Bad Plastic Surgery

[ziznak]

there's something about those DSL's that makes me laugh... like seriously is that something you wanna announce or advertise to the world... hello world... "i suck penises... so much so that my mouth is continously frozen in this state of penis sucking poutiness"... now thats my kinda hoebag!!

[Morgus]

I wanted to post some before and after pics of Victoria Principal and her atrociously bad plastic surgery. Can someone find some of her and post them here?

[b_dubb]

beyond tragic. better to look like a young science experiment than an old human

[Lovely Bones]

On the opposite end of the spectrum:

Before, late '80's:



After, '90's:



I gotta say, this is one plastic surgery case where the after-pic looks better to me. 

Of course, plastic surgery can't fix everything forever. Today:

[MV/Liberace!]

Tori Spelling's rockin' boobs:

[area51drone]

There is one picture I found of her that was truly terrible and showed how bad her lips look now a days.. I can't find it at the moment.

[b_dubb]

Tori Spelling's rockin' boobs:

God that is disturbing.  Looks like a piece of plasticware that was left in the microwave for far too long.

[Robert Ghostwolf's Ghost]

The recently deceased Duchess of Alba, who was the most titled woman in the world at the time of her death.  Word has it that Ron Perlman has been signed to play her in a movie due to begin filming next spring.


[attachimg=1]

[ksm32]

The recently deceased Duchess of Alba, who was the most titled woman in the world at the time of her death.  Word has it that Ron Perlman has been signed to play her in a movie due to begin filming next spring.


[attachimg=1]

There shall be NO erections tonight.

[Robert Ghostwolf's Ghost]

There shall be NO erections tonight.

I didn't see that message at the bottom of the pic when I copied it.  I don't even want to know what that's about, especially if it's a site for men who like women whose cosmetic surgery makes them look like Ron Perlman.

[Camazotz Automat]

Firstly, I do not appreciate this thread.  The comments and jeers are just as shallow as any attempts to improve superficial beauty.

Maybe you are perfect.  Good fucking for you.

Secondly, my agent had quit calling as often to check on me and my work.  Jobs were becoming more and more scarce as I spent my days staring out raindrop distorted windowpanes, my image to the outside world but a pathetic exercise in existential cubism at best IF they happened to serve a charitable glance toward my lair as they strolled by huddled beneath their mutant umbrellas.

(My Seattle neighbors can blow me.)

Friends and relatives were not inviting me to their parties like they used to.

Then, out of nowhere it seemed, Sardondi drove by one late evening in his red bitch magnet and tossed a six pack of mystery lager into the koi pond. Good old Sardondi. It sounded like the Germans bombing Stephen Hawking's childhood home when that six pack splashed down. Ironic of course, as the last simile Sard would wish to evoke would be that of some Nazi fuckheads attempting to kill the future god of theoretical physics.

[attachimg=1]

He must have been doing sixty or seventy and never slowed down, but his aim was dead on. The impact of the six pack would have stunned the fish to death - had there been any to kill. (landscape people were only leasing them to me and when I cut the yard crew, they cut the koi)

I drank like a dying man in the desert that night. Yes, haters of plastic surgery. It was the dark night of the soul for Camazotz Automat.

I've never had such firewater. The only thing identifying the black cans was what resembled the astrological sign for Saturn.  Let's call it what it was. The B.O.C. logo. I've never seen such witchery on simple brew.

The next morning, I took a long long long look in the mirror. The resultant hangover ten hours later after drinking 6 of 6 on an empty stomach was as mind numbing as it was eye opening.

"I am ... my own destiny," I sobbed at the reflection.

I had made my decision. I also needed some fucking Excedrin.

That's when the doorbell rang.  No one was there when I opened the door, but a little brown box had been placed on the WELCOME mat.

It contained a bottle of Excedrin!

"I knew you would need these this morning, you fucking alcoholic. Get well soon," signed The General.

On the back of the note: "P.S. Just kidding about calling you an alcoholic. You're not are you? You better fucking not be."

Sardondi must have shared his plans with some of the old crew.

How many of my friends had known about all the ballrooms in Hell my self-image had danced in suffering? And had now come together to steer me into the light? So much happened after that and everything that happened could not have been mere coincidences. Strings were pulled.  Eddie Coyle and MV phantoms of synchronicity seemed to weave their magic like a sewing machine needle creating a fabric from hazy dreams. Once I received an envelope from "RGG" that said, "Here's 20k. Hope it gets you by for a bit. It's a gift. Not a loan."

