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TV host Joan Rivers reveals she has had 739 surgical procedures but is yet to have a tattoo

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TV host Joan Rivers reveals she has had 739 surgical procedures but is yet to have a tattoo | thetelegraph.com.au:

Joan Rivers

The 78-year-old New Yorker revealed she has gone under the knife more than 700 times and joked that she has had treatment done so often that she gets one free procedure for every 10.

“Every weekend I just go in and I do something new. I get a 10th one free. It’s a little like coffee you just keep going,” Rivers said.

Before Joan’s revelation, the outspoken comedian’s daughter Melissa Rivers – who is starring alongside her mother in new reality TV show ‘Joan & Melissa: Joan Knows Best’ – told how she finally felt motivated enough to stand up to her mum over her plastic surgery love.

“At one point I start to think the risk outweighs the reward, so I wanted my mom to know how I felt about it and I think I made myself fairly clear,” she said..

“I also found out that most of my friends are weak and she turned them very easily.”

Joan then interrupted: “They all said, ‘You shouldn’t do it, you shouldn’t do it.’ And I said, ‘What if I pay for everybody in this room? What would you do?’ Every single person (accepted).”

But one physical change still on Joan’s wish list is to get a tattoo, and she even visited a tattoo shop on her 78th birthday before deciding against getting inked.

“Melissa wanted me to just put my home number, ‘If Lost, please call Betty White,” she said.’

“I ended up not getting it because they put you in a room with mirrors and I was putting it on my ass and I took a look and I just got so depressed. I said, ‘Cover this right up,’ but my friend got a tattoo. I’m very proud of her.

“Maybe my 79th, I’ll put a recipe on, at this age what do you put on? You put a recipe!”

Anthony Bourdain’s Worst Meals

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  • A Snickers bar at the airport. It was slightly past its expiration date and had the flavor and texture of peanuts preserved in wax. It nearly strangled me as it descended my gullet and it just sort of sat there, choking off my digestive process with its corporate nougat.
  • A Big Mac eaten between shoots at a Cardiff McDonald’s. It was a greasy, fatty, and grayish-brown lump of wet meat slathered in mustard-colored sauce I’m guessing was produced from industrial solvents by a machine that has to be water-cooled. You truly get the sense of America’s reach when you’re gulping down poorly-cooked American beef covered in American processed cheese substance while a doughy man with rat eyes yells at you in Cymraeg.
  • Skittles? I don’t know what a Skittle is, but it tastes like iodine and corn syrup. They are the sort of miserable pellets that sink to the bottom of an Easter basket when you’re a kid and you don’t even care enough to untangle them from the grass. Handed to me by my guide, Zyrikikov, during a truck stall on a particularly treacherous mountain road.
  • There was a Taco Bell at the bus terminal in Trblej. I had something called a “Mexi-Melt” that I assume is a rough approximation of what you would get if you used a heat ray to melt a Mexican. With cheese. It did not mix well with the homemade vodka I drank from a surplus military boot.
  • A so-called “BK Broiler” at a Rangoon Burger King. I think “BK” is an element forgotten on the periodic table, something mined very close to hell, that they then “broil” in a microwave until all of the juices have been replaced with gristle nodules. The sandwich was so appallingly bad it made me homesick for an Arby’s pile of wet sheets of beef paper on a soggy bun.

 

(Source: somethingawful.com)