I’d browsed an article in some shoddy broadsheet about this chap somewhere down the line and been slightly disturbed by what I’d read. That doesn’t compare to how disturbed I was by what was shown on TV last night. Christ. Any man that watched it without clutching his family jewels at least five times has clearly never received a kick to the knackers, snapped their banjo or caught their old chap in their fly. This was ‘ooyah TV’, the kind of thing that makes grown men weep and women shudder with nausea. My missus, in fact, spent almost the entire show behind a cushion, which was weird because she was the one who changed the channel to this parade of nastiness in the first place.
Clearly, you can guess from the title of the show what was going on here. John Ronald ‘Butcher’ Brown is quite a narcissistic chap, seemingly bent on operating on hapless cheapskates despite never having earned a license to do so. Add to this the fact that his specialism was gender realignment and you’re guaranteed some of the nastiest real-life TV you’re ever going to see. Brown operated from his garage on transsexuals unable to find a willing doctor to operate on them, and unable to stump up the cash for the op. Brown offered a cheap service that apparently worked very well for some. His technique, according to those who’d successfully undergone his blade, was to lop off the little fellow, remove the chads and then ‘minimise’ the winky – thus making it a clitoris. Now, I’ve never seen a clitoris that looks like a bell-end in terms of size, shape and colour before (and I’ve read a bajillion jazz pamphlets in my time, believe you me), but apparently his method was successful from time-to-time. Blimey.
When it went wrong, it really, really went wrong. After moving surgery to Mexico to escape the police, at one point Brown operated on a couple of gay chaps who fetishised amputees. One of them actually wanted their left leg removed as they felt it would improve their sex life. As no normal surgeon would do this, they gave our mate, Butcher Brown a tinkle and he did the honours. Chap turned up, leg came off, chap died of blood loss, thankyou very much. Nice work, Butcher Boy. After this slight mishap, a truly depressing (and thoroughly minging) turn of events. Brown performed a sex change operation on the butchest bloke you’ve ever met and made a right bloody mess of it. In turning the winky inside out he punctured the rectum. This resulted in the transsexual involved being given a fanny that pooed. I’ll repeat that. A fanny that leaked poo.
Think about that.
A fanny that leaks poo.
Now. With that in mind (a fanny that leaks poo), imagine a million shots of grainy actual footage from Brown’s surgery of him cutting off members willy nilly, in some cases with a not-fully-anaesthetized patient moaning in pain. Imagine those shots interspliced with the narrative of the documentary, seemingly randomly, and have a think about whether you could’ve handled watching it. Bet you couldn’t. I could, because I’m tough.
At the end, Butcher Brown was interviewed in prison.
- ‘Do you feel any guilt for what you’ve done?’
- ‘No. Not really’.
At least he’s honest.