Call Me Scarface

August 22, 2016 9:25pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 30 Comments


I went under the knife.

That’s how hard I am.

I strolled into the posh clinic with my hair in a pony tail and no make up; Jeans, cowboy boots and a beaten leather coat. I walked slowly and deliberately up to the vending machine and poured myself an Earl Grey. Yeah, that’ll show ‘em, I thought.

The well spoken receptionist rushed over to me and asked if she could get me anything.
“Yeah, get the surgeon here fast, I’m on a tight time schedule, lady.” I sipped my tea menacingly.

Minutes later the blade wielder arrived, Armani suit donned, a tropical tan but not a hint of melanoma, Rolex peeping out from starched, white cuffs and a delicious aroma of Creed Aventus.

“Follow me,” he said in his plummy, matter of fact voice.

I shrugged and sauntered behind in his top dollar sillage as he took me to his room.

Filthy bugger had loads of false tit jelly moulds on his desk. Without thinking I went and squeezed them like a kid cos I’d never seen them before. Novelty factor. I prodded them all with my forefinger as they went up in scale and then wanted to feel my own to see if they felt realistic. Then I remembered where I was and that how I was supposed to be acting street tough. Goddam it.

He eyed me with suspicion and self confidence. I coughed and folded my arms.

The doc opened a plain brown file on me full of notes from his spies. “You’ve not completed the health questionnaire.”

“No need. I’m immune to toxins like Harley Quinn. Ask Don Julio and Jack Daniels.”

“Is that so?” he mocked.

“Yes. Take a blood sample and see. I mean quite frankly how I wasn’t called to play Harley Quinn, I’ll never know. I mean Margot Robbie’s youth, model looks and sexiness aside, I’m far better suited for that role.”

“So what are we doing for you today?”

“Scar. I want a scar. Right here, “ I pointed to the space as pictured between the top of my nose and eyebrow. “Make me a super villain, quackmeister but don’t get too carried away. Keep it simple and sexy rather than Al Pacinoesque. Ya get me?”

“So we’re removing the nodolafibrodoodleboodle as noted here from your previous consultation?”

“You call it what you want doc, but that tiny little lump there, is in fact a protrusion of my powerful and almighty brain which has very little room left in my head despite my bonce being a cowboy hat size 7 1/3.”

“It’s precisely 4 x 3 millimetres.”

I noticed the jealous streak in his voice. “ Don’t be like that, “ I said with warning. “Only the cleverest people get these. I’ve noticed these little blobs in exactly the same places on comic geniuses, scientists and all manner of intellectuals. You might get one if you keep working hard but I can’t promise.”

“You do realise the scar will be bigger? I have to tell you this before we proceed with the biopsy.”

“I know. That’s what I’m looking forward to but don’t be so nonchalant about it because when you start to cut this thing out I think you’ll find you’ll get more than you bargained for. Never mind the scrubs, blade runner, you might need a bullet proof vest.”

“We will be sending it off to make sure it’s benign. If it’s not, you’ll have to come back and have more removed. “

I knew what he was doing here. I bet the scientists are rubbing their hands in glee waiting to test my mutating, super power cell regeneration. “You’ll never clone me. I’m a one off.”

He sat me on his sterile bed and nurse Ratched came in to help. I showed no fear but I’ve got to be honest I got a bit of dry mouth.

Mobile trays with medieval equipment arrived and a big halo light shone in my face. The doctor wrapped a big paper collar around my face and head and asked the nurse for a 5 blade and gloves as he washed his hands. I waited for the wrist restraints but they never came.

“And the beat goes on…” played on the radio in the background which made me think about my heart and what if it stopped.”

“You’re going to hate me a little bit and feel a tiny prick,” said the surgeon. Verbatim – not kidding.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Local anaesthetic ——and relax..”


“And again….”

“You’re right , I do hate you…..AHHHHH it’s leaking into my eye! WHAT IF I GO BLIND?’

“What is it you do?” The doc asked trying to deflect my attention from his mistake.

“Write stuff.”

“Oh? What about?’

“When good docs go bad.”

“Can you feel that?” he asked.


“I’m stabbing you right now!”

“You wanna be careful.”

“OK, let’s do this.”

Not feeling anything is actually worse than pain because it makes you feel sick at the thought of what’s going on. And then, to listen to him carving out flesh with his knife…..EWWWWW. Like the last thing I needed playing in the background was ‘Billy, don’t be a frikkin’ hero’ Who puts easy listening music on during major surgery? What I needed was a bit of DMX or Sabbath.

