Millennials Today

George was excited about the surgery; he was at the cutting edge of a new societal movement that had stormed the globe, and today was his final big piece of plastic surgery. 

From the USA to South Korea, people were joining this new wave of living and George wanted to push the envelope so far open today, people would be talking about him world wide.

He was carried on a bed due to not being able to walk anymore into the surgery room and Dr Strangegroove welcomed him.

“Ahh George, how is my favourite furry experiment?”

George who now had his jaw wired closed, and sewed shut, could not speak, but with his newly added appendages on top of his head he rubbed them against the doctor in a sign of happiness.

“Ahh glad to hear it, lets do this thing shall we?”, Dr Strangegroove said as Mary the nurse wheeled him into a big sterile room. 

Dr Strangegroove was a Harley St doctor and was one of the few brave enough which had embraced this new movement. 

Although he had many detractors, and even some protests outside his surgery, he wanted to become famous and renowned for his stunning surgeries that transformed patients’ lives and stunned the globe.

He had been interviewed many times, and social media was all over him with fan groups dedicated to his work, and he even had other doctors following him, wanting to know how to get in on his act. 

Of course, he didn’t want to give out his secrets for free, but he held regular speeches and special tuitions for those who wanted to gain the knowledge whilst the going was good. No-one wanted to be left there when the pendulum of societal acceptance swang back hitting them all between the legs such as previous movements like transgender had.

At the moment the USA was cut in half like always over this movement, and whilst some states were passing laws to protect those people wanting surgery as sanctuary states, others were passing laws to ban his practise they saw as evil incarnate.

The doctor placed George into a sedative coma with a good shot of Propofol before he started cutting away at Georges last remaining human features in a multi hour, tour de force.

When the surgery was over and George awoke, the doctor was very happy. The huge 14 stone bumble bee which used to be George was now in front of him, twitching and scratching with it’s antennae.

The anesthetic he had used to put George under was finally wearing off, and the Doctor wondered once it had fully receded whether George was actually happy with the outcome of his surgery or not, how could he tell just from a few strokes of it’s frontal appendages.

More importantly the doctor then wondered how he was going to get the huge bumble bee to sign the final huge cheque for the surgery. He was supposed to get George to sign it before any work but in his eagerness to get cutting away at his patient he had totally forgotten about payment. 

Now that Georges arms had been removed and replaced with wings, how was he going to sign the last cheque. The doctor pondered for a moment and then decided as any true amoral surgeon would, that he would have to forge his signature. It was the only logical solution, and he sucked his pen hard as he stared at that blank line on the cheque, lying there as if it was the only object on his huge oak desk.

This mad movement that was taking the world by storm was really cutting edge, and the doctor always photographed and sometimes filmed his transformational experiments, so that they could be shown off to the world, eager to see how far the boundaries of human to insectoid surgeries could go.

He grabbed his phone and recorded a couple of minutes of the huge bumble bee lying on his couch in a dark rug so not to let any blood damage his precious leather seat. It was wriggling about, probably wondering where, what and who it was as the doctor took some photos.

He would touch them up later, applying some filters, and masking all the blood leaking from the stitchwork around its new wings and huge holographic looking bug eyes.

He looked at the wall behind him where pictures of all his experiments hung up proudly. From the start of his experiments when people just wanted to look just a bit more like a cat or tiger with some simple plastic surgery on the cheeks and hands, topped off with full body tattoos. To his later patients, who wanted to have their legs and arms retracted, and made into pet legs, to finally become the dogs or cats they had an inner urging to be.

This was not just mad science, the Fringe Bodge Job quarterly, had recent studies from both South Korea, Alabama and Wales, where over 10% of people asked by qualified psychologists had deep primordial urges to become another species. 

In one study over 70% of these identified cases felt discriminated against when they tried to act like a dog. Wearing a special spotted dog suit and hanging out at the park, trying to sniff other canines rectums or defecating on a football pitch.

The Doctor sent a picture from his phone to the printer, and then framed it before hanging his latest masterpiece of George the bumble bee up on the wall. He took a step back, and looked happy as he stood there with his hands on his hips, sucking a pen.

“Are you happy with your work doctor?”, enquired Mary, one of the assistants who had been in the surgery. She wanted to know what the Doctor truly thought of his latest operation when she had seen him in his usual post operative trance, staring at his wall and his growing collection of freaks he had transformed from humans to mice, ants and now a big bumble bee.

“Well I am Mary”, he said before turning his head, “But I have no fucking idea what this stupid insect thinks. What a loony decision to spend a million pounds to convert himself into a human sized bug”.

The two of them looked at George twitching and scratching on the bed, too heavy to actually fly, he just lay there unable to really move at all.

“John!”, the doctor shouted out for the janitor, “Can you come here and dump this human ‘slash’ insect out the back alley near the bins of that Chinese place please!”. 

It was a crazy part of London where his expensive base of operations was located. Just past Soho near China Town, it was just one of many plastic surgeries that operated in a lackadaisical manner around there.

Hopefully one of the less fussy restaurants would find the beast and chop, dice and cook it up for some Chow mein, the doctor hoped. The Chinese kitchens also took a very open approach to menu supplies, and weren’t too fussy on the quality of their meat. A gift like this could see them right for at least a few weeks around a busy place like here.

The doctor stood back and looked at Mary and just raised his eye brows, “these stupid millennials, I can never understand what they are doing with these stupid fads”, he commented. 

Whilst he enjoyed his own chopping and dicing of the new movement generalised as “Insecting”, where patients supposedly felt an innate inner feeling that they had been born into the wrong species, and whilst their souls were those of a bug, their bodies needed to conform to the insect they were meant to be, whether that of an ant, a fly, or now a bee. 

When was someone going to contact him wanting to transform into spider he constantly dreamt about. For that would be a challenge and take his skills to the outer boundaries of what was scientifically possible in the world of “blending”. 

This was what the surgeons termed the act of changing one’s body into that of another mammal or creature of any sort. It was basically a word they could use in scientific journals when they really just meant, “being fucking mental”.

George meanwhile was looking through his huge new bug eyes at the lack of colours and senses he thought he would be able to sense now he had total bug features. For him he thought he would truly become a bumble bee and that his life would then feel complete. However he tried to flap his wings expecting to lift off the ground but couldn’t. What was going on?

He went to ask the Doctor he could see, standing with his back towards him. What was wrong he wanted to know, but his mouth was wielded shut. 

Bollocks, what the fuck had he done to himself he thought as the janitor rolled him off the chair with the bloody rug into what looked like a wheelbarrow, and he started to be carted off to become a wonder of Chinese culinary delight.

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