Greetings Anthillians! I’ve been trawling the tedious and tawdry on a quest for pharmaceutical-fuelled redemption. No, it’s not what you think. But let me tell you: it aint pretty.
The Antagonist speaks…
JUST THE MEDICINE, MAN
You’ve seen all the ads that promise everything from tighter abs to fab calves. Then there are the ones that will help you find inner-peace, outer-serenity and even how to lose weight while stuffing your mush with plank-sized chips and endless vats of fried chicken and gravy.
Others can help get your gut tucked, your thighs sucked, your lips and breasts pumped and your kidneys and liver flushed.
There are pills now that promise to halt your aging or weight gain without having to burn fat, diet or exercise. Soon, you’ll be able to just sit back and let the pill do your housework, homework, go to the office, pick up the fish and chips on the way home and turn on the telly.
There are even conferences now that give delegates all sorts of data and information on how to relax and get the most from as little as possible. I’d love to attend one of these conferences, but the pace is so fricking frenetic, I’m not sure how this is going to help me learn to unwind. Hey, did you catch the yogi at 10.35 or was it 10.38? Which way to the seaweed pelting massage course? Psst, have you found the secret to inner-harmony yet or is that after we howl like crazed wolves for 45 minutes tomorrow afternoon?)
Others offer tests that reveal your ‘real’ age. Well, I’ve taken these tests and I’ve yet to meet anyone who doesn’t come out with a number that they’ve already passed. Everyone, it seems, no matter how much they smoke, drink or eat is healthier and younger than they ‘should’ be. Except me. I took that ‘real’ age test and discovered I should have died in 1969. Really.
No matter. I’ve found the NEXT BIG THING and I’m gonna get in early. Remember the old days when if you wanted to be a bit like your favourite celebrity, you went out and bought a pair of their knickers or sweat bands?
Now, thanks to the miracles of modern science, you not only can wear their favourite clothing items, but grab a bit of their body as well. What woman wouldn’t, for instance, want to have a couple of Madonna’s pointy bits, particularly from the glory years featuring her best models (1982, 1986 and 1991), to show off to friends and foes alike? How about Megan Gale’s gams. And forget about Little Lleyton’s sweat bands – now you can have his sweat glands!
All of these wonders come at a price, though. Cosmo (short for cosmetic) Gangs will be on the look-out for truly popular items like Madonna’s ta-tas, particularly vintage versions, leaving the person with more than just a hole in their wallet.
Lleyton’s sweat glands will come in handy on the court and perhaps off, but not while in the middle of passionate throes with your loved one. If things aren’t quite moving according to plan, Lleyton will kick in and in no time, your partner will find him or herself facing a maniac giving the one-hand Viking salute while screaming ‘C’MON!!!!”
Me, I’m contemplating the Dorothy/Kansas option. This means I get a lovely pair of ruby slippers, access to a cool small black dog and even Auntie Em’s mouthwatering apple pies. The only thing wrong with the Dorothy/Kansas option is Kansas.
And that, dear reader, is precisely the catch. Despite scientists’ best efforts, there’s no Chinese menu system yet that allows you to take one from column A and one from column B. It’s all or nothing. And since there is truly no place like Kansas (except perhaps Canberra), I’ll say ta-ta to Toto and even to Auntie Em’s pucker pies.
But all is not lost. My Cosmetic Talent Scout is checking out some other really unique offerings. She told me that a posse of nanotechnologists at Stanford University is attempting to gain access to Russell Crowe’s humility genes. Imagine that? Access to something so unique and rare.
I’m not expecting a call back any time soon.
