to say, the whole idea of cup size, beyond a certain point, gets pretty ridiculous. It’s like the Xes on the cover of a porno DVD — the more the merrier! Once you get past a D cup, I think bra manufacturers just lactate all over themselves thinking up new letters. Triple E! Quadruple T! Seven Zs and the Greek letter theta! In all seriousness, is there some standard measurement to differentiate between a FF and a FFF? I don’t think so.
This poor woman had 38II breasts, and to give you an idea of the size of these, I can say you’d need two hands to lift them. Off the floor. I’ve spent a lot of time wandering the dark recesses of the Internet and I’ve never seen anything like these breasts. If surgery could help her, then surgery it is. That or a facelift, a domain name, a cable modem, and a digital camcorder. Make that a T1 line.
The surgery reduced her down to an E cup — “Still big!” the doctor helpfully assured the anxious husband — and made her very happy. Hooray for everyone, except the Web, which is sad now.
The next person on the dissecting table was a woman who had sustained a back injury. Her surgery and recovery left her unable to move for months, during which time she gained some weight. After being able to move again, she became depressed, and continued to gain weight. Soon, she had doubled her mass. She started out as a bikini contest winner and blimped up to 250 pounds.
At this point, she said on the show, she became embarrassed to leave the house. She was so mortified by how fat she was, she wanted to die. She simply couldn’t live her life any more in such a condition.
I find this somewhat insulting. I am writing this as a six-foot-tall male weighing 314 pounds. I have never been embarrassed to leave the house. Many times I don’t want to go out because I can’t stand all the fit, air-headed bleach blondes who can’t figure out how to work stop lights, stop signs, ATMs, cash registers, walk/don’t walk signs, sidewalks, credit cards, automatic doors, shopping carts, and other accouterments of modern life. But simply being fat has never kept me in the house. Is this woman really that pea-brained?
Why, yes. Let’s go on.
After deciding she could no longer live like, well, 75 percent of America, only with her own in-ground pool, she had a doctor put her on a strict diet and exercise regimen, and soon enough she was back down to her original weight and feelin’ good. Just one small problem.
This is a fairly attractive woman. (Although the more she speaks the less attractive she gets.) She’s fit and trim and healthy again. She’s no longer depressed. What’s bothering her now? Could it be she needs a lesson in proper use of eyeliner? Well, yes, but she doesn’t know that. No: It seems her skin didn’t bounce back all the way. She’s got some extra. It’s a little saggy. Her body is thinking, hey, I spent all this time building a whole bunch of extra skin to cover those big ol’ fat deposits, why waste it?
So what she wants is a lower bodylift. This is a lot like a facelift, except instead of your cheeks becoming your eyebrows, your ass becomes your shoulders. Also, she wants new boobs. Might as well get new boobs while you’re at it.
She gushed on camera about how wonderfully supportive her fiancee was being, too. What a great guy! Not that I saw him getting his gut removed or his hair regrown. But, wow, what a wonderful man, to be so supportive of his wife getting her baggy ass fixed and some new hooters. I can hear the conversation. “Well, honey, if that’s what you need to help your self-esteem, then I’m all for it. Also, if you want to bring one of your girlfriends over for us to have a threesome, shucks, if that’s what it takes to make you feel better about yourself, then, by all means, I’ll make the sacrifice. And, darlin’, if the two of you were to get up the next morning and make me breakfast in bed, gee, if it’ll help you be a stronger person, then I’m with you all the way.”
She gets the surgery and now she can wear that thong she always wanted. Everyone’s happy except me, because I’m still fat and I don’t have a pool.
Our next chick is even more vacant than the last. This one has been emotionally scarred because — are you ready for this? — she has a flat ass. All her life people made fun of her because of her lack of ass. She won’t even take her shorts off at the pool without sitting down first because she’s so ashamed of her ass.
I’ve got something to report. As the show’s second subtitle implies, we got to see her ass before and after. And before, she had a great ass. You’d kill for that ass. I’d kill for that ass. My wife would probably wipe out a small village for that ass. This girl was petite, yes. Very slim. Very pretty. Very, like, you know, not the sharpest spoon in the sink. But definitely very attractive.
But this beautiful girl, who would probably knock an entire science fiction convention unconscious just by showing up; this girl who could probably make a living as a self-obsessed camwhore; this girl who was easily prettier than 99 percent of the people I see every day, this girl was humiliated all her life for her misshapen booty. And she wasn’t going to take it lying down any more!
In fact, she was going to take it standing up, because butt implant surgery leaves you unable to sit down for three whole weeks. That’s right: Despite being attractive in every way imaginable — expect, perhaps, in the brains department (not to mention in the accurate perception of reality department) — she was going to undergo surgery so painful she would be unable to sit down for almost an entire month. How do you go to sleep when you can’t sit down? Do you just walk up to the edge of your bed and fall over on your face? How do you ride in a car? Do you have to sit on your head like Mork from Ork? How do you put your seat belt on? And — I just thought of this — how do you take a dump?
Nevertheless, she went through with the surgery, getting solid silicone lumps stuffed under her gluteus maximus, so we could watch her bring drinks to her shallow, shiftless, worthless friends and they could all, after torturing her her whole life, now approve of her ass.
It was tough watching this whole show, and yet somehow uplifting, seeing these people whose lives were turned around by the miracle of modern medicine. It made me feel… it made me feel… honestly, it made me feel good about being fat and ugly and staying that way. Because here’s what I learned:
I think I’m much happier staying fat and ugly. That way I’ll just be fat and ugly until I’m old and fat and ugly, and then I’ll be dead. It’s a lot easier.
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