A new trend has developed in Hungary in an effort to “demonstrate how Hungarian cosmetic techniques have advanced in the past decade,” according to the Plastic Surgery Channel. Pageant officials say that they want to show off their new “affordable” method of improving self-image.
Now, Hungarian women are peeling away their painful bandages and getting ready to showcase their synthesized beauty to the world. Per this new contest’s rules, each pageant member must have had undergone general or local anesthesia and at least one cosmetic procedure. All contestants are between the ages of 18-30. — SmarterBeauty.com
I can see it now: first prize awarded to a department store mannequin. Or a crash dummy.
It’s refreshing to see that beauty pageants have returned to their roots, which is to say, they’re contests about beauty. You know, old-fashioned tits and ass, none of this “How would you change the world if you could actually string nouns and verbs together?” Q&A crap. The judges know what they’re looking for — it’s sticking out on the surface right where it belongs, for all to see.
Furthermore, these contestants have worked hard, paid a ton of money, and endured considerable pain to achieve what they’re flaunting. They worked at it. They’re athletes. They had a vision and a dream, and they set out to achieve them. None of this god-given “natural” beauty crap — what the hell is the point of that? Don’t the lucky get rewarded enough in real life, that we have to clap them on the back in concocted zillion-dollar contests, too?
I approve entirely of plastic surgery. Done properly, it’s always an improvement, and who’s against improvement? It can beautify the ugly, fill out the flat, and smooth the the lumpy. It removes hair from the hirsute and adds it to the follicly cheated. It slims down the avoirdupoisdically challenged, and bulks up the bulimic. What’s not to like?
Sure, it can be overdone, like Octomom’s lips, or those skanks who pump up their boobs so large they need parachutes for bikini tops. Man-tits made with pectoral inserts. And leave Michael Jackson out of this. But those are extremes. It’s easy to make a good thing bad by taking it to extremes: that’s why divorce lawyers and hangover remedies were invented.
Plastic has come a long way since pink flamingos, diner seats, and Thermos bottles, and these days what you find is ‘way prettier, more comfy, and well, you fill in the rest. Go for it, Hunkies!