Plastic Surgery - What the Hell?

This is Priscilla Presley. Hubba-hubba. The question I pose today, using Ms. Presley as an unfortunate example is: What the hell were you thinking?

I woke up at two in the morning last night and tossed and turned for awhile, then turned on the television, figuring "what the heck - I'm on vacation..." Perhaps there would be a Ray Milland movie on, or I could catch up on my Alfred Hitchcock Hour (the DVR-thing records two per night - I usually watch one, so at this rate television will become another medium before I catch up).

Instead of either of those tasty options, The Biography Channel was running a documentary on Priscilla Presley. "Hubba-hubba," I thought (see above).


I turned it on and this is what I saw. What?

Apparently, Ms. Presley has decided to jump into the plastic surgery pool. Judging by the way her mouth has been stretched into a wide, permanent frown, it must have been an unpleasant swim. Her mother was on the show saying a few kind words, sans surgery, and looked just fine as an older lady. I have got to think that the Beaulieu family must be biting their collective tongues when their daughter, with her new lizard-mouth sits down for Thanksgiving dinner - especially since she's probably paying for the spread with some Elvis-cash. Watching that thing eat must be horrifying.

So, I went on the internet this morning (thankfully, I did not have any Priscilla-Monster nightmares when I finally went back to sleep) to look up plastic surgery disasters of the rich and famous. Now, I can certainly understand the part about not wishing to look old, ironically trying to live as long as possible at the same time. Having passed into the world of my 50's, I see the bags under my eyes, my flagging muscletone and beard going to white. Still, plastic surgery is not an option. Nor are hair-plugs or lipo. If I end up dying like Elvis ("Elvis died fat, untalented and dead", according to Mike Lyon), then so be it. At least mothers won't rush to hide the eyes of their children when I pass them on the street. Well, not because of some plastic surgery mishap, anyhow.

I was appalled by all the images I saw of these surgeries gone awry. Kenny Rogers, of all people (who has looked old with his white hair and beard since the 80's) had his face tugged up so that his eyebrows are raised in a constant look of surprise. Not bad, unless there are no surprises around, at which point you simply look like a happy retard. There was some Italian lady and another old rock-star guy who had so much botox injected into their lips that the looked on the verge of explosion.

 



I scrolled through and saw disaster after disaster and began to question not only the vanity of these unfortunates, but their overall sanity. Lips like that have got to be dangerous, right? I wouldn't want to be around when one of those things exploded. Perhaps it's the inherent self-esteem issues that cling to many who take up professions such as acting and singing and all the other showbiz tomfoolery where one's life is spent essentially screaming "LOOK AT ME! LOVE ME!" to all who will listen. Even after all their success, these folks still cannot simply grow old gracefully and let the salad days rest as pleasant memories.

That awful orange-tinted hair and tight skin and big lips and fake boobs - you can keep them all. Give me one with a nice smile, wrinkles and all and some sturdy hips and I will walk hand in hand with her into the sunset. FADE OUT.