Monthly Archives: August 2012

This Just In: Confessions of a Ken Doll

This is truly breaking news. You may all be aware of Barbie and Ken’s divorce that happened a few years ago. I know, I know. I was shocked and saddened too. I mean, not even pretend marriages last anymore. What does it say about our culture when even our toys can’t make a relationship work? Apparently she left Ken for a younger Australian surfer named “Blaine”. Blaine. That’s the perfect name for a Barbie boo. Or for a Monotrain (for all you Dark Tower fans out there).

TJI caught up with Ken in his Hollywood apartment to discuss the release of his upcoming book, “Confessions of a Ken Doll.”

Ken’s apartment is the picture of any middle age divorcee’s state of mind: A clutter of half-empty take out boxes, empty liquor bottles and dirty laundry covering every available chair back. Ken isn’t looking much better. Shirtless and in a pair of dirty white shorts, he takes turns pulling from a can of beer and a bottle of rum. On his coffee table is an ashtray full of cigarette butts.

TJI: Thanks for seeing us, Ken. Can you tell us what happened with Barbie?

Ken: It’s not her fault. She’s never been able to resist a hard body and plastic smile.

TJI: Are you saying there were problems before the…split up?

Ken: I don’t know if I would call them problems. (He laughs and takes a huge swig of rum) Like I’m the only Ken Doll out there. Please. She messed around with every fool to step off the production line. (He shrugs) It’s just how it was. Not like she was the only Barbie out there, either. And the way that she was always running off chasing different careers…a man gets lonely, you know?

TJI: So what happened then?

Ken: It wasn’t Barbie. It was the corporation. They split us up.

TJI: Why?

Ken: I found out what they’re up to, that’s why.

TJI: And what exactly are THEY up to?

Ken: You ever wonder why Ken Dolls aren’t…anatomically correct?

TJI: I just always assumed it was for the children’s sake.

Ken: (scoffs) The children’s sake? Whatever. If they gave a damn about the children, we would’ve never gotten divorced in the first place. What kind of example does that set for the impressionable youth? Nah. The corporation doesn’t care about kids only their parents’ money. (He crushes and empty can of beer and pops open another) They were using us Kens. Experimenting.

TJI: Experimenting with what?

Ken: New lines of Barbies.

TJI: Wait, you mean that…

Ken: (nods) Yep. Ken Dolls were lab rats for Barbie’s new careers. She wanted to be an astronaut? They’d re-sex one of the Kens to try it out. If it went well, then Barbie would step in like it was her idea all along.

TJI: What do you mean by “re-sex?”

Ken: What do you think I mean? They’d adjust the proportions, add some boobs and voila! A new “Barbie” to try out a new job.

TJI: That’s disturbing. Were there any jobs that Barbie never took?

Ken: A couple. Veterinarian Barbie, for instance. Barb refused to play along with that one. She never like animals. They were too “soft and warm” for her. Plus they smelled. So the corporation started using Ruperts to fill in the shortages. Poor Rupert. I used to have drinks with him every Wednesday… (He burps loudly and says) This interview is over (before passing out).

So there you have it. Corporate conspiracy from the mouths of plastic babes. We at TJI were just as shocked as you to learn about this.

UPDATE: Ken has gone missing. When TJI tried to contact him for a follow up this cryptic message was on his voicemail: “Hey this is Ken. I can’t get to the phone right now because I’m on the roof watching Rome burn…again. Please leave your—What are you doing in here?! What do you want? No! Let go of me! I don’t want to be a WNBA star! Get your hands off me! Get hmphmghghph!” BEEEP!

Epistles of Lucius: The Book of Illogical Logic

I, Lucius, sit where I stand at the edge of an endless path before me. Look at what you cannot see. You will notice nothing and will be exalted for it. What is logic if naught but a lack thereof? He Who Is Not A Pronoun laughs at notions of logic. For instance, what is breathing, if not illogical? Why breathe? Obviously, we breathe to sustain life. But why? Why live? Life is a rollercoaster of suffering and joy, the former being stronger and more prevalent than the latter. So we breathe to prolong and sustain personal suffering. Where is the logic in that? We breathe in order to produce speech. What’s the point in speaking? Ha! You poor slobbering fool. There is more miscommunication than communication flowing through this river of shit called “human existence.”

Thus, what good has speech done? I’ll tell you. It’s done a world of good if your goal is to piss people off and start conflict. It’s done fantastically as a means of manipulation with soft spoken words. Wooing innocent young lasses to their bed-graves.

When looked at logically, illogical logic is logical.

Sweetness, beer, liquor, love and Gaia’s gifts are the only purely illogic logic in this vast playground called, “the universe.” But be wary, you must play nice because the bully is the biggest of us all. That fat cat, that lazy bastard that destroys all his wonderful toys—we call him GOD! Or Zeus, or Buddha, or Allah, or Jehova, or Krishna or Goddess. I call him He Who Is Not A Pronoun. He will save you from nothing. Amazing doctrine to espouse, impossible to manifest. Shh! Speak not of noodles on the halfshell. These things are far too deadly for the likes of mortal men. They creep upon you and turn you into unsavory things like midgets or clams or the woman who most resembles your father yet speaks in tongues.

What is she thinking? This odd foreign woman with an annoying accent and a grating voice is a conundrum indeed. Staring, comrades, is all she does…… Trying to bore into your eyes and soul with the tenacity of a gopher on speed. The she shifts her eyes slowly to the next person. Often times she gazes into open space. Looking for things only she can see. Are they the demons in her head? Or pinstriped chickens from outerspace? Then a sly and evil smile cracks her face, it reminds me of the Grinch. See? There she goes again! AHHHH!!! OUT! GET OUT OF MY HEAD, DEMON BITCH!!! Now she shakes her head, eyes never moving from me. Perhaps, one can hope against hope, she talked her mental imps out of raping and killing me in a most disagreeable fashion. One can hope…

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