Pinkie Goes Under the Knife

It's not what you think! MAC makeup and not plastic surgery is my usual route to a beautiful me. How could you even think I'd let someone fool with my amazing bone structure. Never. No, unfortunately, the situation is much much more serious. Pinkie is in dire need of a Reduction Mammaplasty.

Oh, sure, it was fun when I was 9 years old and had a chest that Dolly Parton would envy. I fondly remember the surprised faces of all those young boys that dared venture up my blouse. Around my 14th birthday however, I began to realize the awesome power of my hooters when Timmy Wilson was suffocated. You see, I had been drinking heavily that morning and passed out on poor Timmy while he explored my mountainous front side. Since then I've had to be careful that my breasts didn't kill again. But that was just the beginning.

After years of popping pain pills to ease my worsening back problems, my doctor has insisted that I check in for a breast reduction. The whole notion just makes me sick.

What am I going to do if they take away my pain pills!

I've been assured it's perfectly safe and that the removal of 8 to 10 pounds per breast will still leave me with ample milk wagons. While today's Pinkie would never consider such horrors, the day may come when she has a litter to feed.

So thank you in advance for all the well wishes. I'll be sure to let you know how it goes. Kisses.