Blimey! Did you read in the paper about those insane women in America who have been injecting their arses with an illegal mixture of silicone and superglue in an effort to achieve rear ends that look like Buster Gonad’s gonads?
Sadly, one of them – a British girl, who flew out with three of her mates to the good ol’ US of A especially for the procedure – has now ironically achieved the five minutes of fame she was undoubtedly hoping to achieve via the surgery by dying under the knife on the operating table just a few hours after receiving treatment. Well I say, ‘knife’ but obviously I mean hyperdeemic nurdle / turkey baster, and when I say ‘operating table’ it’s more likely to have been a grubby towel lain on the bare floor tiles of the hotel bathroom where the procedure took place.
Actually, thinking about it, even that is probably an overstatement – chances are she would have breathed her last bent double over a tatty sofa with her arse sticking out in the breeze like an over-inflated soufflé while some evil bint with the morals of a snake prodded and poked at her from behind with all the care and consideration of a Rentokil operative disposing of a poisoned rat.
I can’t imagine for the life of me what would drive young women to want to do this to themselves or why they would think that having an arse like a donkey would in any way enhance the figure that god or evolution (depending on your point of view) had given them. I mean, I know that the American rap scene has that whole ‘I like a lady wid a big fat butt’ vibe going on, but even allowing for that you would think there were limits, wouldn’t you? Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s lovely that the world’s more pear shaped ladies might feel less negatively judged regarding the bounty that has been bestowed upon them, and hope sincerely that the phrase ‘does my bum look big in this?’ can evolve to be a positive rather than a negative, but do we really want to live in a world where the needle has swung the other way and equally lovely ectomorphs and mesomorphs feel pressured into getting bits cut off or bolted on to look like something they’re not and were never intended to be?
Bad enough that women are queuing up to get silicon injected into their tits and lips and getting their vages plucked, polished and vajazzled to look like Faberge eggs without getting their bums in on the act too. And if they’re doing all this in the misguided belief that this is what men want it’s even worse, because no man who views a woman as a human being rather than a piece of arm jewellery or a lifestyle accessory would wish for a second that somebody they loved would feel so crappy about themselves that they’d willingly have their bodies hacked about with scalpels or pumped full of plastic, would they?
Seriously, girls, if your boyfriend wants you to have an arse like a horse or tits like a cow then drop him off at a local farm, give him the flick and get yourself a new one. And if he thinks your ‘foo-foo’ would look more attractive and inviting if denuded, beaded and decorated like a flapper’s handbag then get him off-hire and find yourself someone with more realistic expectations and natural inclinations, because it ain’t, erm, normal for a bloke to find the sight of a lady’s naughty bits off-putting.
None of which is to say, of course, that a young laydee shouldn’t be free to do with her body whatever she so wishes, or that there’s anything wrong with a bit of pubic topiary or pelvic primping. But from everything I hear more often than not this isn’t about what ladies want but what they think blokes want, or it’s about some sort of misguided and unreal model of ‘beauty’ that has nothing to do with the person inside and everything to do with unhealthy role-playing and wish-fulfilment and equally misguided and unreal models of ‘slebrity’ glamour. But the slebrities are wrong: Just watch them, girls, as contestants on Friday night comedy panel shows or as foils for Graham Norton’s rapier wit (sic) on midweek chat shows and whether it’s Katie brains-of-a-rocking-horse Price or her even thicker doppelganger Amy Childs the simple fact is the audience is laughing at them, not with them.
And, yes, you could argue that they’re making money hand over fist by selling old rope, wedding photos and ghost-written books about their vacuous, self-obsessed lives, but if you look a bit more closely you’ll see that those same shows also have other types of women on them too; women who haven’t hacked, primped and carrotened themselves to look like drag queen artists and Barbie dolls and who are there because the audience likes and respects them and thinks they might have something genuinely interesting or enlightening to say. And isn’t that something much better to aspire to than having front and rear bumpers that look like spare parts from the knackers’ yard or abattoir when the surgery’s gone right or that make you look like the creature from the black lagoon or possibly leave you dead when the surgery’s gone wrong?
As for arse implants, the only thing I could think of when looking at the picture (see below) of ‘Vanity Wonder’ (an American ‘dancer’ – hem hem – whose dreams of positive big-arsed fame have obviously crashed and who has now resorted to trying to claw some sort of c-list celebrity status for herself by advising other women not to be as idiotic as she has been) was Kenny Everett doing his impression of Rod Stewart. Along with the blurry pic I managed to find online I have included a link to the YouTube video of Kenny’s performance. Listen to how that audience is laughing, ladies, please, and ask yourselves the obvious question…
And while you’re at it spare a thought too for the family of that poor misguided girl who flew out with three friends to the Good ol’ US of A and came home in the cargo hold in a wooden box. I imagine it took two or three hefty blokes sitting on it to get the lid screwed on, don’t you? It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic.
AND CLICK HERE FOR THAT VIDEO LINK