Deep in the heart of San Francisco’s Tenderloin district, a mortician of loose moral fiber made a living selling off the body parts of the dead bodies delivered to his doorstep. Essentially, his mortuary had become a chop shop supplying uppity, affluent men and women with body parts that they could not otherwise find by legitimate means.
He justified his reprehensible existence by convincing himself that he was saving lives – men and women who would normally spend years on waiting lists for kidneys, lungs, eyes, hearts, and livers were able to receive desperately needed organ transplants before it was too late. He became known to those with black market connections as the Organ Miner.
Unfortunately, the men and women lucky enough to receive these emergency organs had no idea they were signing their own death certificate when they chose to roll the dice with the Organ Miner. He took these organs from the only people who could have their bodies carved up like pumpkins without anyone ever knowing or caring – the crack whores, strippers, and junkies that populated the seedy back alleys of the Tenderloin.
Generally, the organs pulled from these upstanding citizens were worse than the failing organs residing in the bodies of the wealthy suburbanites in need of a transplant. They would receive lungs caked with black tar from 2-pack-a-day cigarette addictions developed by age 12, livers thoroughly rotted from decades of boozing, and hearts so hopped up on cocaine that their new owners felt like they were constantly in the throes of a panic attack.
Eventually, the word got out that the Organ Miner’s product was tainted and could not be trusted to last as long as the failing organs they replaced. This was a severe liability, even on the black market. As his supplemental income stream began to dry up like a creek after a drought-filled summer, the Organ Miner began entertaining other means to profit from the misfortunes of his cadavers. While the real body parts may have been worthless, the surgically enhanced parts were an untapped gold mine.
When the dot-com bubble burst at the end of the 1990s, many wealthy suburban soccer moms were forced to forgo needless surgeries such as breast augmentation and liposuction in order to make due on their newly reduced budget. Always an opportunist, the Organ Miner pounced on this chance to revitalize his chop shop.
Within a matter of months, his walk-in freezer was filled with silicone breast implants removed from the strippers and back-alley crack whores who fell victim to the hard-living ways of the Tenderloin. Pretty soon, the word got out that these implants could be purchased for half the price of a legitimate breast augmentation procedure.
Women began making appointments at the Organ Miner’s mortuary to “identify their wayward cousin who had disappeared several weeks ago.” The “body identification process” generally took anywhere from 30-60 minutes as these women would walk through the freezer, giddy as a kid in a candy store, comparing the latest additions to the fleet – DD cup implants from a stripper who OD’d on heroin last week, C cup implants from the hooker who was shot after turning a trick in a motel that sold rooms by the hour, and a more modest B cup implant from the junkie that who was too high to realize that these implants didn’t do anything to enhance her natural pair, which were actually larger than her implants.
Several days later, these women would return to the Organ Miner’s chop shop to “make the final arrangements for their deceased loved one,” and when they left several hours later, they were the proud owner of a new set of breast implants.
On the surface, it seemed like a win-win situation for everyone involved. The Organ Miner raked in cash hand over fist, and suburban soccer moms from Marin County got a perky new set of breasts on the cheap. But supernatural forces were at play which would ultimately bring the Organ Miner’s new black market breast implant empire crumbling to the ground, igniting a scandal that would make headlines from coast to coast.
The harrowing details of the supernatural scandal rocking the suburban soccer moms of Marin County will be revealed in next week’s blog post. Please check back to find out the stunning conclusion of our first Halloween-inspired plastic surgery tale.
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