First it was the schnozz. Then the ears, the tits, pricks, and now … asses. Yes, the newest popular plastic surgery option is to get your long, flat ass pumped up with silicon to J-Lo status. But that’s nothing, folks. Because in the not-so-distant future, the hottest fad to replace “Trading Places” could be “Trading Faces.” I am not lying. Scientists at the Cleveland Clinic are prepared to lift a face off a cadaver and slap that meatcake onto a living person’s head. They’ve already done it with live animals (shush, PETA) and human cadavers, and now they’re ready for the real thing.

Notwithstanding all this practice, the procedure is still fraught with risk. Even if everything goes well, the patient stares down a lifetime of anti-rejection drugs; if things don’t go so well, he or she could reject the new face. Yes, I just said that — reject the new face.

Presently, eligible patients are burn victims or otherwise disfigured folks. (Certainly, this is great news to those who are desperate for a chance for exterior normalcy.) But it’s not a long step from success in this niche market to a few well-endowed surgeons promising eternal beauty to Park Avenue mamas willing to trade in their old faces for newer, prettier ones.

But is that so wrong? Really, what’s the difference between a new set of tits and a new set of cheeks? Nothing, except their place on the makeover spectrum. In extreme cases, trading in your face even makes economic sense. Why go through reconstructing your own lips, chin, eyes, nose, forehead, mouth, and God knows what else to look like Pamela Anderson, when all you must do is wait until she keels over and you can be her?

Of course, scientists in Cleveland warn that a patient donning Pamela’s face won’t look exactly like her. Rather, the subject would look like a combination of his or herself and the donor because the new face adheres to the existing bones and muscle. But that’s just now. Remember the first penile implants? You had to bust out the electric raft pump just to get that thing up. Now we’re light-years ahead. In fact, most women don’t even know I have one.

Soon, those who squawk out that insipid motivational motto, “You can be whoever you want to be,” will be more right than they ever dreamed.