Plastic surgery procedures were up last year. If you're thinking about gettin' some work done, I hope you don't recognize anything from this list of the Top Signs You Picked The Wrong Plastic Surgeon.

When you ask him about the benefits of facial reconstruction, he throws his vodka at you and storms out in tears.

For a dollar, he'll let you touch Chaz Bono's old vagina.

When he's done, he hands you a bag full of organs and says, "I forgot to put these back in."

The receptionist's belly button is on her chin.

He insists on carving his name and phone number into your new boobs.

His paperweight is Joan Rivers' fourth nose.

He says the liposuction machine is down and just shoves a Dyson ball-vac up your ass.

He offers to bake your excessive fat into a souvenir pie.

Your name is Kenny Rogers.

The last thing you see before going under is him giggling and unbuttoning his pants.

You were really surprised to wake up and see how you looked with your new breast implants. Mostly because you're a dude.

When you question whether he should really be operating after chugging a bottle of whiskey, he screams, "Well I guess you'd prefer I probe perilously close to your vital organs without steadying my hands!"

His idea of rhinoplasty? Attaching a horn to your face.

He asks you if you'd be okay with crying out of your ears.