Sunday, October 5, 2008

The Birds and The Bees Vs. Barbie

Mothers of the world, I'm about to tell you something you may not want to hear. Clutch your bibles and hide the children. Barbies promote sex. If you don't already know this, you obviously didn't own the blond bombshell with the double D's. As of this moment, I expect you to be in denial. What? You just checked on Susie Lou and she was driving Barbie to her house? Yeah, try Whore House. What? You saw Penelope Ann dressing her Barbie to go to school? Why were her clothes off in the first place? What? You bought Pumpkin PooPoo Doctor Barbie to promote a future career in medicine? Yeah, and those meds will turn out to be birth control. I'm telling you, it's time to face the facts. Who needs the birds and the bees when you have Barbie?

Skip the anatomy of the figure, we all already know about THAT. (Gazungas-waist-legslegslegs.) Skip the innocent smile that stays white
without those amazing Crest White-Strips. Skip innocent occupations such as, "Nurse Barbie" and "Babysitter Barbie." Skip it all. We're about to get down to the nitty-gritty: Barbie is a tramp. Why do you think she has painted on panties? BECAUSE OTHERWISE SHE'D TAKE THEM OFF. Why do you think those panties have an innocent floral print? BECAUSE HER THONGS ARE IN THE BACK SEAT OF KEN'S CONVERTIBLE. Why do you think there is one Ken and thousands of Barbies? BECAUSE KEN IS A TRAMP, TOO. There's no way I was the only child who had a Ken doll who sneaked out of the Barbie House at night to have a little hanky-panky with Wilderness Barbie. (And boy, was she wild.) There's no way I was the only child who made Ken use the grocery store as an alibi while he was really playin' some Marvin Gaye over at Gymnast Barbie's house. (Even though all Barbies were contortionists.) There's no way I was the only child who had Ken babysit Barbie's little sister Kelly and then get it on with her. (Or maybe I was the only one for that one...) If Barbie was a slut, Ken had to be, too. (Slut Barbie got taken off the market in '92 when some parents complained. Same thing happened with Gonorrhea Barbie in '96.) Besides, Ken was hot. At least mine was. (Magic Razor Ken. He had stubble that could be removed with warm water and then would reappear with cold water. I never removed his stubble. I loved his stubble.) (True story: Magic Earring Ken got taken off the market in the 1980's because people complained he was too "gay," including the gays. Apparently lavender silk shirts and diamond earrings are stereotypical of that of the homosexual. I personally would have purchased Magic Earring Ken in a heartbeat. I could have had a lot of fun with that one...)

Remember Life-Size Barbie? All I have to ask is this: Why do you think they made a Life-Size Barbie but not a Life-Size Ken? Think about it. (Or I could just tell you. BECAUSE WE'D BE DOIN' IT WITH THEM! THREESOME, BABY!)

We must not forget in 1994, merely two days before Valentine's Day, Barbie and Ken called it quits. According to Russell Arons, vice-president of marketing at Mattel, Barbie and Ken would "remain friends." Well, according to Natasha Ferrier, former president of her junior class, "Barbie and Ken will remain friends. YEAH. Friends WITH BENEFITS." Do you really want your child playing with a doll who has problems with commitment? (Unless you count commitment to taking advantage of Cheerleader Barbie after a Friday night kegger.) Sure, you don't have to tell your kiddie that Ken has moved on to greener pastures (it's a phrase, NOT a sexual innuendo), but that doesn't mean they're going to have Ken and Barbie be together forever. That's BORING. That's LAME. Why do you think divorce rates have increased? Because as children, we were taught to play the field, and it's all because of Barbie. It's a disaster waiting to happen. Sure, you buy her Babysitter Barbie, but that only leads to Pregnant Barbie, which leads to Abortion Barbie, which leads to I Don't Give a F*ck I Just Wanna Get Laid Barbie. Why do you think boys are so much hornier than girls? Because us girls got that all out of our systems when we were playing with Barbie and Ken. (And listening to "Barbie Girl" by Aqua. What a classic.) Guys can't release their sexual impulses when playing Donkey Kong, can they? I don't think so. Unless giant apes turn you on. (Or if the word "Kong" makes you think of "thong" or "ding dong" or some other "ong" that could only take a perverse imagination to think of.) Until they make Abstinence Barbie, I would recommend not investing in one for your child. Buy her a Furby, instead.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