Many things like that happened while I slowly recovered from the surgery. Inexplicably, I even received a tin of cat food from Pirate King Atomsk, and some vacuum packed mushrooms from "A" that advised, "these are the doors you need, dude." The list goes on and on.

But I've rambled long enough.

You don't like the eventual results that came from that night? Fine by me, kiddo.

Okey Fucking Dokey, Mr. or Ms. Bellgabber. Jeer at your leisure.

But my agent calls me now. I'm the focus of attention at all parties and people even ask for my advice and opinion on things. Are you saying none of that matters? Perception is E V E R Y T H I N G.

Welcome to Hollywood the real world.

My self esteem soars. What's yours doing?

Uh-huh. That's what I thought.

Immature Nimrods.

(Oh, and I've got the pond stocked with koi again. They troll around like blissful submarines in a state of nirvana. And I own the son of a bitches and have someone on the payroll solely to make that pond God's little seaweed acre. I am printing money with every breath on the nearest windowpane - I can afford such extravagance. Thanks to my plastic surgery.)

Cam out. Way way out.     

[jazmunda]

There shall be NO erections tonight.

I believe Kim Jong Un says that all the time.

http://youtu.be/bcYppAs6ZdI

[b_dubb]

I believe Kim Jong Un says that all the time.

http://youtu.be/bcYppAs6ZdI

[Robert Ghostwolf's Ghost]

Firstly, I do not appreciate this thread.  The comments and jeers are just as shallow as any attempts to improve superficial beauty.

Maybe you are perfect.  Good fucking for you.

Secondly, my agent had quit calling as often to check on me and my work.  Jobs were becoming more and more scarce as I spent my days staring out raindrop distorted windowpanes, my image to the outside world but a pathetic exercise in existential cubism at best IF they happened to serve a charitable glance toward my lair as they strolled by huddled beneath their mutant umbrellas.

(My Seattle neighbors can blow me.)

Friends and relatives were not inviting me to their parties like they used to.

Then, out of nowhere it seemed, Sardondi drove by one late evening in his red bitch magnet and tossed a six pack of mystery lager into the koi pond. Good old Sardondi. It sounded like the Germans bombing Stephen Hawking's childhood home when that six pack splashed down. Ironic of course, as the last simile Sard would wish to evoke would be that of some Nazi fuckheads attempting to kill the future god of theoretical physics.



He must have been doing sixty or seventy and never slowed down, but his aim was dead on. The impact of the six pack would have stunned the fish to death - had there been any to kill. (landscape people were only leasing them to me and when I cut the yard crew, they cut the koi)

I drank like a dying man in the desert that night. Yes, haters of plastic surgery. It was the dark night of the soul for Camazotz Automat.

I've never had such firewater. The only thing identifying the black cans was what resembled the astrological sign for Saturn.  Let's call it what it was. The B.O.C. logo. I've never seen such witchery on simple brew.

The next morning, I took a long long long look in the mirror. The resultant hangover ten hours later after drinking 6 of 6 on an empty stomach was as mind numbing as it was eye opening.

"I am ... my own destiny," I sobbed at the reflection.

I had made my decision. I also needed some fucking Excedrin.

That's when the doorbell rang.  No one was there when I opened the door, but a little brown box had been placed on the WELCOME mat.

It contained a bottle of Excedrin!

"I knew you would need these this morning, you fucking alcoholic. Get well soon," signed The General.

On the back of the note: "P.S. Just kidding about calling you an alcoholic. You're not are you? You better fucking not be."

Sardondi must have shared his plans with some of the old crew.

How many of my friends had known about all the ballrooms in Hell my self-image had danced in suffering? And had now come together to steer me into the light? So much happened after that and everything that happened could not have been mere coincidences. Strings were pulled.  Eddie Coyle and MV phantoms of synchronicity seemed to weave their magic like a sewing machine needle creating a fabric from hazy dreams. Once I received an envelope from "RGG" that said, "Here's 20k. Hope it gets you by for a bit. It's a gift. Not a loan."

Many things like that happened while I slowly recovered from the surgery. Inexplicably, I even received a tin of cat food from Pirate King Atomsk, and some vacuum packed mushrooms from "A" that advised, "these are the doors you need, dude." The list goes on and on.

But I've rambled long enough.

