Ramblings from the Desert

The man who trades freedom for security does not deserve nor will he ever receive either. ~Benjamin Franklin

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Location: New Mexico

Author of the urban fantasy novel, The Music of Chaos, and the paranormal romance, The Canvas Thief.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Better In Theory



(More October 2005, Esquire stuff)
Things that are never quite as good as they seem:

*Menu items described as "beer battered" (Because the beer is usually Old Milwaukee)
*Desperate housewives--the real kind (Bigger spare tires than their husbands)
*The brave antics of rodeo clowns (Like NASCAR; only fun when there's an accident)
*Swimming holes (Leaches)
*"Overstuffed" sandwiches (Stuffing ends up in your lap)
*Following your dream (Starvation and title loans ahead)
*Costume parties (Either you are the only one wearing a costume, or vice versa)

My addition to the list:
*Any toy advertised during Saturday morning cartoons.

My disappointments are always involve childhood and advertising. Case in point, a Barbie Olympic gymnastics kit.

The commercial had it all: happy, grinning, urchins; a fabulous soundtrack; Barbie whipping around the beam like Nadia Comaneci--a blond, stacked, Nadia Comaneci. Oh, oh, Barbie in action. Way better than all the Barbie Gets Pretty crap. Gotta have it!

Reality. Cheap, flimsy plastic. No, I repeat "No soundtrack." One disappointed urchin. Barbie was strapped into the equipment via little wrist cuffs, where she hung, an idiot grin on her face. The machine had little cranks designed by someone with no knowledge of physics. By turning the cranks, one could turn Barbie around the beam. In theory. In reality, the mechanism was geared too high to handle Barbie's weight (it's all in the enormous tits). So she would rise awkwardly toward the top. Cresting the apex, she would come crashing down where she'd swing like a piece of meat. (Man. This sounds like porn.)

Actually, the whole set-up was vaguely naughty. Woman in bondage, hanging from a bar. If I still had the toy today and were desperate for attention, I could pose Barbie in said contraption, legs wrapped around Ken, and make naughty comics. An XXX-rated version of Alien Loves Predator. (Not my style; the idea's all yours, kids; run with it.)

Except my Ken was headless. I liked to take all my toys--dolls included--apart to see what was inside. Women are made of tougher stuff so Barbie survived her decapitation. Her head snapped back on. But Ken's head rolled around in the toy drawer for a few years.

One day the dog ate Ken's head.

 

Graphics and Content Copyright © Patricia Kirby 2005