The Beginning Is A Good Place To Start

The hottest part of this, for me, is the title! How excellent is the notion that an unwitting bimbo is now described as having 'The Hooters Girl Look'? There's possibly a story in that somewhere!

Brilliant! And no, if I was trying to stump you I would say something like: pigtails, plastic, dumber.

Every time Barbara ties her pigtails with those plastic clips I gave her, she absorbs another dose of the drug that is making her dumber.

No, that’s much too easy.  I can do better than that.

Barbara didn’t actually mind putting her hair in pigtails.  Back when she was a market analyst, she had to wear the corporate uniform, including a high-maintenance ‘do.  She envied the technicians in the back rooms, who could dress as they please.

She was still forced to abide by a dress code, but it was actually less of a hassle, since it was basically the same outfit every time: sort of a Swiss dairy maid, hair in pigtails, smile and makeup mandatory.

She didn’t mind showing off her legs, or her cleavage.  “Eh, you deal with it,” she often said.  What did bother her were the platform heels of transparent plastic.  How the fuck did Mr. Bickford think they went with a minidirndl?  She never questioned it, she just wore them.

When she got to her desk, she found a package on her desk.  It proved to be a bizarre assortment of Japanese products, plus a “Golden Brown” membership card at The Sun Spot tanning salon, and a note stuck on the cover of a glossy pamphlet.  The note said Mr. Bickford wanted her to start wearing Ganguro makeup.

It was just about the only thing that could possibly have made her look dumber.

Superb! The opening line:  “ It’s time for another change. What makes you proud?” is spectacular! It sets the relationship, outlines what has been happening and is just bloody hot! Personally, I would have liked to see a little more process, the girl losing more as her past is ‘altered’, but this is rather awesome!

Too Classy for Him (Mind Control, Corruption, Bimbofication)

She had been a thoughtful, cute, financial advisor in her late 20′s. Now, her hair was bleached blonde. Her boobs were permanently stuffed with silicone implants. Her pouty lips were enhanced from collagen injections. She looked like a bimbo.

“It’s time for another change. What makes you proud?” he asked her.

“Please no, don’t make me answer.” she cried.

“You will answer me, doll.” the handsome man said is his deep, masculine voice. “What makes you most proud?”  

“My master’s degree. I’m proud of my education, okay?” she answered.

“Not anymore.” he said as he placed the helmet on her head. “We’re gonna change that right now.”

The helmet hummed as he twisted the dial on the machine. It was now erasing and changing the memories of her university education. Instead of studying, she now “remembered” focusing on her appearance. Makeup, clothing, and accessories were her priorities. So was partying and clubbing.

Her grades weren’t the best… she justed wanted to have a good time and flirt with guys. Every time she tried to be smart, she made a fool of herself. She had tons of silly little “blonde moments” that her friends liked to playfully make fun of her for.

She remembered that she didn’t finish her bachelor’s degree, instead choosing to rely on rich sugar daddies and boyfriends. She manipulated them into buying her the best clothes and accessories. Her favorite daddy paid for her plastic surgery.

“And… you’re back. How do you feel, doll?” he asked her.

“I’m, like, totally not happy about it. I know you did something to me but it’s all mixed up now!” she replied in an angry but completely harmless tone.

“Well, I’m sure you’re not happy about right now but you secretly love it, don’t you? You love it when you’re spoiled like a princess. You like getting expensive gifts from men because you have a pretty face and big boobs.” he told her, as she began to moan.  

“You like being a trophy and arm candy. You want to date successful, good looking men for their money. They’ll fund your insatiable need to look good and be bathed in luxury all the time.“

“Even if your boyfriend rescues you, he’ll never be rich enough for you. Sure, you’ll still think he’s a good man but he can’t afford your luxurious, chic lifestyle. You’re way too classy for him. How do you feel about that, doll?” he said, as he twisted the dial to the maximum setting.

“Ughhhnnn… I feel really good about that, sir. He’ll never touch these curves. I’m way out of his league. He can’t afford me.” she said, as she squirmed and bucked in her seat.

Hi. Kinky and a doctor here. No. This is nonsense. You would need a lot of air or a lot of pressure to cause any issue. And even if there was a tear unless it is an artery, which would bleeding like mad, up to 1ml/kg air into an actual open vein (which would also be bleeding like mad... just a bit less so) would be fine. On TV when someone injects a few bubbles into a drip? Yeah, almost certainly would do nothing. This has less risk than blowing into a cut on your hand as you would not even get the same kind of seal. As for a baby in utero, the cervical os is closed until latent phase of labour so things are not really getting in or out. Even if air gets into Mum's blood, it would cause embolism in her lungs prior to reaching placenta and then baby.

So;

1. Never put compressed gases anywhere as this is a problem due to pressure.

2.a) If something is bleeding you shouldn't mess with it until it is healed but not for this reason

b) the exception to this is menstruation which is not the same as injury (obviously), and is safe

3. Otherwise let your freak flag fly.

*The more you know!*

*sparkles*

This won’t make your blog look ugly. How could you not reblog this? REBLOGGING THIS COULD SAVE A LIFE!!!

Brilliant once again! How about: phrase, overqualified, patronise?

“Good evening, Sir, and welcome to the Casbah.”

Rayleen had to repeat that phrase more than a hundred times every night, standing in the entrance to the Casbah in a white dress with a plunging neckline.  Projecting cheer and welcome with every greeting instead of boredom and fatigue was not a great challenge to a woman who had won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for The Salt Flats.

“Thank you for coming, Gentlemen,” she told a departing group.   “We enjoyed your company.”

One of them, a silver-haired gentleman in an evening suit that was out of style though not quite a “vintage” item paused.

“Did you really?”

“Of course, Sir.”

After all, you spent money as though it were water while you were here.

“Well,” he said, chucking her under the chin like a child, “I appreciate the Casbah, especially its pretty little greeter.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Rayleen said, making sure her smile didn’t show the slightest sound of how much she loathed that sort of patronising talk.