You don't like the eventual results that came from that night? Fine by me, kiddo.

Okey Fucking Dokey, Mr. or Ms. Bellgabber. Jeer at your leisure.

But my agent calls me now. I'm the focus of attention at all parties and people even ask for my advice and opinion on things. Are you saying none of that matters? Perception is E V E R Y T H I N G.

Welcome to Hollywood the real world.

My self esteem soars. What's yours doing?

Uh-huh. That's what I thought.

Immature Nimrods.

(Oh, and I've got the pond stocked with koi again. They troll around like blissful submarines in a state of nirvana. And I own the son of a bitches and have someone on the payroll solely to make that pond God's little seaweed acre. I am printing money with every breath on the nearest windowpane - I can afford such extravagance. Thanks to my plastic surgery.)

Cam out. Way way out. 

I have to admit you look marvelous, Cam, and that’s because you exercised common sense and restraint!  You’ve demonstrated that selective, subtle pruning and shaping can enhance one’s best attributes in a way that looks natural without drastically altering the essence of one’s appearance.  Tearing everything down and starting over is a recipe for cosmetic surgery disaster, but you should be okay as long as you quit while you’re ahead and resist the temptation to go any further.  I’d hate to see you wind up like Donatella Versace.

[attachimg=1]

Oh, and about that 20k?  That was actually supposed to be 2k, but I’d been drinking and got a little carried away.  You understand how those things happen, I’m sure.  So, if you could refund the difference at your earliest convenience, I’d really appreciate it!  Thanks!

And since you asked, I no longer have any self-esteem because it ran off last month with a mature Russian woman it met through an ad it saw on BellGab.

[Yorkshire pud]

I have to admit you look marvelous, Cam, and that’s because you exercised common sense and restraint!  You’ve demonstrated that selective, subtle pruning and shaping can enhance one’s best attributes in a way that looks natural without drastically altering the essence of one’s appearance.  Tearing everything down and starting over is a recipe for cosmetic surgery disaster, but you should be okay as long as you quit while you’re ahead and resist the temptation to go any further.  I’d hate to see you wind up like Donatella Versace.

[attachimg=1]

Oh, and about that 20k?  That was actually supposed to be 2k, but I’d been drinking and got a little carried away.  You understand how those things happen, I’m sure.  So, if you could refund the difference at your earliest convenience, I’d really appreciate it!  Thanks!

And since you asked, I no longer have any self-esteem because it ran off last month with a mature Russian woman it met through an ad it saw on BellGab.

Did you ever get to the crux of why it wasn't possible to make a functioning human out of our combined body parts? Other than all the disposable organs, limbs, veins, arteries and skin, were all yours?
Just sayin.

[Robert Ghostwolf's Ghost]

Did you ever get to the crux of why it wasn't possible to make a functioning human out of our combined body parts? Other than all the disposable organs, limbs, veins, arteries and skin, were all yours?
Just sayin.

Yes.  It's because you were going to provide the soul, but instead you traded it to some glib, pudgy stranger with a raspy voice for a bucket of magic survival seeds, you idiot.

[Yorkshire pud]

Yes.  It's because you were going to provide the soul, but instead you traded it to some glib, pudgy stranger with a raspy voice for a bucket of magic survival seeds, you idiot.

The seeds were real!!!! How many more times.

[Robert Ghostwolf's Ghost]

The seeds were real!!!! How many more times.

Yeah, well I just hope you're able to eat it before it eats you.  Good luck with that.

[attachimg=1]


Oh, and do be careful where you sit.

[attachimg=2]

[yumyumtree]

On the opposite end of the spectrum:

Before, late '80's:



After, '90's:



I gotta say, this is one plastic surgery case where the after-pic looks better to me. 

Of course, plastic surgery can't fix everything forever. Today:

Can't fix being an odious, stupid bitch.  Let this be a caution about tats, too, ladies.

[yumyumtree]

I'm surprised Mickey Rourke hasn't come up, yet.  He acknowledges that he "chose the wrong person, meaning surgeon.


Tammy Grimes, I think, has had some work done.  She was never a raving beauty to begin with.


Helen Gurley Brown(I think she's dead now) is an example of too much, not necessarily bad.


Smokey Robinson.  Not a real egregious case, but it's too bad that he felt the need to do this.


That DC Madame who hanged herself in her mothers' garden shed a few years ago had clearly had a shitload of work done.