Carribean Circus Tragedy

Well, they must certainly have some imagination down yonder in the Dominican Republic, to conceive the latest abomination fallen victim to modern medicine.

While ignorant Americans were shopping for Christmas presents and my balls were shrinking away from the December cold, tiny Rebeca Martinez and her sister were born into the eccentric and impoverished Third World life of Santo Domingo. Try to appreciate this precious moment with me. We’re all together now, in a backwoods delivery room. A teenaged West Indian whore is strapped to the gurney, with a proud father’s view obscured by doctors and nurses. The baby’s cry rises over the beeping machines and pigeon Spanish medical talk, only to be trumped by that of the mother as Juanita’s shriek cracks the glass. Shocked and maybe a bit concerned, Juan wedges his way through the staff to see that while Rebeca made the trip intact, it seems her sister was missing a little something.

Like, say, her entire body.

Yes, rather than worry herself with the nuisances of digestion or motor functions, a partially developed Siamese twin had taken roost on Rebeca’s head, forming a sort of lump with eyes, lips, and even a partially developed brain. What is the difference between this and a woman, you ask? Not much, except that when you throatfuck a normal girl, she typically gags and throws up all over your thighs. When you cockstab this little lady, her host sister goes into an epileptic seizure because you’re bottoming out on her cerebral cortex. Now here at Inbreeding For Fun And Profit, a natural wonder of this caliber would not only be accepted with open arms, but probably traded straight up for an inflatable raft and cultured in our American ways until she was of a proper age to start work. Film rights. Websites. A child star. But on a poverty-stricken Voodoo island, a woman born with two mouths is not gifted per se, but doomed to one of two plights: either be worshipped as a pagan goddess, or outcast as a social pariah to walk the world in shame.

And so, without further adieu, they decided to cut off her head.

Or at least one of them, leaving baby Rebeca an only child with a very strange scar and unique hair design. After all, better to have one seemingly normal child you love, than a freak you abhor. Two long months dragged past, during which medical experts haggled over price tags and success rates, before finally the fated day came to set one little girl on the straight path, and the other one in the ground. But alas, with all the advanced technology and fancy gadgets available, tragedy struck when at the tender age of 8 weeks, our little Dominican princess stopped breathing, and died. I can almost see the grief-stricken mother, crumpled in the hallway, sobbing while the father looks up the ceiling, hands raised, asking God the same question any of us would demand in such a horrific situation.

What are we going to do with all these hats?