‘Botox’ is the modern, advanced procedure
where a small dose of lethal poison is injected into
a healthy person’s face, paralyzing natural
muscle motion to ‘cure’ an obsession with
one’s youth and, for three months, bolster self-esteem.
One of them, clearly, is ridiculous.
Evidence of trepanning dates back to about 3000 B.C.
The drillin’s been thrillin’ around the
world, but is illegal in the U.S. “Rogue neurosurgeons”
have pulled its practice underground, according to
one site. Call me old-fashioned, but I feel that the
words ‘rogue’ and ‘neurosurgeon’
simply should not mix.
If one’s need to Outlaw Trepan is like flowers’
need for rain, hopefully one finds an un-disbarred
doctor, unimpaired by Tourette’s, indifferent
to smoking crack, whose M.D. doesn’t mean ‘mutilation
death’ from practicing on kittens.
If not, however, you have two options. The, like,
obvious one is to do it yourself.
Trepanning’s modern prophet, Bart Hughes, is
a Dutch scientist who dropped out of med school in
the early ‘60s to pursue a vanguard enthrallment
with hallucinogenics. ‘Scleened, (translation
for the tiresome, old and young: ‘After the
advent of taking mescaline’) he had this satori:
Our skulls stop growing after we are twenty(ish).
The brain’s ‘server cage’ becomes
hardened. Finite. Blood flow to the brain becomes
constricted; its pulse sabotaged. Gravity’s
no help, that son-of-a-bitch. Remember, we were built
to die at thirty.
Somewhere in early adulthood, most of us stop living
expansively. Humankind goes humanoid, losing its emotional/spiritual…
buoyance. Once spinning rims on the wheel of All,
we’re now hubcaps in the street. Our concerns
drop to the petty. Life moves from adventure to pain.
(What’s that? Yours hasn’t? Oh, shut
the fuck up.)
Hughes felt that a rigid skull and life force depletion
were connected. He searched for a doctor to uncork
his head. The medicos, even in Amsterdam, thought
he was eight cans shy of a six-pack. Imagine. So what
could the man do but self-trepan?
There’s a photo of Bart, post-op, sporting
his trepanning scar and stitches. I’m not sure
if it was snapped before or after he was thrown in
the looney bin.
The wound is on Bart Hughes’ forehead, since
he did it himself. If that famous close-up of Charles
Manson was put next to this photo of Bart, and you
were asked which one you’d rather have baby-sit,
you just might pick Chuck.
Option two is to fly down to polluted, industrial,
Monterrey, Mexico where trepanning advocate and entrepreneur
Pete Halvorson has a clinic. I must say that the articles
and testimonials on his goth-y site (www.trepan.com)
entice the flaming horns out of me. Pete has chosen,
however, to reveal nothing of substance about himself
on it, and his photo is rather… police line-up-esque,
muting any, you know, gung-ho feelings.
You can buy cool, creepy stuff there too, like black
t-shirts with drilled skulls on them and a mega-raw,
gory, skank video of Bart’s acolyte, Amanda
Fielding, trepanning herself.
From what I’ve read about her at that time
in her life, she is probably on acid. She wears sunglasses
to keep the blood from pooling in her eyes. A little
vidiot treat for the gross teenage boy in all of us.
Some of us. Well, at least me.
* * * * *
I was going to take the High Road for this entire
column, but I’m afraid that plan just didn’t
work out. The following subject is so oddly disgusting
that… I had to share it with you.
WARNING: You may subsequently view Pooh, Mickey Mouse,
and Barney as sociopathic predators. Toy stores may
grow dark as fetid abscesses of vice. If you are a
minor, or if you believe you may be offended by descriptions
of erotic acts with plush stuffed animals please stop
reading this text now.
First, some words from a leading online expert!
* What is a 'plushie'? What is a 'plushophile'?
A 'plushie' is a plush stuffed animal, like a teddy
bear. 'Plushie' is also sometimes used as a short
form for ‘plushophile’: an adult who loves
or is otherwise attracted to stuffed animals.
* Why be intimate with plushies instead of with people?
The great thing about stuffed animals is that they
can always be there for you, whenever you feel the
need for intimacy. People can be ‘too busy’
‘too tired’ or 'have a headache', but
a plushie will never say 'No!' when you crave closeness.
Stuffed animals can be truly ideal companions. No
plush partner will ever break your heart, give you
a disease, or hurt you in any way. Plushies can bring
pure, unfettered happiness into your life, and if
you're open to it, wonderful sensual experiences,
Some may view their plushies as just sex toys, while
other plushophiles love, even venerate their stuffed
When I read the above, I heard Mr. Rogers’
Love is a beautiful thing, of course, never should
it be discounted. Love can come from unexpected places,
and gosh knows it helps to have a devoted partner
along life’s bumpy road. Right?
So what’s wrong with having DOZENS of devoted
partners at your fingertips, never bitching about
‘faithfulness’, adoring all of your slobby,
disgusting habits with that First Lady (bar Hillary)
smile? Wouldn’t that be INCREDIBLE?
Guys — get a clue and bag those ballbuster
human broads. Lay pipe 24/7 with a stable of hot furry
hos. They can’t cook, but these workaholic modern
women will burn frickin’ water, eh? And Plushies
— they’re all bi, man! They do ‘back
door’! Check it out!
Gals — can’t find a man without commitment
problems? Tired of pretending size doesn’t matter?
Thinking about all of the shoes you could buy if Mr.
Sub-Genus didn’t blow your cash on Rogaine and
beer? Plushies won’t buy you flowers, but face
it — does your man?
Gays — why not live a promiscuous lifestyle
since the media is sure you do anyway?
My plush web walkabout first took me to sites I ‘d
hoped were parody, but alas, no. Centerfolds of a
‘spreading’ wolf. A Harpo Marx-like dog
with pierced ‘nipples,’ chains connecting
the rings, in black bondage gear. Big Bird with a
fat, black rubber hard-on.
There are umpteen porno sites of women having plushie
‘sex,’ but they can barely keep a straight
face. What a way to pay the bills. We really do need
to create more jobs.
You can learn how to best modify your plushie for
‘intimate access,’ or ‘peak penetration.’
Get steamy Tantra tips for plush ecstacy, or nasty
booty pix of “spooged”(plushie lingo)
post-coital faux-fauna. Some plushophiles like to
have orgies in fuzzy animal suits. They go to Disney
World the way normal perverts go to Bangkok.
Scads of gay sites are available too (Bert and Ernie?),
but I left them unexplored. By that point, I was queasily
info-gorged, like when I read too many Enquirers.
Make that plays of Sophocles in the original Greek.
So I closed my laptop, threw back a Mescal, and tried
to think about the majesty of man.
You can write to Xanadu Xero at [email protected].
Xanadu also cordially invites you to join the Raw
Story Forums and visit her fiefdom, The
Raw Bar, to discuss these topics, any other damn
thing, or just bitch and talk trash. You can also
view an archive of her columns by clicking