PLASTIC SURGERY SERIAL KILLER

Plastic Surgery Serial Killer, #2

by Dean Littner 

One thing I noticed from my recent plastic surgeries was that getting sliced up hurts but it's well worth it. I had 5 friends suddenly disappear and leave me surgeries in their Wills/suicide notes, how convenient and nice and unrelated to any of my doing… I went from an aging bed model that couldn’t get steady work to an on fire bed model superstar! Even Marco (the best bed model of all time) got jealous of my resurgence and new success. All of this was fun but my goal was not simply to be a great bed model and get work again. Entering my late thirties made me realize that I needed stability and reason in my life, therefore, I planned on using my fake looks to marry rich and be set for life. I started paying more attention to things like Doctors, Lawyers, Politicians, and Drug Lords. These things made money. I also started thinking about generativity (a big word). Generativity is the need to raise a family and thus produce free nursing care. Why pay someone for health care when you can guilt a son into changing crapped sheets while fitting you into a comfy diaper, right? Luckily, I already had a son (my 3 year old Justice); I just needed to start teaching him things like words and how to do more than fix me a cocktail.

I met very rich Dr. Steve during my last hair plug session. Sparkling on his wrist was an expensive Lange& Sohne Tourbograph watch and that meant there were boats, beach houses, and tropical vacations till the end of days if Dr. Steve was my husband. I couldn’t wait to sleep my way into his life and I casually mentioned that I was single.

“Let’s fly to San Francisco tonight and eat at my favorite restaurant La Folie,” Dr. Steve suggested to me.

I had my friend Julita watch little Justice and I hopped a jet with Dr. Steve to San Francisco. Dinner was divine, the baby shark stuffed with foie gras and gourmet snickers bars was experiential. We took a walk along the wharf and then booked the Penthouse Suite at the Fairmont Hotel. The Dr. had only seen my outside and he wanted in real bad.

“I’m ready for that hole,” Dr. Steve alerted as I slinked out of the shower and onto the silk sheets where he waited with a plump hard on.

Just as I began to mount Dr. Steve, something terrible happened. My hole made noises, “Chugga chugga chugga chugga,” it chugged and then there were a series of internal crashing sounds that grew loud and unpleasant.

“What the hell is that?” Dr. Steve questioned as his hard on started to melt away.

“It’s just what’s going on inside… look at my pretty new face and try to ignore it,”I explained.

Dr. Steve started to get off the bed in disgust, “You need to fix whatever that is before we move forward with anything else, I’ll call a car for you, please go...”

I needed a new hole if I was gonna bag Dr. Steve or anyone capable of taking care of my financial future. I also needed a new victim. I mean, I also needed a new surgery that someone really meant for me not them.

The next day, I waited across the street from an anal reconstructive surgery outlet and watched the patients limp in and out all day. Finally, I found a little old lady struggling to her car; she looked like she had been through a lot of train crashes in her day.

I approached her and said, “Hi, I’m Dean, I, uh shit, I meant to say I’m Deanaldo, how are you today?”

“Oh hi, I’m Emily,” She said sweetly, “and I’d be perfect if all my poopy parts worked dandy enough but I’ll tell you a secret, they don’t,” she painfully smiled.

“Aww,”I frowned.

Emily continued, “When I was your age, I was what you’d call a pudding pop or a cream berry, I didn’t want to get pregnant so I took each and every man into my fudge kitchen and we cooked and we cooked.”

“That’s my story too Emily!” I embraced her.

“I feel so close to you Deanaldo,” Emily looked at my face, “would you like to come home with me and be the son I never had or… just some sex? I know I’m a little old for you but you don’t look like you care…”

Later that week, I took Emily’s anal reconstructive surgery appointment. She wrote the Surgeon a note stating that I could have her surgery because she left the country “for charity work in Malawi” and would never be back, the end.

I jumped into the stirrups and told the Surgeon, “I’m begging you, make this hole whole again Doctor.”

The Surgeon injected highly pressurized waste water deep into my cavity resulting in oil and gas products exiting my hole, also known as fracking. After a barrier of rock was removed, a camera was inserted to explore what else was in there. I watched on the screen as the camera traveled deeper and deeper inside me. Suddenly, a bright green glow manifested on the screen revealing an internal phosphorescent ecosystem. There were organisms in there that had not been seen living on our earth for at least 50 million years.

“Burn it!” I yelled.

The Surgeon pleaded, “But but think of the world inside you but but science.”

“Burn it all down!”

The Surgeon torched every living thing inside me, removed the debris, sliced off yards of skin, and installed a dial that let me choose which age I wanted my hole to be. I never go above 17…

reposting courtesy~ david stern~ los angeles/antebellum correspondent