Noah, the doctor,
always had inner knowing
of occupation.

As a boy, he had
a dream. An Angel whispered,
“Plastic is your path.”

Plastic surgeon it
was! How it started was with
integrity. But…

Along came Botox
and lip fillers, tummy tucks,
nose jobs, breast implants.

People don’t even
look the same. Or like humans.
But who the hell cares?

Noah can afford
a yacht. And basically
anything he wants.

But the guilt adds up.
Is he enhancing lives or
enhancing fakeness?

Regret is wrenching.
One night, the Angel visits
Noah in his dreams.

She tells him that his
purpose is plastic, but he
pursued the wrong kind.

He wakes up to a
thunderstorm. Doesn’t get the
divine dream memo.

He ponders as it
rains all week. And another
week. Rain doesn’t stop.

The streets start flooding.
The Angel appears in his
home. Direct this time.

“Listen, Noah, you
misunderstood. Plastic! Do
plastic! Yes, plastic!”

He doesn’t get it.
Why in the hell can’t Angel
speak clear sentences?

Noah buys plastic
injection molding machine
and makes mini arks.

For the whole town. He
has a yacht so no need for
Noah to have ark.

The floodwaters rise
and the community lines
up to secure arks.

The problem is that
Noah ain’t no boat expert.
Plastic arks don’t float.

Being an only
child, Noah doesn’t want to
share the big ‘ole yacht.

Other than a few
scantily clad ladies, he
escapes flood solo.

He soon tires of the
girls. “Why did escaping have
to be so drastic?!”

Noah yells into
the rain. After thunder booms,
the heavy rains stop.

A rainbow appears.
The Angel slides down rainbow
into Noah’s yacht.

“That’s what I tried to
tell you! Drastic! This is your
purpose. Well done, Son.”

She flies away while
Noah’s jaw is still on floor
of the yacht. Damn it.

He had no idea
his guardian Angel was
slightly misguided.

Too embarrassed to
go back to town, embraces
the drastic plastic.

And sails to Brazil
to be a butt lift surgeon.
Finds his true purpose.