The battle of the bingo wings and botox

Why people get Botox injected into themselves is beyond me – they all start to look the same after a few hits. They become odd-looking 20 year olds; their hands, however, retain the truth. Madonna looks younger than her daughter and she is dating a boy, a man child who would be far more suited for her daughter. I could see her at dinner with her toy boy, he would be thinking, “Oh man this chick is so rich and so hot”, then she would sensually take a small amount of paleo, Atkins or raw (or whatever the hell food is the latest trend in Hollywood) to her mouth, and he would see her hands and yell “Grandma!”. Game over for Madonna unless of course she decides to buy him something expensive to blunt the trauma.

Reality is money and sex rules the world, Madonna wants sex with a man child in a pathetic effort to keep feeling young. The man child wants the money and prestige of dating Madonna so he will overlook the “Nanna hands” if the dollars are high enough – it is a trade off.

I often wonder how she expresses herself. What if her dog died or if she was terrified or happy or if she was in pain? She would look sensational through it all. She would have to literally tell people how she was feeling – it’s been quite a while since anybody has seen an expression cross that face.

The Botox fans all seem to have their photos taken front on, never side on, all the fillers they have put in their lips make them look more like a duck’s bum than a trout pout.

Butt enhancements and boob jobs are another matter; they make sense to a lot of older people. Having gone through menopause myself, my butt along with my boobs have gone south, and it’s not a seasonal thing: my boobs have been looking for dropped coins for years and the way things are going I would not be surprised if I am sitting on my spine by the time I reach 70 – gravity can be a harsh reality. With my disappearing butt and my growing stomach, I think I will have no option but to start wearing my sensible Millers pedal pushers back to front to accommodate the tragic reality that my body gas has become.

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I often wonder, do all these celebrities have to be disassembled when they pass, to take out all of the added extras only to be reassembled to be cremated? Because I really don’t like the idea of that at all and I really must remember to get the latest Ikea catalogue. If all my woes add up to growing old gracefully, well I totally have it covered, but in saying that I did see some magic stuff advertised on TV this morning: guaranteed to make all the lines and wrinkles disappear. Apparently it will make me look 20 years younger as it keeps them all away for 10 hours. I want some of that! I could have a lot of fun with a product like that – it would confuse the hell out of a lot of people.

I don’t want arms like Madonna, but I am not really winning the battle of the bingo wings. I feel my only option there is to get “Legs Eleven” tattooed on one arm; “Clickety Click 66” on the other. People think I am crazy, so I may as well get some mileage out of it! Crazy Nanny, over and out!

Do you agree with Christine? What do you think of all the plastic surgery that you see? Would you do it? Tell us below.