Ojai Valley News Blog

By Bill Buchanan
When I was younger, there was a time when I was foolish enough to think that I had experienced enough weird events and bizarre people that there were not many things that would shock and/or surprise me.

Boy was I wrong. The stories below appeared recently in the news. I find them both pretty amazing.

Police are investigating the death of a woman who traveled all the way from London to Philadelphia to receive an injection in her buttocks to enlarge it for cosmetic purposes. It is thought the procedure was arranged over the internet.

So many things come to mind. In a country of people populated by many whose behinds are almost large enough to qualify for their own zip code (my own is close), it is difficult to understand why anyone would want to make theirs larger. This country spends billions of dollars on exercise equipment, diet books, diet programs and weight loss videos and we just get larger and larger. This woman would have been much better off to simply spend her travel time eating American junk food. Her behind would have increased appreciably without nearly as much risk.

The next thing that comes to mind is why would you seek anything as important as medical services over the internet? The internet may be fine for ordering a pair of duck boots from Land’s End, but for medical services? Do they have a web page that lets you choose medical procedures? Do you choose a log-in name and password, use a search engine to find what you are looking for, then add “buttocks enlargement” to your shopping cart before you check out?

You hate for anyone to die. But if someone travels 3,500 miles just to die from an unnecessary medical procedure they scheduled over the internet in order to make their butt bigger, then maybe that is just evolution thinning out the herd. And how do loved ones explain the death to friends and family? “Well, at least she didn’t suffer —- the end was quick,” so to speak.

Then there was the choice item about a man attending an illegal cockfight in California, who apparently died after being stabbed in the leg by one of the birds. According to a British Broadcasting Company report, the man had previously been charged and fined for “owning or training an animal for fighting.” The report added (British spelling) that California “is a popular destination state for people involved in the sport as raising the gamecocks, organising matches and attending fights as a spectator are all classified as misdemeanours on the first offence, rather than more serious criminal offences in the state.”

If it is true that cockfighting a misdemeanor in this state, then that is a travesty, and needs to be addressed. But apparently our cockfighting friend “suffered an accidental ‘sharp force injury’ to his right calf.” Translated, this means that the bird, who had a knife attached to its limb, cut or stabbed this idiot in the leg, and he was declared dead at the hospital “where he arrived some two hours after being injured.”

Again, several issues arise. Put yourself in this man’s place. You are sitting there bleeding profusely, knowing you need to probably get medical attention, but you are emotionally torn. You don’t want to just sprint into the emergency room and yell, “Hey, my cockfighting chicken just stabbed me in the leg — how about a little help here!” After all, you are probably a proud representative of the sport, and you certainly don’t want to give cockfighting a bad name.

On the other hand, your life’s blood seems to be pouring, not dripping, away, and you don’t want to just sit there and die. So after the 200 Bounty paper towels, despite the claims on television about being the “quicker-picker-upper” have failed you, you know you need to address the situation.

But what do you tell the folks at the hospital? “Ahhh, excuse me, but I cut myself shaving my calf, can I get someone to look at my leg?” Or do you go with something like, “Well it’s like this, my chicken, who has been diagnosed as bi-polar, went off his medication, and well, you can see the result here for yourself …”

Apparently this genius bled out while thinking of a good explanation. Score one for the chicken.