Thursday, November 26, 2009

As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, well near death, I realize this place is no four star resort (and I only stay four star)

Friends. Companions. Satisfied Customers. I am back. Yes, Dave Brandice. Some of you may have been thinking, “Is he dead?” or “what happened to that amazing piece of human, did he buy an island and disappear or something”...

Clémence Poésy. “Davey, buy me an island and I will do whatever you want whenever you want, and I mean anything”. That’s how it all began. I ran into a client of mine, Clémence, at the Wynn late one night after The Killers concert. I did some work on The Killer’s tour manager’s wife, so I always get the best seats. I wouldn’t be caught dead at a concert unless I had the absolute best seats in the damn place. Wouldn’t. Be. Caught. Dead. Anyways, after the show I was feeling a bit randy too say the least, how do you expect a guy to feel after eating MDMA and drinking Jack through a TWO hour set from The Killers. Anyways, as I said, was feeling randy so headed over to The Wynn in my stretch limo, only way to fucking travel in Vegas if you ask me. Craps table. Fucking bee-line over there. Craps table = money and pussy. Should be called Money and Pussy rather than Craps. Nothing crappy at the craps table, except for the fucking fly over state folks who show up with a five hundred bill and try to make back all the money they spent last year on the big switch to Direct Tv so now they can finally watch who gives a fuck that they always hear everyone talking about at the local I don’t give a cunt. I digress. Craps table. I start playing, when all of a sudden I feel some soft lips graze my right ear lobe. I turn to find Clémence Poésy. She is a French model who also calls herself an “actress”. After starting on the stage as a child, Poésy had dramatic education, and is active on both film and television since 1999, including some English-language productions. Outside of her home country, she is perhaps best known for playing Fleur Delacour in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005) and Chloë in In Bruges (2008). She is also well known for her amazing and groundbreaking fellatio skills. In 2004 I did work on her cheek bones, tits, and toes.


**Side note: That’s right, I gave her a foot facelift. Potential clients, and returning customers, take a look at your feet. Many women are getting, and often loving, cosmetic improvements on their feet. “Toe cleavage” is now being mentioned in cosmetic surgery hotspots like Florida, New York and California with the same sense of awe and reverence once given to the latest diet.”


So I’m throwing craps with this magnificent sex beast on my arm. I am on cloud nine. I am Vegas! Move the fuck over Sinatra, there’s a new cat in town. “Davey, buy me an island and I will do whatever you want whenever you want, and I mean anything”. And like that we are on a jet. I haven’t even purchased an island yet but we are in the air and headed the fuck somewhere. I get on the line with my Jew accountant/real estate advisor/ pharmaceutical drug dealer Arthur Zezzerberg. He is on call 24/7. I did his daughter’s nose job for her 14th birthday. What an angel that soon to be cum depository is. Eyes like her Mother, and now nose like Paris Hilton. I tell Arthur, I need to buy an island right now, not now, but like ten minutes ago. He tells me I’m in luck, his other client Nic Cage is looking to SELL SELL SELL. Guess he’s fucking broke, which is crazy cause that guy is the tits! He is in five of my top ten movies.

DAVE BRANDICE’S TOP TEN MOVIES:

1. Con Air (Cage Flick)

2. Breast Men

3. A Very Brady Sequel

4. National Treasure (Cage Flick)

5. Face/Off (Cage Flick / Innovative look at plastic surgery)

6. Ghost Rider (Cage Flick)

7. Striptease

8. Knowing (Cage Flick)

9. Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure

10. Snatch (just the title, the movie sucks, can’t understand a fucking word anyone is saying)

If you recall in May of 2006, Nic bought a 40-acre-plus island in the Bahamas that had been on the market for $3 million. The property, located near an island owned by Faith Hill and Tim McGraw, is about 85 miles southeast of Nassau and is part of the Exuma archipelago of some 365 islands in the southern Bahamas. “Get me that fucking island Arthur”. Hang up the phone and get back to Clémence. She’s hungry so I ask the stewardess to make Clem a sandwich or something. We fuck, and by the time we are through there is a fresh sandwich waiting for Clem, and a bottle of SPARKING water for me. I don’t drink tap. I. Don’t. Drink. Tap. My iPhone rings. “It’s all yours! Nic is thrilled! The place is ready to go and I got him to leave you a signed headshot (like I don't already have one, did work on his stylist... tummy tuck). Put me on with your pilot and I’ll give him the coordinates”.


