Nipped, Lifted, and Tucked {sp?}         
 
Do not believe Hollywood.  Even Bev Hills
teeth and skin rot.  All the product
at Dreamworks cannot keep hair alive.  
Mask and bodywork for entertainment
only.  Consult your attorney, stock
broker and guru before you go
under knives or give in to a needle
filled with poison.  DAH-ling,  
even fashionistas die.   By all means,  
repair for repairs.   Hell, out with the old,
in with the new.  Got the bread
and don't mind forking the equivalent
of the pyrotechnic budget of a stud-
studded extravaganza.   Plastic   
surgeons and stylists deserve to live
it up.   Look how  they Care.
 
Considerations to ponder in your Gulfstream:
Mud they slather tres, tres dear.  Dust
to dust BO-rinnng.  Did you know the sand
comes from a South Seas isle so remote,
takes helicopters and jet-skis?   Heat it
with an ingredient so precious, have to kill
us if they tell.  Outer Mongolian stream
provides water for the steam they use
to powder bone from the ignoglamorpus.
Lives in the mountains of Opium.
Whip it with blood, tallow, wormwood,
and a red seaweed goo called yuk,
get the wrap they wrap.  Meantime, Fate
is catching a breeze between 6-foot digs.
All that huffing and puffing and polish-
ing and buffing is taking place
over plates that shift.  Don't look down.
Core looks hot as, well, hell.  Get visions.
of make-up artistes in funeral homes
painting and fidgeting with the Do
Filing, tinting.   Who said Why
not cut to the chase?.  Shoot fire,
stylists would be invading birth suites.
Set up in utero!    See a 7-pounder
gliding down the runway.  "Ta-DA!"  
 
"Look Ma!  Look Pa!  No wrinkles!"
.

(c)  Phyllis Jean Green,  February, 2006