Character building, that’s what it was.

“Congratulations! It’s a baby boy!” he said as it came out. “SWABS…NURSE…SWABS!”

“Projectile vomit is very difficult to get out at the dry cleaners,” I said.

He then proceeded to start using some electric tool to burn me. Yes, BURN ME.

“I really, really used to like bacon.”

“You have such a funny way with you, “ he said. “Such an imagination.”

“Yeah well you won’t be getting any of that from my cells. I closed that avenue of my brain off when you commenced with the little prick attitude.”

“Now just a few stitches. Under normal surgeons you’d only get 2 but I’m doing 4 so that you will hardly have a mark. As the top plastic surgeon in this area, I pride myself on perfection.”

“Long way to go, my friend. You must’ve noticed I’ve broken my nose five times. Even you couldn’t mend that.”

“It adds to your character, my dear. I wouldn’t want to.”

“So no super villain scar then?” I couldn’t hide my disappointment.

“Maybe a little one. And possibly a black eye in the next day.”


He then dressed it and taped me up with some sort of brown, medical masking tape.

“Come back in four days to have the stitches removed. In the meantime DO NOT GET IT WET.”

“Or I’ll turn into a gremlin?”

“Ship and sailed, my dear. “

I knew what that really meant. Just enough time to for me to mutate. The super villain hero metamorphic stage.

So, to those of you who are on my naughty list, I suggest you start making amends.


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A scar? Cool!
Chaps dig chick scars.
I think.

Yeah, proper cool! It’s really stinging under the magic tape. Three days until I can rip it off and scare people! 🙂

Some shots, some cutting, some burning and some stitches…All on a Summer’s day.

For me, the worst of such an experience is when I can see and smell smoke.
The best part is deciding how to explain I got my scar in some crazy duel!

Steady on with the summer’s day bit. Been a bit hit and miss today. I think my mood affected the weather. Back to 28C tomorrow though! I swear I’ve stolen Merrrrica’s sunshine.

Well, as someone with a five times broken nose I have the winner. “How on earth did you break your nose five times?!” they say, like i’m stupid or something.
“I’m a black belt in jiu jitsu….you were saying?”
Now with scar too? Total mayhem. 🙂

Just a scratch. I mean, it’s not as if you decided to catch a hand grenade with your teeth or they needed to put a fire out on your face with a we chain.

A mild mannered writer attends the cowboy church, but little do they know that there is a evil super hero in their midst.


Only I know what will destroy her! Every super villain has a weakness. Drop ice into her tea….

Baby steps, Larry, baby steps!

Cowboy church are smart. They know a mystical being when they meet one. That’s why they’re now internationally superior to any other church ever. Love those people.

You what? Oh I dare you….I DOUBLE dare you….;)

I always knew you were a bad ass! Now you have the marks to prove it. No one will mess with you now. If by some chance they do, never fear. You can kick them with your pointy boots I’ll turn them into a toad and we’ll call it a day. 😉

I like the sound of that, Tracy. Teamwork! 🙂


* it’s the inner scars that never heal…
* ENT doctor: ears, nodolafibrodoodleboodle, and throat
* Creed Aventus: oh yeah, that’s my brand…………that will be my brand going forward
* Will and Jada and Margot Robbie should do a romantic comedy together…
* can i be your puddin’? *)

are you Team Cap or Team Iron Man, my sweet? i’m Team Minority Report. *)

Hello Puddin’

It’s the inner scars that build the gritty character.

I’m definitely an Iron Man girl. He was always my favourite
Marvel until I met Deadpool.

Captain America doesn’t have enough inner torture for me. *)

He burned you? Wow, Jules, now you’ve got something in common with Joan of Arc. You have suffered for your heresy. Have your sword with you the next time you meet with the enemies of France!

“I am not afraid , I was born to do this”

Yeah, me and our Joaney, we’re as one. Heretics!

Good advice, Mr. Gorilla Bananas because the enemies of France are everywhere!

Fun doctor story. I think he liked you by the sound of it. Better go back for a consultation!

How’d you break your nose so many times?

Oh look! Another doctor! Testicular, obviously.

Hello Kenneth Noisewater and thank you for the visit ?

