Miss Crankypants read that eternal comic and loudmouth Joan Rivers has turned 80. Of course, her plastic surgeries total far more than her age, and she hasn’t been able to smile since 1980. But Miss Cranky was wondering if this diva would share a few of her beauty secrets.
“Absolutely!” She exclaimed, at least we think she exclaimed–the poor woman’s mouth is frozen in a frown worse than Grumpy Cat.
Miss CP wisely avoids grilling St. Joan on her Botox Chronicles. Instead we’ll talk about some other problem areas.
First up among these small peccadilloes of the menopausal woman: the disappearing waistline. Miss Crank laments that she too once had an hourglass figure. Admittedly, she was more of a pear than an apple, but there was a definite dip where the midriff roamed. Now, if Miss Crankypants had to describe her body type, she’d have to go with Spongebob Squarepants.
There is absolutely zero dipping going on in the midsection. Joan Rivers says not to worry. “Think how much better you look in men’s clothing now!”
Next, we move on to The Wattle, which is right beneath Les Jowls. Joan is giving Miss CP the eye. “Watch it–now we’re back into Botox Territory.” Miss Cranky demonstrates the throat-slimming exercises she learned from her own mom.
Joan is unimpressed. “You’ll have to do those exercises twice a minute and three times on Sunday if you want results.”
And finally here we are at the Upper Arms. Miss Crankypants wonders if we can’t just wear long sleeves and call it good.
Joan snorts. “Are you kidding? In this day and age you just flaunt it–after you’ve done a bazillion push ups.” Miss CP couldn’t do a push up if it arrived by limousine.
Joan sighs. “Well, dear, I guess you’ll just have to settle for waggly arms.” And legs. And wattle, jowls, midriff and posterior–
And hope it’s not mating season for wild turkeys.
Actually the only part of Miss Crankypants that doesn’t waggle is her nose, which seems to keep growing and is now sprouting embarrassing hairs. She doesn’t really know Joan Rivers. But if she ever gets the chance, she’ll waggle her flabby upper arms and hope she doesn’t attract any turkeys out strutting their stuff.