If You Really Loved Me You'd Let Me Eat Your Brain

French doctors claim to have done a partial face transplant recently.

So if you were horribly disfigured by a pit bull attack, a chemical spill, or a cop-killing terrorist freed by Bill Clinton in his last drunken days in the White House, would you want a face transplant?

I'm not sure I would.  I think it'd be cool to have a scar bad enough that it causes "normal" people to pull back in fear, or a really burned and pitted face, kind of like, say, Edward James Olmos.

In fact, rather than get a new face, I'd have some of my more artistic friends help me design and build a series of freaky/cool masks.  Rusted iron for those days when I'm feeling lunatic, shiny hematite for fancy dress occasions, gold when I need to show off the bling, all spiky for when I feel like sharing my delicious, exquisite pain, etc.

It finally happened.  A patient complained about a doctor telling her she was obese.  Not fat, not tubby, not a lard-ass, not suffing from Fatfuckitis.  Just obese.

How can medical advice, which is by definition supposed to be objective and non-judjjmental, be viewed as a personal attack?  This is the kind of crap that makes me glad I dropped out of that pre-pre-med program before I got in too deep.

Read all about it here.

He's got lung cancer, but you should already know that. Check out this brief but stinging post at What Attitude Problem?

I look forward to the in-depth reporting on how the superior Canadian health care system treats Mr. Jennings.