I have to go back in a month but,I can’t cos I’ll be in Merrrrica. I might go and see one of those posh, million pound an hour ones in California. Or not. I like to heal with rugged Britishness.

I’m very clumsy and have a knack of falling face first into things. Honestly, I blame my mother.

Just making sure comments are working as expected!

Love ya x

Thanks Bossman! Cracking job x

Huh! Can’t turn my back on you for a minute, but that you’ve gone and redecorated and moved all the furniture….and hidden the portable bar.

But why did I end up coming in in 2012 and reading about your Blog Block? Your new decor may yet need a bit of work, my dear.

I have no idea how that happened. 2012? SOMEBODY CALL THE DECORATORS!
Maybe you got lost in a time hole. That serves you right for going to look for my secret bar! You’ll never find it 😉

Oh, I’ll find it , My Queen….eventually.

But if you’re very, very nice to me I’ll leave a dram or two for you.

No! No! Don’t thank me. I’m just nice that way. 😉 ;-p

Well, if there’s one thing I admire it’s confidence. That along with a dare devil attitude. I’ve poured tea into the whisky bottles and hidden the whisky in the….ah, not telling 😉

That’s all right. I’ll just have a nice glass of tea to refresh me as I search for the whiskey. 😉

Glass of ? Allow me to correct you, Merrrrican. Mug of. Piping hot with milk like God intended. 🙂

Dear cryptic laureate……..:)

Very clever, Jules! I regret missing this amazing account last week, but I was stuck in a super-secret underground government facility that frowned on internet access to hostile foreign states. Nottinghamshire, especially. Anywhere else in the UK would have been fine. I don’t make the rules, sadly.

But you’re a brave girl facing the nodolafibrodoodleboodle surgeon alone like that. I hate it when they put their Italian leather shoes on your shoulder to get leverage while they carve up your head. So rude. Let us know how the biopsy turns out. Mine, years ago, turned out badly, but they eventually carved it all out after excavating the back of my dome. That’s actually why I shave the whole thing; because the scar, though satisfyingly evil, never grew hair after that, so I elected to go smooth rather than continue to answer questions about the type of skillet Gruntessa hit me with. So, don’t let cut on your eyebrows! You’ll be forced to shave all of them and draw them in fresh, like Michelle Obama.

Yes well, that’s what you were led to believe, Sir but in fact, I had my people carefully watching you whilst you thought you were doing some very important underground work. The whole of The Midlands intelligence (which I can tell you is abundant…) had eyes on you.
“Watch him,” I told them. “This spin doctor, meme man, Grunt ad hominem is wasted in the science field. We want him as our next advertising campaigner. He works photoshop like a dream.” I sent my Doctor nodolafibrodoodleboodle surgeon along and though you THOUGHT you were working, you weren’t. You were put to sleep and I had the skillz of your brain removed which are sitting in a jar on my windowsill next to my busy lizzies. You are now under my control. There’s no point trying to fight it. Even Gruntessa is in on it and is not afraid to belt you one with a copper based frying pan if necessary. Surely you noticed the footprint on your shirt from the Italian leather shoe, no? Feel a bit groggy today?……;)

Hmmmm. This is very disturbing. When I woke up this morn… afternoon, I seem to have lost track of a few days. Look, if you ladies are going to do this to me, don’t keep my brain in a jar in the UK and my testicularity in a separate jar in Gruntessa’s kitchen in Colorado! I use them BOTH to think, so please have the decency to keep them in the same friggin’ hemisphere, ok?

Also, it’s very kind of you to steal me away from Science in the pursuit of filthy lucre, but if you succeed, I’ll no longer be able to play really good practical jokes on Larry, like disabling his Iridium phone when he’s in the Arizona outback and low on Bourbon or fighting brush fires. Just sayin’. 🙂

Ha! Do you want to be brilliant or not? Brilliance has to grow and expand so you need to be internationally superior and spread yourself globally. Honestly, I’d like to have see a bit of gratitude 😉
Don’t worry – when you’re filthy, filthy rich you can hire a team to play pranks on Larry. Life has to be fun too!

But, I don’t want to be globally distributed! Ok, ok, thank you for stealing my brain and putting me into a controlled zombie state. I don’t know where my manners were. You make a good point about hiring a team to prank Larry. It’s only right; he’ll no doubt hire a team to kill me later. Then he’ll brag about how it didn’t even need to be a very expensive – or skillful – team. 🙁

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