Havre Daily News - News you can use

By Pam Burke 

You can't implant common sense

 


A few weeks ago I went ahead and spent the money for those butt implants I've been reading so much about — the Brazilian Butt Lift implants.

I'm not kidding. That's what they're called because the procedure was perfected and popularized in Brazil where the Latino people appreciate women with a lot of junk in the trunk. I was tired of having merely large bubble buns and decided I want to live life to the extreme with the full-size balloon buttocks.

My new, inappropriately, inconveniently, large butt is awesome.

Plus, contrary to my usual bargain basement frugality, I got the deluxe butt package that includes the rhythm and sound microchips. You should see me dance now. No more bobbing my head and sort of jerking my knees and elbows around to the music anymore. People who see me dance now are prone to saying, "Oooeee, mama, look, who's done set her caboose on the loose. Pam is shakin' the house down."

And the sound chip — don't even get me started on the potential there. I could have it programmed to play maracas to the beat of my own walking speed. It could play a mariachi chorus every time I sit down. Not only that, I could lead every conga line in town with my amazing butt-implant sound chip, with complimentary, studio-quality, hip speakers.

As cool as the music thing sounds, though, I simply had the implant tech program my new booty-licious buns to play a sound bite of Charo saying "cuchi cuchi" every time someone gives in to the urge to pinch my plumped up buns.

Well, the left bun anyway.

My right bun needs to be reprogrammed when I go in for my four-week checkup because it says, "Hey, buddy, hands off or you'll lose something important."

Of course — y'know — I'm joking. I didn't get implants for my buttockal area.

I mean, really, why would I spend good money on something so ludicrous and unnecessary as butt implants? I would no sooner do that than I would be so impractical as to buy a new horse. Who would do such a thing? Why would I spend money on a brand new horse that I don't need any more than I need those big butt implants?

Especially when I can get a brand new horse — I absolutely do not need — for FREE.

Yes, I have a new horse. It's an illness — a horse hoarding illness. In my world of cynicism and bitter helplessness, it's my one ray of Pollyanna sunshine that I see hope and potential in the form of every horse. Don't judge me.

Besides, this horse acquisition was just a simple accident. ... Yes, an accident. I can have a horse buying accident.

I was telling a friend that I was cutting down on my horse herd, selling my broke horse, and she mentioned that she was planning to cut back too, selling her unbroke ones. So I asked which horses and how much she was asking in case I heard of potential buyers. Then she said she'd just give me either horse. For free.

And then before my brain kicked in, my ears heard my mouth say, "OK, I'll take the 2-year-old."

I admit, my brain should have been engaged a little sooner and my mouth a little later, and my ears should've tripped some kind of fuse or a fail-safe lever or something in my subconscious. None of those processes worked properly so it just happened. Anybody could have a little horse buying accident like that. And now what? I own a horse. Big deal. Lots of people own a horse, or too many.

Besides, I have a plan for this horse. I'm getting those rhythm and sound microchips implanted in this horse's rump so he'll play oompah music, and we'll make a living traveling all over North America leading parades to the tune of my new horse's amazing, oompah butt implants.

Hey, I'd pay money to see that.

(Wouldn't you? At http://viewnorth40.wordpress.com.)

 

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