Prepare to be offended.
Is Malcolm entitled to be “conflicted” over the breast-implants saga? Since most of the “victims” are really victims of their own vanity, and some nasty selling techniques, a sneaky and unworthy voice at the back of the conscience whispers, “They deserve what they get”.
It’s also difficult not to see an unpleasant double-entendre in stuff like this (from the Press Association):
The implants were pulled from the market in several countries including the UK amid fears they could rupture and leak silicone into the body.
That apart, it is strongly to be hoped that M. Jean-Claude Mas, who ran the now-defunct French company Poly Implant Prothese, gets his full deserts; and that his dupes/victims some relief and gratification:
According to estimates by national authorities, more than 42,000 women in Britain received the implants, over 30,000 in France, 9,000 in Australia and 4,000 in Italy. Nearly 25,000 of the implants were sold in Brazil.
Those numbers represent an awful lot of profiteering on human weakness.
Fatty (t)issue
In Florida, though, there seems to be a cruder sense of the ridiculous than even Malcolm can manage happily.
First there was Carl Hiaasen’s Skin Tight, which does the dirty on cosmetic surgery in the Sunshine State:
The same libertarian standards applied to rhinoplasties or hemorrhoidectomies or even brain surgery: Rudy Graveline was a licensed physician, and legally that meant he could try any damn thing he wanted.
He did not give two hoots about certification by the American Board of Plastic Surgery, or the American Academy of Facial Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery, or the American Society of Plastic and Reconstructive Surgeons. What were a couple more snotty plaques on the wall? His patients could care less. They were rich and vain and impatient. In some exclusive South Florida circles, Rudy’s name carried the glossy imprimatur of a Gucci or a de La Renta. The lacquered old crones at La Gorce or the Biltmore would point at each other’s shiny chins and taut necks and sculpted eyelids and ask, not in a whisper but a haughty bray, “Is that a Graveline?”
Rudy was a designer surgeon. To have him suck your fat was an honor, a social plum, a mark (literally) of status. Only a boor, white trash or worse, would ever question the man’s techniques or complain about the results.
South Florida’s “Toxic Tush” case took another bizarre turn Wednesday night when the person accused of helping inject concoctions of “Fix-a-Flat” and Super Glue into women’s derrieres was attacked during a taping of a talk show by an audience member.
About 9:30 p.m., as Corey Eubank appeared on the Spanish-language television show hosted by Cristina Saralegui in the program’s Doral studio, he was attacked by the mother of one of the victims, Eubank told The Miami Herald afterward…
Eubank, 40, of Hollywood, is accused of being an assistant to Oneal Ron Morris, also known as “Duchess,” who police say duped women into paying for injections of a near-lethal chemical formula to enhance their butts, only to find themselves sick and disfigured.
Miami Gardens police said Morris performed the procedure, but that Eubank coordinated them and got a cut of the profits.
Eubank and Morris have both pleaded not guilty and are out on bail while their cases move forward…
Wednesday night, Eubank was on the stage, along with members of his legal team; on another part of the stage, he said, was Shaquanda Brown of North Miami, one of the women who said she was a victim.
Brown’s mother was in the front row. A table nearby had a syringe, for a demonstration later in the show.
Eubank told The Herald he went onto the show to clear his name.
Suddenly, he said, Brown’s mother ran to the stage, grabbed the syringe and lunged at him, scratching him across the forehead before security pulled her off.
“My face has a mark on it,” Eubank said afterward, “and my head is killing me.”
It was unclear Wednesday night whether any charges would be filed as a result of the scuffle.
Ah, diddums! Come to Mommy and she’ll kiss it better.
