The pale pink ears are placed in diamond encrusted petri dishes and bequeathed to an Arab Sheik. The nose is delicately sliced from her face, frozen in ice, and couriered to Justin Timberlake. The shy, beautiful breasts are sold separately to the highest bidders: the left, to an astronaut who carries it with him into space. The right, to a plastic surgeon who keeps it in a jar on her desk, next to the jellybeans. The legs are bought as a pair, a bouquet of toes flowering at the end of each foot. One nubile arm is left for each weeping parent to hold. What about her hands? Give them to the fans. Her stomach is pumped, the contents donated to a museum of natural science: half a Starbucks Frappaccino, a stick of bubble-gum. Her womb is gift-wrapped and given to a raging feminist, who pumps it like a stress ball. Her voice, sold to Sony. Her ex-husband keeps the kids as a keepsake. And now the eyes…