New TummyPort Surgery to Revolutionize Not Dieting

dvocates from both sides of the “Yo mama so fat/My mama just fine� debate are in up in arms this week with the announcement of Dr. Irving Kilpatrick’s controversial new TummyPort surgery, the latest medical advance to tout weight loss without the lifestyle-altering albatrosses of proper diet or self control. The revolutionary surgery, honed by Dr. Kilpatrick through years of secret testing on desperate fatties and abdominal injury victims, involves the installation of a small circular port in the patient’s abdomen, giving convenient external access to the weight watcher’s stomach for purposes of food extraction prior to digestion. Marketed as “bulimia without the barfy aftertaste,� the TummyPort technique already has a waiting list several hundred people deep at each of Dr. Kilpatrick’s seven clinics in the Houston metro area.

Decried by some medical professionals as “quackers,� others defend Kilpatrick’s procedure as a natural outgrowth of the popular stomach-stapling surgery, which was performed on a record number of Americans last year despite serious risks to the patient’s health, including hair loss, malnutrition, and instant death after blowing a staple at the all-you-can-eat buffet. Though the TummyPort does carry an increased risk of infection in the weeks immediately following the installation, it is unlikely to be life-threatening and can provide hours of Laundromat-like entertainment for family members mesmerized by the sloshing stomach contents visible behind the tempered glass of the TummyPort’s front hatch.

Speaking with the commune while performing a TummyPort installation on commune lab rat Raoul Dunkin, Dr. Kilpatrick downplayed the controversy following the announcement of his technique’s successful clinical trials.

“Any time science makes a bold leap forward, over the steaming bundle of dogshit that is popular convention, there’s bound to be either a hoopla or a to do, dependant upon the fashions of the day,� Kilpatrick mused, holding one of Dunkin’s unidentified internal organs ponderously in his left hand.

Asked what he thought of charges that the TummyPort was just the latest expensive medical gimmick to prey on consumers more willing to risk their health than to make positive lifestyle changes, Dr. Kilpatrick farted into a jar, sealed the lid and then handed it to this reporter without comment.

While many medical professionals have decried the surgery because of its increased risk of infection or the possibility that the TummyPort’s hatch could be accidentally left open at night, allowing a mouse or something to crawl in there, some doctors have objected to the technique solely on the grounds that it’s really fucking gross. Dr. Holman Dykstra of the Mayo clinic holds just such a view.

“Have you ever been over to someone’s house for dinner, and you’ve just finished enjoying a fine meal, only to have your host excuse themselves to go piss out their pork chops through a rubber attachment hose in the bathroom? It’s unsettling to say the least,� Dykstra intoned, the color suddenly draining from his face.

During a recent promotional tour to raise awareness of his procedure, Kilpatrick battled back at his detractors from the perspective of world hunger, raising the possibility that half-digested foodstuffs removed via the TummyPort could be captured in small jars and marketed as baby food.

“At the very least you could probably use it in your garden or something,� Kilpatrick suggested. “Some kind of fertilizer. I don’t know, I’m not a plant guy, but it seems like it would be good for something.�

As of this writing, commune reporter and resident douchebag Raoul Dunkin is enjoying the versatility provided by his TummyPort, but reports that fellow staffers flipping his hatch open right after lunch has become a minor problem, since he then has to go change his pants and eat lunch again.

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Here's a phrase I've never said before: Good work, police. It goes against everything I stand for at heart and everything the stoner counter-culture who makes up our fanbase believes, but in this particular case, the five-O did their jobs well in apprehending Malvo and Muhammad, the famous snipers of last year. Some have called them the East Coast Killers, but myself, finding it distasteful to so lightly treat the subject of murderers, prefer to call them the Deathmasque.

But I package that compliment with a chiding, for no extra charge. For the snipers, whatever you call them, have only been two-thirds apprehended.

Gasp, if you're inclined. Then close your mouth before the flies take up residence. Bagel shits you not, Americans. A third sniper is out their running around loose, or possibly ambling, I make no bold statement concerning his walking speed. But this third sniper is free still, and if you need any more proof, check out the recent shootings in Ohio. Police may say they're unrelated shootings, but what have the police ever done for us, besides catching the first two snipers?

Who is this sniper? Do I look like the cops to you? Not my job to wildly speculate on the identities of snipers, folks, only to wildly accuse them of being larger in number than they've previously indicated.

I suppose you want to know my source, source-nosers. You would think after all this time I have more than earned your trust. After all, I've delivered pretty amazing information over the years—information so amazing, would I were to hear it for the first time, I certainly would be too agape to ask for proof. But I understand your need for verification—we live in a hard world that demands facts rather than rhetoric.

