A Facial or a Sinister Government Experiment?

I had a spa facial last night. At least I think I was in a spa. It's possible I was in an evil scientist's lab. Or maybe a machinist's shop.

I first sensed something was terribly wrong when I walked into the cell, I mean room, and saw this contraption hanging from the ceiling (I'm sorry it's out of focus, but I was trembling):

I still have no idea what the hell this was, and I was too frightened to ask.

I tried to hide my fear and obeyed the technician, removing my robe and crawling under the covers on the bed in the center of this sinister little room. The procedure started gently enough with a mild cleanser, but then "Amanda" brought out the heavy artillery.

First, a steam cleaning:

Then polishing with a small power sander:

And then came the torture I knew was inevitable:

Was it an ice pick? Perhaps an awl? Maybe a nail set? She had conveniently covered my eyes so I couldn't see her weapon and therefore could never testify against her in court. Teen magazine always said to never poke at your face or pick your zits, but there she was, this "professional," gouging into my clogged up pores, apologizing for the pain and promising me it would be over soon.

When she had dug enough holes into my face, she tried to disguise her handiwork with one of these little beauties:

 

But I knew it would take more than a coat of paint to hide what she had done to me. 

This cover-up was followed by what she liked to call an eye treatment:

And then, because that wasn't enough to satisfy her sadistic tendencies, "Amanda" decided a scalp massage was in order:

Finally, she informed me that she had completed her "procedure" and that I should leave the various oils and lubricants on my skin for at least for the next several hours. Naturally I couldn't take the suspense, wondering what on earth had become of me. I scraped off the spackling and here's what I found:

Needless to say, I won't be going to that spa again.