Society dismembered

The other day I was spying on my niece and her friend while playing with Barbie dolls. I wanted to make sure they were playing nice, and they were. Creepily so. They were polite, giggling, and having what I would describe as a lovely time.

This really brought back some lovely memories of my own. Or should I say, anti-lovely.

My sister and I used to play with Barbie dolls. I used the term “play” loosely, because it was more like MMA Barbie Unleashed. By the time the smoke had cleared, there were blonde chunks of hair and singular little plastic arms and legs scattered across the battlefield of our room. Somebody would be crying while the other was saying something like, “Well, you shouldn’t be a stupid, fat pig!”

About this time my mother would have had enough, and she’d head down the long hallway to our room. “What is going on in here? You two act like a couple of heathens!” Then she’d threaten to take us down to the mental hospital where she worked as a nurse so we could learn to appreciate what we had. When she’d leave the room, we’d make faces at each other of how we imagined those retarded people to look. We were, indeed, heathens.

Watching those girls playing reminded me of something else, though. We also had a Ken doll, and as a kid I was fascinated by the fact that there was just a little mound where his wiener should have been. When I first got to pondering this, I thought, well, that makes sense, because no little girl needs to see that. But upon further contemplation, I realized there was an entirely different reason for this.

Boys and girls are like oil and water from day one. If little girls are happy to rip Barbie apart limb by limb, you know good and well if Ken hadn’t already been dismembered, they’d be happy to take care of that shit too. There’d be little broken dicks littering households all across the country. This wouldn’t be good for future relationships because it would give girls ideas that they wouldn’t otherwise have unless they’d seen a Lorena Bobbitt special. Fathers and brothers would cringe and become fearful, and the next thing you know, there would be a paradigm shift in the gender dynamic and women would be ruling the world. The men who run the Barbie company know this.

What they also know is that Barbie would become obsolete. Little girls would only want Ken dolls to rip the parts off of and make little penis necklaces. After that, they’d use the eunuchs to chauffeur Barbie and her girlfriend around. Little girls wouldn’t dream of the picket fence or children anymore. If they did happen to have children, and they were boys, we’d end up like China, except opposite, throwing the boyfolk in the river. It would be complete chaos.

I can only imagine the effect this would have had on me and my sister back then. It would have exponentially increased the likelihood of us becoming major figureheads in the heathen movement. My mother would’ve ended up on 60 Minutes apologizing for us and offering excuses: “They aren’t really mine. I found them.”

It would be forever before women forgave all the years of oppression and learned to live with men again as equals, but it would never go back to normal. Men would be underpaid and under appreciated; they would cry, it would be a mess. So look. If you’re wondering why it’s still a man’s world, I think it’s quite obvious. It can all be directly linked back to anatomically incomplete Ken dolls. I know, I know…I’m in the wrong career.

Share this Post:

16 thoughts on “Society dismembered”

  1. When my imaginary son doesn’t play nice, I take his Barbie away. On a side note, if anyone is in the market for 1256 Barbies, just say the word!

  2. My sister’s Barbie collection used to mix it up with my collection of Johnny West action figures, who were all heavily armed. It never ended well.

  3. Maybe Ken was just extraordinarily underendowed?

    I never had a Barbie or a Ken doll. I had dolls, but I was four years older than my sister. She had her own set of dolls. So we never got to play Dismember the Barbie. You have made me realize just how deprived we were.

    I was a tomboy, anyway. I was as likely to be outside batting baseballs around as inside playing with my dolls. I wanted the best of both worlds.

  4. Oh my God, I’m terrified now. Just one little wiener-less mound away from a world of women wearing little penis necklaces like some sort of twisted voodoo amulet?

    I’m instinctively covering up and crying.

Comments are closed.