A few hours later and we land at my new island. It’s fucking gorgeous. We land in the backyard of my new mansion. Before I can stick myself in Clem, the private jet is already gone. I have no cell phone service. Right now, I don’t give a shit. Sure Cage left the Internet password or something in the giant mansion. Wrong. Place is completely gutted. Clem and I explore the grounds. Then, BAM! I’m out cold.


I wake up in the master bedroom of my mansion, tied to the bed frame with Clem tied up next to me. Renegade pirates surround us. Disgusting hairy men with guns and shit stain skin complexions. They explain… Nic has been renting the place out to them for the past 3 months. We are now there hostages. The next months are all blur. In and out of sleep. I lost 50lbs, and I barely weighed anything to fucking begin with. Clem was used to surviving on nothing, so she was looking great. I was on the brink of death. I felt it, and I thought am I never going to cut again? Am I never going to perfect another imperfection? Will I never drink champagne poolside at a four star hotel? Will I never fuck whatever I want when I want? I was fading, fast. Everything turned white. Then, I heard a familiar voice. I thought I was dreaming. Next thing I know, I am being hauled onto a helicopter in the arms of Nic Cage! Nic Cage saved my life! Clem was already buckled in and ready to go. The helicopter was stocked with crackers and diet coke…. He’s broke. He begged me to not to go to the press with this whole ordeal. We cut a deal, I would cut him and that would be the end of it. You can see his new look in theaters now in The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans. I did his hair line, eyes, cheeks, arms, calves, buttocks, and neck. Put me RIGHT back in the limelight. My phone is ringing off the hook, all the stars want me to do some work on them… and I will. I fucking will. Feels good to be back.


With that, I am off to Cheadle’s house to celebrate Thanksgiving. Lisa always makes a hell of a Turkey. Clem and I are bringing the stuffing and MDMA. Oh and get this, we invited a certain someone who has no one to spend the holiday with, or no money for that matter…



Sunday, April 12, 2009

Made It Back Alive!

BAM ZAM! 6:21, the PJ (private jet) just touched down at Burbank Airport. I fucking refuse to fly into LAX. I. Fucking. Refuse. After this, off to Stroup's for Easter Dinner.

For those of you that didn't catch SNL last night, it was incredible! A total laugh riot. A. Total. Fucking. Laugh. Riot. Zefron was fantastic. After the show, Zefron ditched all those theater fags that make up the SNL cast and joined myself and D-Bag for some late night debauchery. We headed over to Angels & Kings. Now I know what you are thinking, Dave, that place isn't really up to your usual standards, and trust me I completely fucking agree. They serve drinks that cost less than ten dollars... disgusting. You will never catch me in an establishment that has a drink available for a mere $3. Never.... except for last night, can't say no to Zefron! Plus, D-Bag was all about it. He ran into some friends (check out the pic at the bottom of the post, D-Bag is completely toasted!) For those of you that live under a fucking rock, Angels & Kings is owned by Pete Wentz of The Fallout Boys. Not really my cup of tea, when it comes down to it, like me, Pete Wentz is fucking rich, and I can get with that.

The night is a total fucking blur. D-Bag and I were drinking throughout the entire taping of SNL. Secuirty at 30 Rock is so fucking barbaric. They tried to tell me we couldn't bring in outside drinks into the taping room. I said if you can provide me with a drink like the one in my hand, a glass of Macallan Fine Rare Collection 1926 on the fucking rocks, nothing else. Nothing. Fucking. Else... then I'll be happy to purchase one.... otherwise I'm drinking this fucking drink. They started a scene trying to take the drink away from me... D-Bag texted L.Michaels and got the whole thing taken care of. I mean could you believe this guy, a bottle of Macallan Fine Rare Collection 1926, cost $38,000... that's probably more than that piece of shit makes in a year.

Till next time folks!

