Kathy Griffith looked in the mirror and smiled.

Kathy Griffith looked in the mirror and smiled. Her lifelong ambition was to be a hot chick. After all the surgery, heartache, scrabbling and self abuse, it appeared to her that

this was never going to happen. Oh, she could swear to the tabloids that she didn't believe in plastic surgery while she secretly indulged, but Kathy Griffith would always be the

darling of the drag queens, at least if she had anything to say about it. Kathy Griffin wasn't the kind to give up on plastic surgery just because of a few missteps. Not like Heidi

in any way whatsoever, Kathy Griffin's face had an eye damage warning tattooed on it. It was a trap though. If you looked close enough to read it, you were too late. Plastic

tendrils would reach out and grab you face-hugger style as her

beak plunged into your chest, eating your heart and liver. That's what he was told and it was a good reason to avoid that entire section of town. But in his haste,

he took the shortcut anyway. He moved through the abandoned streets quickly hoping to avoid an encounter. Just as he could see Uptown, he heard the mighty squawk of the Jabberwock

"I am the Walrus," he cried, in a voice like a thundering coffin lid. It reverberated around the attic walls and hit my ears like a tokyo bullet train. Blood spurted out of my eyes

because I stabbed them with pencils. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now I was blind and unsightly, so I thought purchasing a seeing-eye dog would be wise. But

the one I got was allergic to vitreous fluid. It broke out and ended up getting mange. My old coot of a neighbor took a look at us and mumbled about vitreous fluid induced mange.