I want to erase all traces of masculinity from my face with highlighter, bronzer, and blush.

Sorry, that is the wrong next step.

The computer gives you a wicked blast of ice-cold water, and then, for good measure, does a low-grade electric shock the anal probe all the way to the fingers grasping your balls.

FUCK!! You shout, slamming your hand on the dressing table. ELECTRIC SHOCKS? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Suddenly, the chair seems a lot more like a fucking torture device than a friendly helper trying to train you to be good at makeup.

You give the finger to the cameras which you imagine are in the corners of the room, filming you.

For all the good it does.