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Saturday Fucking Night Live

Zing Zam Zoom! Jetted over to NYC to catch my bro Efron hosting SNL tonight with some faggy musical guest called the Yeah Yeah I Don't Give A Flying Fucks. I. Don't. Anyways, as you probably guessed, I have with me as always my partner in crime, D-Bag. We are in a limo right on our way to have dinner and drinks at the Le Bernadin (you most likely can't afford to eat here), and hopefully pick up some of that high class married pussy. My favorite kind. My. Favorite. Fucking. Kind. Well, this update is nice and short, I'm typing this entry via my Blackberry/iPhone/Bluetooth or whatever the fuck this thing is, I have so many I can't keep track. Be back in LA no later than noon tomorrow, don't ask me how. I'm celebrating Easter with D-Bag and Jessica Stroup (google her). It's more of a business affair, she's looking into getting some work done, and I wouldn't mind fucking her. Met her at a premiere, she invites me to Easter dinner, what a lady. I ask if I can bring a guest. Sure she thinks I'm showing up with a forgettable whore, little does she know my guest is Don-motherfucking-Cheadle! Be sure to check back in a week or two, going to visit Don on the set of Iron Man 2!!! It's going to be a fucking blast!


Oh right right!!! Wait, Don won't let me log out without telling this story. Quicky. Fucking Quicky. Last night, we are blowing lines at some I don't give a fuck's house and all the sudden that song comes on that goes "I can see clearly now the rain is gone" blah blah sappy bullshit. So Don lays out this humongous line of coke, I mean it's the line to end them all... right as the the chorus of this shit song comes up he snorts the whole fucking thing then jumps on the table and sings "I CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW THE COKE IS GONE!" Fucking hilarious. Fucking. Hilarious.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

My New Fucking Face

Long time no speak friends and family (well what's left of them! just kidding, for those of you who don't know, I cut off all ties to my family expect for my cousin Al who lives in Boys Town off of Belmont... kids a total fag but he has ambition). From the title of this post you might be thinking to yourself if your a man, "Holy shit, Dave! Did you get plastic surgery on your face? Why the fuck would you do that, you don't need that shit!"... and if your a woman, namely Don Cheadle's wife (just kidding D-Bag!), your probably thinking, "Oh no say it ain't so! Dave, you are probably, wait, no you are the most handsome man I've ever met, please tell me you didn't cut up your face!".... Well, you all can relax. No scalpel to this priceless mug. Let me explain... when I was 18 and I broke into the limelight after operating on D-Bag's wife, I was constantly being hawked by the press and paparrazi. I needed to present myself in a professional way, along with giving off a fuck you I'll fuck every woman in this entire city type vibe to really let people know what I'm about. Well, after five years of doing this same face, which is basically the Bob Pattinson look from Twilight, I've decided I want to change my face. Something that sends a professional message along with fuck you I'll fuck every woman in this entire city and have a great unbelievable time as well! So... I took the face out for a test drive last night, here's a pic! Let me know what you think, actually don't I don't give a fuck what you think. I know it's immaculate and mezmorizing. This is what I fucking do.


Anyways, looking forward to the weekend. Got the premiere of FAST AND FURIOUS... yeah, you guessed it, I'm going with D-Bag and his ol' ball and chain. Be sure to check out her new tits, OPPS SORRY DON! I couldn't resist! They are truly a work of art. You could have tits like that for a mere $1.2 million. Think about it, or don't and give me a call, if you can fucking afford me, otherwise don't. I really hope Joaquin Phoenix is there... I think plastic surgery is something in his near future. The guy is redifing himself. I think a Blepharoplasty ( reshaping of the eyelids or the application of permanent eyeliner ) and a proper chin augmentation could take his edge to whole new level.

Let's get political for a moment. Just a brief moment, I think it's very neccassary for influential public figures like myself to speak on politics... so here is what I have to say.... Everyone needs to shut the fuck up about the economic climate.... you know what the climate is... my $500k custom marble hot tub that I'm sitting in right now says that it's 104 degrees, not to shabby if you ask me!

I almost forgot, I'd like to officially announce that Wal-Mart will now be selling concert tickets... and you can thank ME for it! This is something I've had brewing on the sides for years and we finally closed the deal. Now poor middle American fucks can buy baby formula, Camel Lights (no negative connotation to the Camel corporation, I own 1.8% of the company), Ramen noodles, cheap plastic bottles of Popov vodka, and fucking concert tickets all Wal-Mart.

Well that's all she wrote. Time to get out of this tub, towel off, jump in my Aston Martin DBS and head out Sunset... having dinner with Ron Howard at my favorite Thai joint... TOI! Love it there! Fucking amazing! Fucking spectacular. Also, there is always great young pussy there.... not like young daddy's college girl pussy... but like young rock n roll rebelious whisky drinking david bowie loving pussy... in my opinion, the best kind.

CHEERS!

