I've been deep undercover for months, tracing down a lead on Chuckles which turned out to be a dead end (Who would've thought that a street snitch would lie for drug money? Benny, when I get my hands on you...). I'd been wondering if I'd lost my edge, that finely honed precipice of death, when I came across this:
Yep. Ol' Upchuck done and got himself a new face. He's undoubtedly part of the Witness Protection Program; you can tell by the quality of the work, which is "good enough for government".
Oh, Chuck...Do you really think taping your eyebrows back over your ears and changing your name to "Buck Forrest" will help you to evade me? I can smell fear like Dr. Phil can smell that strange combination of low self-esteem and masochism on his guests.
Honestly, some advice? Plastic surgery is better doled out in moderation, like most things in life, EXCEPT NAPALM, WHERE MORE IS NEVER ENOUGH:
Whatever face you're hiding behind, I'll find you, Chuck. It's what I do best. Well, now it is, after I left my modeling days behind me in the '80s:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiovYqTnngTl4JVrEU8DxB63ars87wAIki8X5GnCZTGzhKrLnoo6Hxngk2Xgk3627sqnnbMsZ97VxqdtZY1_41NYYUZH6lMdndhsA_wJbi6GC-2WMp7yqMJK2mvfGqgh78Qu8T-3wWWAZ6N/s400/345px-Sylvester_Stallone_(1983)_2.jpg)
The only thing I really miss is the coke....
Now that I have a current picture of you, Chuck, it's only a matter of time. Better spend it wisely.
Until that day,
R-bo
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