&nbsp; &nbsp;Quit your crying. You signed the contract, dollface. Shoulda read the smallprint, shouldn't you? The record company owns your voice, and more, we own your whole image. Your face, your body, all ours. Nobody wants to see a man gyrating like that on stage. But with the ass we've given you, they'll be queuing for miles to get a peek.<br /> Pick at your bandages all you want. It's not going to remove those implants.<br /> A man? You think anyone will ever believe you were a man? Not much left to prove it, is there, Evelyn? You think the police would take the word of a penniless country boy against that of a record producer? And even if they did, it's not as though they can make you a man again.<br /> Now you're going to be a pretty little songbird. You're going to make us millions with that sweet voice of yours. Tonight you go up on stage and sing your heart out. We've already got the dress picked our for you.<br /> And after, you'll entertain a few of them backstage. Hm? Of course it's tender, it's barely had a week to heal. But you'll do it all the same.