The Bowl-Cut With A Boner

Some girls are Boy Magnets. They're the girls every boy had, has, or will have a crush on. The girls that every guy wants to show off to his buddies. The girls who own the asses every boy wants his hand on in front of his buddies. They not only have a boyfriend, they have a long line of Potentials for when they kick the boffy to the curb. They are beautiful. They are envied. They are...Boy Magnets. Then you have girls who are simply Hormone Magnets. You know the ones. They walk by a boy, and he whistles and says something profound like, "Junk in DAT Trunk!" or "Lemme introduce myself to those two friends you got there!" (Breast Reference. Yeah I didn't get it my first time, either.) They walk by another boy, and he looks her up and down and makes a sound like, "Mmm mmm mm-mm-mm," or simply, "Mmmmmmm." They walk by another boy, and he sprints to the bathroom to flog the log. They are Pamela's. They are J-Lo's. They are...Hormone Magnets. THEN you have the sad and pitiful category that for some odd and highly unexplainable reason I seem to fall into. Future-Pedophile Magnets.

"She's hot."

So he didn't direct this statement directly towards me, but I was in the middle of a conversation with him and ONE other guy when he suddenly turns to the guy and says:

"She's really hot."

I hope you can imagine how uncomfortable that is for a girl. Especially when he says it, then turns, looks at me, and then looks down at my chest. It doesn't get any more uncomfortable than that.

"I would masturbate to her picture."

I cannot even begin to describe the Uncomfortableness of that situation. I could have been shitting my pants, and it would not have made a difference. I could have been shitting in someone ELSE'S pants, and it would not have made a difference. That's how uncomfortable it was. Try to grasp this, PLEASE.

"She can give me her picture if she wants."

Note to guys who are interested in masturbating to a girl you are currently acquainted with: Ask for the girl's picture BEFORE you let her know what you're going to do with it.


I let the O's drag on as I walked away. If he can be that straightforward, SO CAN I. (Though I was a freshmen at the time, I still think that was the best way I could have handled it. Things like "maturity" and "manners" don't matter when a guy is on the verge of dropping his pants and touching himself in your presence. The Divinyls may get away with it, but not the bowl-cut with a boner.)

This is when the thought first crossed my mind that I may be a Future-Pedophile Magnet. I have to admit, I was in denial for quite some time. You see, you do not want to be a Future-Pedophile Magnet. (I know it sounds intriguing...) I cannot even tell you what kind of girls Future-Pedophile Magnets are, because so far I am the only one I know. We're a rare breed. All I know is the type of guys we attract.

"Sup Natasha."

"Heeeyyyyy Alfred..."

"So I woke up this morning and my hair was green. I was like, 'Ahh SHIT!' "

"I noticed your hair was green."

"Yeah I don't know how the hell it got like that! I just woke up and it was green."

"You just...woke up...and your hair was green?"

"Yeah man but it's AWESOME. Then my mom beat the hell outta me 'cause she hates the color green. She likes purple shit, you know?"

"Oh wow. I'm sorry your mom beat you."

"It's cool. I'm getting my nipples pierced today."

"Ahhh...nipple piercings...always an option!"

"So do you have a boyfriend?"

I do this thing where I speak before I think. It's kind of a problem.

"Can I get your number?"

Then I do this other thing where I give Future Pedophiles my number. It's kind of a bigger problem.

"Here you go."

"Thanks. Ill see ya later then. Natasha."

"Natasha! What were you doing talking to that guy?"

"He asked for my number and I gave it to him DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT I WAS PUT ON THE SPOT, OKAY?!"

"He tried to kill himself last year! He has serious mental problems, that's why he wasn't here the last 3 years."

