Did you hear about the plastic surgeon who sat too close to the fire? He got a lump of half molten liposuction fat in his eye. Darn cellulite eh? Just like a mini marshmallow plastered around an eye-like thing. It fused to his eyeball like a soldiering iron had been at work (how do you think they get their uniforms so smooth?) It done gone hurt a li'l bit. Being only a plastic surgeon, he knew little of the machinations of real doctoral stuff; he ran his eye under cold water for ten minutes, and then because he'd heard it was the bestest burn cure ever, he doused his eye in lavender oil. He failed to consider the damage that the burning cellulite would do to the front of his eye, consequentially his eye filled with a nasty mix of water, fat and lavender oil. It smells wonderful, but 'tain't the most conducive thang to good eyesight. With no depth perception, how could he possibly consider a career stretching and compressing noses and breasts, as well as helping poor ugly orphaned children over the Christmas period to get his name on the local news. He was saved the usual fate of depression and death because of his wonderfully supportive - and even more wonderfully rich - wife. To fully understand her, we need to explore why our blind surgeon was burning liposuction fat. (Ok, I forgot to mention it earlier, but shh).
Where do you suppose all the fat from liposuction goes? Those of you who used common sense and said that doctors took it home so as not to need to waste money on logs for fires would be 100% correct; I'd give you a prize but it was a little easy. Try this one: where did a cigarette lighter feature in the Kennedy assassination? So yeah, doctors burn the fat. Makes sense really: cooking with it is too unhealthy, and just a little bit icky, and in most cases it's too chunky to be used as a lubricant, say for sticking drawers or squeaky hinges (doctors don't have sex; after you've seen people with green steaming genitals you lose the urge). They dry it out first, so it doesn't spit as much, but our blind doctor got cold and impatient, paying the penultimate price. His wife - neat tie-in eh? - wasn't allowed to bring back the medical waste from the abortion clinic to use as fuel because of all the emotional stuff involved. And she was rich and put all the dishes in the dishwasher.
Their daughter, however, was allowed to bring by-products home. Training to be a vet specialising in amputating diseased rabbit ears has its perks, y'know. They also need to be hung out to dry (ears, not the rabbits; they go on to lead fruitful lives, only hampered by quiet sniggering behind their backs, but when a rabbit sniggers it's hard to differentiate between that and a rabbit saying "Yo, wassup homie?" and all emotional trauma is avoided. Trust me on this; I know rabbits better than they know themselves). The pus and blood drains out of the ears. Woe betide any any white sheet that falls to the ground on that washing line! When dry, they're nice and crispy and can be shaved to avoid that awful smell of burning hair. The hair is picked out from the razor and posted to dead old aunt Brian who has no sense of smell and burns rabbit hair like there's no tomorrow. Rabbit ears don't burn well, but you knew that, didn't you? They're placed on a griddle above the fire, with a drop of the highest quality liposuction fat so it doesn't stick to the pan. Although they can't be eaten when cooked because of the hideous diseases which infect them, the rabbit ears do fill the house with the lovely smell of bacon. They're all vegemetarians, but they dig the smell.