And this source, if I am at liberty to say, is among the most reliable I've ever consulted. I was reluctant to believe such an outrageous tale as the three-gunman theory, but my source revealed to me such conclusive evidence I could not refute it. Trajectories, shell plating, sight lines—all such confusing forensic jargon I had no choice but believe. One-hundred and ten percent proof two people could not have, under any normal human circumstances, committed those crimes alone.

Not to belabor the point, but when I think about it a little more, I really have earned a little more credit than you're giving me. I announce to you some of the most amazing conspiracy news of our fresh young century and all you want to hear is names, names, names—of sources, sources, sources. Thanks for the credit, he sarcastically remarked. But I think I've made my point.

Anyone examining the current talk of insanity pleas in the Malvo trial, or studying the Muhammad trial transcripts carefully can see (and it doesn't take my pointing out) there is subtle reference to a third individual. The question is: Who is this third individual, and why have the Malvo-Muhammad duo and their lawyers kept silent about it until now?

You know, what does a source really prove? Oh, someone else knows about this information as well. But what does that matter to you, Mr. and Mrs. Middle America, you wouldn't know some D.C.-area librarian from a Hoboken mental patient. A big-time Washington-area insider could mean complete legitimacy to those in the know, but if you don't know him, I could totally make up a name and you wouldn't be able to tell. It just pisses me off. You should know I wouldn't bring you a third-rate source. All this time, all these endless column inches—for what? I could've been writing about the time I diddled that girl from Subway. It certainly wouldn't lessen my credibility, would it? Shams.

Let's suppose, on this one occasion, I might have neglected to get the name and occupation of my source. Roughly translated, forgot to check my facts. Would that kill an otherwise spotless record? I think not. What do you think? Hypothetically. Of course it wouldn't.

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I'm sure I will take a lot of flack for this, or fleck, as well as flecktones, but someone has got to stand and state the morally obvious: This big-time Survivor show does nothing but glorify the lifestyle of desert island castaways.

Not that glorifying this depraved lifestyle is anything new. There have always been exploitative movies like The Blue Lagoon, Return to the Blue Lagoon, Castaway (1987) and Cast Away (2000), as well as trashy novels like Robinson Crusoe. I have always hoped the resurgence of this abnormal lifestyle in the media would fade away again as quickly as it sprang up. But now that it returns as a fairly successful T.V. show, it's time somebody took a stand. Are we supposed to sit back and do nothing while our children are encouraged to accept this as a normal lifestyle? While these people are portrayed as heroes by the ignorant, money-hungry media? I'm not going to do that. I have six children, three of my own, and I will teach them the difference between right and wrong. And stranding yourself on a desert island is wrong.

I'm sure some of you bleeding hearts will argue with me that these people are victims, that nobody sets out to strand themselves on a desert island. Let's not be naïve, people. People on desert islands are no more victims than drug abusers or people with A.I.D.S. You know there are certain things in your lifestyle that invite harm and danger to you, like using drugs, sharing needles, or sailing a boat through a record-setting storm. Babying people like this is not going to change anything, they need tough love.

You know what they say: "Give a man a fish, he eats today, or possibly tomorrow, if the fish lasts that long; teach a man to fish and he eats everyday, as long as you give him a rod and bait." Get it? Then please explain it to me, since I'm a little foggy on it.

My point is that while I want to be an accepting, all-forgiving person, it's easier to be angry and vengeful and curse what I don't understand. Would you rather be firm now and explain to your kid what's right and what's wrong, or have them out in the middle of ocean braving a storm of epic proportions? Having the wind and rain slam them overboard, where they must grab onto debris and float amidst choppy waves until they pass out and wake up on a beach? Then find them years later either naked or with only a goofy little loincloth and a full length beard to cover their private parts? And God forbid someone of the opposite sex is the only other survivor, no telling what kind of porn movie fantasies will be happening on that uncharted desert island.

We're all adults, we know how the real world works. It's not all millionaires, movie stars and the rest in this desert island fantasy the kids work up in their heads. The real world is hunger, loneliness, and extreme sunburn. We as Americans have to reject this lifestyle altogether rather than let it worm its way into the fabric of our society as a modern legend, like the cowboy.

Good luck to you in your personal efforts to thwart the image of the happy, well-adjusted castaway in society. I would suggest forming a group against this sort of thing, but only on the condition I get to be leader. After all, I did write this column and bring it to your attention, right? It's about time somebody made me leader of something. Otherwise it wouldn't be worth leaving the cabin.

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