I feel like should have a theme song. "Future Pedophile Magnet, na-na-na-NA! Perverts hitting on her in so many WAYS! She's gonna get molested one of these DAYS! Na-na-na-NA!" Or something like that. It's taken me 5 years to accept it (it actually started in 8th grade with my first two stalkers. yes, TWO. Na-na-na-NA!), but now that I have I can get to the bottom of what it is about me that seems to scream, "PERVERTS OF THE WORLD, CAST ME IN YOUR SEX DREAMS!" Is it the hair in need of a dye-job? The chipped toe-nail polish? The same black blazer I wear every single day of my life? I mean, what is it? Does it even matter? No. They will keep on comin' anyway. Because that's what Future-Pedophile Magnets do. We distract future-pedophiles, one (or two) at a time. "Future Pedophile Magnet, na-na-na-NA! Deviants on the verge of whipping it OUT! There's nothing she can do but cover her privates, run, and SHOUT! Na-na-na-NA! Future Pedophile Magnet."

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

Vampire Ass

I've been obsessed with vampires for as long as I can remember. I've always thought of it as "my thing." You know, like when people have "their things," like, "I have a troll collection," or, "Leprechauns get me off." Vampires ARE MY THING. So what I wanna know is why is EVERYONE ELSE suddenly obsessed with MY THING? I know exactly why. It's that book. THAT DAMN BOOK. That book has every girl and woman running around reading about vampires, talking about vampires, dressing like vampires. Guess what? I did that BEFORE THE BOOK, BITCHES.

Yeah okay, so I read it. WHEN IT CAME OUT. I didn't jump on the bandwagon, I was DRIVING that friggin' bandwagon. Then what? Two years later everyone is acting like it just came out?

"Natasha! You like to read, right?"


"I just read this REALLY good book."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It's called Twilight, and it's about these things you may have heard of called vampires, and see what happens is---"

"I read that book a long time ago. And I know what a vampire is."

And I know what an OBNOXIOUS PAIN IN MY ASS is.

"Oh, so then OF COURSE you've read the second one, too."

I hate when this happens. What? I start a trend (okay so I know I didn't START it, but just go with me here), and that automatically means I have to KEEP UP with that trend? I've moved on, baby! To bigger and better things! To new things you'll be asking me if I've heard of 3 weeks from now! So BAM!

"Can you lend me it?"

I mean I can always resort back to old trends...

So. I have people asking ME if I've heard of, "Twilight." Yeah I've heard of it BITCH, I knew about it when you were still getting breast-fed. Yeah okay, so I went and read the second one because of all these Twilight Experts running around like rabies-victims saying, "OHMYGOD here's every little detail as well as every major turning point and twist in the third and the last books of the series!" So YEAH, OKAY, I'm now in the process of reading the third one.

"Is that the third one?"


"Oh my god you're only on the THIRD one?"
Oh my god you only have a THIRD of a brain?


"Oh my god wait until you get to the FOURTH one!"
Oh my god wait until I shove this book up your ASS.


"Like, you'll be SHOCKED."


"Like, I REALLY want to tell you right now what happens."
Like, I REALLY want you to know what it's like to have a 400 page book IN YOUR ASS.


"I mean I won't, but oh my god you'll be SHOCKED."

I have people asking me if I want "I LOVE VAMPIRES" temporary tattoos. I have one girl telling me she's going to get an "I LOVE VAMPIRES" permanent tattoo. ON HER ASS CHEEK. I personally don't want "Vampires" written on my ass. And if someone looks at my ass, I want them to be admiring it, not reading it. And think about it: the cheek of the ass curves, a word would not turn out right. It would fold in and...I JUST DON'T WANT A VAMPIRE ASS, OKAY? I just want to get this third book over with so I can then read the fourth one and THEN I can be cool like everyone else. THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS IN LIFE. TO BE COOL.

So the movie comes out soon. That much I know. Will I go? Will I succumb to the riding of the bandwagon? Will I scream like a little girl when I see a hot vampire onscreen? Will I grow envious of the leading lady and picture myself making out with a vampire before I go to sleep? Will I daydream of making out with vampire after vampire in the midst of a Transylvanian
castle surrounded by even more vampires? Guess what? I did that BEFORE THE BOOK, BITCHES.