more on doll weirdness

We are a prurient puritanical nation because puberty is taboo and porn is not.

Growing up Skipper highlights this gap and begs for sequels: First Period Peggy, Noturnal Emissions Emile (just fill up the reservoir with Ivory Liquid®!), Bobby Boner Doll and of course, Pubic Hair Paul(a) which I envision would work very much like the Play Doh® Fun Factory. A lever in the arm or leg would force squiggles of pubic hair to be extruded out of "pore" holes in the crotch, armpits, legs, face, etc. Naturally, this would make the smooth asexual crotches sort of a moot point, so that would have to be addressed...well, it'll never happen outside of liberal hippie world because mature or not, grown women and, increasingly, grown men are supposed to be as hairless as possible. Which is fucktarded and pedophilic in my opinion. (Thank you Barry for the vocabulary reminder.) But I digress.

Dolls are strange cultural barometers. Even as a child, I found Barbies vapid. Okay, I liked making clothes for them (design/crafts nerd) and coupling them with GI Joe, Ken or each other for space-age-polyvinyl-chloride sex games. But even that grew boring. As I got older I saw the damage done by promoting Barbie as the beauty ideal. And before all you Barbie lovers get indignant and fall off your stands, Barbie is just the symbol of our society's unhealthy and inflexible standard of beauty for women. In this case, however, I think it would be okay to shoot the messenger.