We briefly interrupt the dispatches from 2013 to ask a burning question: if you’re reading this, do you have a blog or creative site to which we should be linking? We are always open to finding great new things at which to goggle. When I migrated the old site out of Blogger, it predictably ate the old blogroll, since that was hand coded. Back in the day and all. I had to whittle each update in wood.
But just today, for example, I remembered that we used to link to Awful Plastic Surgery, and when I checked, they happened to have a Pete Burns post at the top of the heap! I know a sign when I see one (I saw the sign–check).
So if I strip for you, will you strip for me? Lay your content at the altar of Vomitola, and we may get to hang some spiffy new links around our Makeshift Chamber of Horrors! Surely they will be an improvement over all that…offal we’ve got going.
It’s been 10 minutes since my esteemed colleague left the firm, and my row,
forever, and already it is unbearable. How does one cope with such loss? I
feel like my life is over. I am sobbing uncontrollably. And on top of this
loss, the colleague I am left with harasses me mercilessly. Just today she
made insulting remarks about the size of my nose, for which I am very touchy
Can you help me?
I was very much moved by your letter, and I shall give you the name of my very own personal cosmetic surgeon. You shall walk away from this trauma with a perfect nose. One need not miss old friends when one has a beautiful face in the mirror to gaze upon with deep satisfaction. Or has their own television show.
A scandalous report is apparently being circulated abroad concerning yours truly. From Providence to Boston, it is being whispered
“She’s had plastic surgery!”
For the record, this is the grossest falsehood. I am quite satisfied with the size and relative situation of my features. I can’t seem to find out what miracle procedure I am supposed to have undergone. A little botulism here, a bit of a peel there- giant inflatable pillows inserted neatly into my bottom lip perhaps? Cushions of molded plastic nestling in a pad of fat to give desperately needed shape!
Sorry to disappoint all my little hens, but my cheekbones and worry lines are all my own. If I do decide to staple my face someplace behind my ears or get my tail clipped like a young Doberman, you wee nattering pigeons shall be the first to know. I will send you each a bar of soap rendered from my own fat. Now quietly continue envying me at a distance, please.