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

My Heart Is In Chicago... But I Left It On A Respirator And Moved Out West To Live With The Stars

My name is Dave Brandice and I am fucking rich. Not rich like your friend whose Father took over his Father's business who took over his Father's business and so on and so forth. I am fucking rich. Unstoppable rich. I am good looking. I have nice cars. I have many fantastic houses and a summer home in Montana (yeah, that's right, Montana, we'll get to that this summer). I'm single. I'm young. I'm in good shape. I can fuck for hours. I. Can. Fuck. For. Hours. Literally. Actually, wait. I can fuck for MANY hours. I'd say many of my peers (by many, I mean a carefully select group of peers; Darwin's theory fully applied and practiced in said select group) can fuck for an hour.... but I got hours baby! I travel. I've been literally everywhere. You reading this, I've been to your home town, I've had lunch at your favorite restaurant, and I've gone bowling with your best friends at the local I don't give a fuck. I am a nice fucking guy. I can charm the pants off your boss, priest, therapist, and parole officer if need be. I love to gamble. Love. To. Gamble. Love steak. Rare, not that medium rare bullshit. Love a nice whiskey. Fuck an Old Fashion, I just want a whiskey water. No orange slices, no anything. Whiskey. Water. I feel like I may be coming off as a prick, but ask my friends or anyone that has met me, I couldn't be a nicer guy. Literally, I couldn't. But seriously, I'm a laugh riot. Ask my best friend and golf partner, movie star actor Don Cheadle. We'll get to that later too.

I came into this world in 1986. My Mother, Jean Lee Brandice, went into labor at a Bon Jovi concert on the cold of evening of January 14th. Her water broke during the hit song "Livin' On A Prayer" off their hit record Slippery When Wet. My Father, Dick Dean Brandice, was not paying attention as he was rocking out to the sweet guitar licks of Richie Sambora and the heavenly vocals of Jon Bon and ironically enough, my Father, slipped on the water that had just been released from my Mother.... slippery when wet Father. He died that night. My Mother rode in the hospital truck, on her back on stretcher delivering her first born, as her husband lied next to her, and slowly left this world... as I was slowly coming out of her and into this world.

I grew up in the North West Surburbs of Chicago and my Mom was poor. She was a piano teacher.

I've always been extremely exceptional in everything I do. In 1996, I'll never forget going over to my buddies house and seeing in his Dad's bathroom the Christmas edition of Playboy with Jenny McCarthy/Victoria Silvstedt. From that point on, I knew I wanted to be in the business of making woman that don't look like Jenny McCarthy and Victoria Silvstedt look like Jenny McCarthy and Victoria Silvstedt. Shortly after that Playboy graced my eyes, I started experimenting with altering the less desirable to make them appealing to me. I would gather pictures of undesirable people (mostly from school year books and pictures I would take of people in public) and lay them out on my floor. I would then collect as many Playboys, GQs, and COSMOs as possible, cutting out all the limbs and parts of the beautiful people inside. I would separate the body parts into categories, eyes, legs, lips, tits, ears, etc etc. Then, I would go back to undesirable people, and I would make them desirable. I would make them perfect.

Fast forward to 2009, I am the youngest, most successful, and most handsome plastic surgeon in America. Today, is my first day living in my new home. As stated before, I grew up in the North West Suburbs of Chicago. After high school, I high tailed the fuck out of there and moved downtown and attended school at UIC. I got my degree. While getting my degree, I was involved in several endeavors (pyramid scams) that helped me raise the money to open up my own plastic surgery boutique. Then, it happened. Don Cheadle was in Chicago studying for a role. His wife, now my dear friend Lisa, was looking for an
augmentation mammoplasty, aka a Tit Job. She was sick of the way all the stars tit's looked. She thought they weren't classy, weren't sexy, and weren't desirable. Then, as she was waving a cab, she saw an ad for my practice on the side of a bus, the ad read TRUE BEAUTY COMES FROM A SCALPEL. A few hundred thousand dollars and some blood later, I am on the cover of every magazine with a smile on face right next to Lisa's tits! And the rest is history. Today is the day I have left Chicago and moved to LA. I am currently sitting next to my infinity pool looking out on my new city. My. New. Fucking. City. I have decided to start this blog to document my amazing life. To share my experiences with all of you. This move, out to the West, is a new chapter in my life. I'm off to golf 18 with Don and his buddy Cliff. Those guys keep me young.