Raise the Hammer
Science and surgeons more interested in moolah than treating the sick have enabled me to turn back time and stay one step ahead of Mother Nature.
By Kevin Somers
Jan. 24, 2007
Like a tsunami, middle age came crashing in and dampened vanity irrevocably. With great sadness I watched my hair fade to grey and get thinner while the rest of me filled out and got wrinkled. Death preceded by decades of decay seemed a long and cruel fate.
Fortunately, I discovered cosmetic surgery and that has changed everything: aging is history. Science and surgeons more interested in moolah than treating the sick have enabled me to turn back time and stay one step ahead of Mother Nature.
It's perfect; I've defeated the aging process and won't look old until I die. I'm happy to share the secrets of eternal youth, starting at the top.
Weaves are great. Mine is so awesome, to my knowledge, nobody knows all that dark, new hair isn't real. The colour, shoe-polish black, couldn't look more natural. Sometimes I encourage strange women, who might think it fake, to pull on it but they seldom do.
It's perfect just below the new and improved hairline, too, thanks to Botox. My forehead is again big, smooth, and without creases or wrinkles: an unblemished canvas; walls without paint; a blank screen; empty pages.
There is no history or stories. My eyebrows, which were getting out of hand, have been removed with lasers and I redo them every day with a special pencil. I have also alluring permanent eye-liner and my vision has been corrected with lasers so I rarely need glasses anymore.
My nose wasn't bad, but it's been cropped down to a cute little button like Michael Jackson's. The results are captivating; people stare at me all time.
My lips are sexy, sultry, and unevenly swollen with Collagen. For extra effect, they've been tattooed red-hot. My wife says she hates it and it's embarrassing, but that just jealousy talking. The paunch that had settled under my chin has been removed and turned into expensive soap for which I get a supplier's discount.
The hair follicles that found the top of my head so inhospitable had taken root in my ears and on my shoulders, but that was no problem. Between lasers and wax the unsightly mess has been removed and nature's natural beauty naturally restored beautifully.
I've had several facial implants and surgeries and as a result my cheeks are more prominent and my jaw line is more defined. The cleft in my chin echoes. My stick-out ears are a thing of the past (no doubt) and I've had a face lift and chemical peel so my skin couldn't be more attractive and natural looking, although red and shiny.
I look fantastic but you'd never know I've had work done. It's a miracle, really. Right here in Hamilton we've outdone God and Michelangelo.
Below the head is just as good. Rather than waste hours exercising, I've had my stomach stapled, chest implants, tucks, and lipo, lipo lipo, baby! Love handles and chafed thighs are things of the past.
I look like (a slightly lumpy) Adonis and it couldn't have been easier. Why would anybody who isn't poor bother exercising? As soon as the pain subsides, I'll be back eating all I want.
I'm having my hips realigned in order that my feet straighten out. They turn a little inward when I'm tired and I can't have that.
The calluses, corns, warts, moles, lumps, bumps, and bunions have been burnt, frozen, scraped or cut off my feet, which look sharp, but are still tender. I'm having my baby toes broken and straightened as soon as I can afford it.
I expect my love life to take off when the scars heal and pain subsides, so I'll get more work done later to keep everybody happy, if you get my drift. Then everything will be perfect.
I won't lie - it's been expensive and painful and the recovery isn't always pleasant, but it'll be worth it. I hope. I've put a lot of eggs in the beautiful basket.
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