From Fat Suits to Bat Suits

I’ve never been a big fan of plastic surgery.

For years, it has baffled me that there would be such a market for breast enlargements. And if my bulk email folder is any indication, there is now an equally large market of men desperate to enhance their reproductive organs as well. I don’t understand why people feel that they need to measure up to the physical standards of others.

An article in today’s Denver Post, however, has me rethinking my philosophy. Until today, I’ve never thought that I was dissatisfied with the way I look. I’m a textbook case of overconfidence — not in my appearance, but in my sense of humor and outgoing personality, both of which triumph over good looks any day of the week. And I’ve never thought I was ugly, just average. Not good-looking, either, but average.

The article spotlights Dr. John Millard, who specializes in creating six-pack abs — not with implants, but with fat. And not injected fat, but the fat that’s already there. It’s selective liposuction. He ultrasounds and sucks out most of the fat, but leaves behind a little bit of fat in carefully selected areas, giving the impression of a healthy, trim-looking six pack and equally fit pectorals to match.

For guys like me, with severe allergies to sit-ups and a family history of Dickiedo disease (where your belly sticks out further than your dickie do), the only six packs we’ve previously been able to purchase are Bud Lite and Coors. I’m not fat, mind you, but I do have the early stages of a small gut going on due to the fact that I like eating the occasional cheeseburger, Twinkie, or bag of Double-Stuff Oreos. And, as the article acknowledges, even with daily crunches and a change in diet, without the genetic predisposition toward Ripped-Like-Jesusness, it’s never going to be a possibility for me.

Until now. As I read the article, I was shocked at how quickly my disdain for plastic surgery turned into “I wonder what I would look like if I had that operation done?” There wouldn’t be a huge purpose, either, other than to look good for my wife and to feel more self-confident in swim trunks. But that didn’t stop the allure.

I was great until I got to the $15,000 price tag. That’s where the whole thing fell apart, because there are too many other things that I’d rather have for fifteen thousand bucks: A more dependable family vehicle. A recording studio crew. A membership to Disneyland’s Club 33.

I did note, however, towards the end of the article, the author revealed that Dr. Millard is also experimenting with arm and leg sculpting. Maybe there’s a sign-up for volunteers. Which would be a classic case of Americans’ inability to follow through: Sculpted arms, sculpted thighs, and Dickiedo.

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