Disorder In The Dollhouse

If my son played with dolls, I’d tell him to wrap seaweed around Pecker Wood before making his move on Polynesian Barbie.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. I’m getting the Kelly Lebrock one used in Weird Science on E Bay for my own personal stash.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. It’s a good thing, I’m not a black comedian trying to downplay my ties to the hip hop gay mafia.

If my son played with dolls, we’d skip watching Porky’s. Which was an overrated comedy anyway. Then, I’d push 9 to 5 in front of our viewing list. He can do worst than becoming a Dolly Parton impersonator. Whitney Houston not so much.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think great. He’ll save me a fortune on sports camp. Plus, I’ll have extra time to write more best selling books because school plays are an annual production.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. Great, now when my dad asks. “What’s Arthur going to eat at the Greek Diner with his friends after the ball game?” I’ll say. “A Turkey melt. Assuming, he’s got some extra wiggle room to slip into his leotards.”

If my son played with dolls, I’d have him own it and dress up as the flaming Human Torch for Halloween. Then again, Mr. Fantastic has a gay fabulous connotation to his name also. But his hot wife Susan Storm is no Liza Minnelli.

If my son played with dolls. I’d think touchdown. Now, I don’t have to talk shop at Pop Warner with other Football dads from New England. I still think Eli is a bigger pimp than Brady. Giselle’s like 80 in model years.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. Banging my GI Joe Figures together was way gayer. Especially when I had Gung-Ho manhandle and bitch slap Cobra Commander like he was his gimpy bitch in Pulp Fiction.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think, what a relief. For a moment, I thought he’d be destined for mope maligned misery. And turn into just another ordinary slut in a straight jacket dad like me.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think. Big deal, playing with a sex doll after he blooms under his fruit of the looms is way more deprived pathetic. Let’s not make my son into a Japanese anime enthusiast just yet.

If my son played with dolls, I’d think, cool. He’ll be super organized and I’ll never have to sweat him dipping into my Adderall prescription. Wait a minute shit, I have to have the Crystal Meth talk with him at 4.

If my son played with dolls, I’d move my family to my wife’s native homeland of Australia. And start getting my son to compete in Iron Man Competitions sooner than later. So he can become the Aussie superior to Bruce Jenner.

If my son played with dolls. I’d join him for some double team action, if he was playing around with his sister’s WWE Divas. Ronda Rousey, I can live without. Later in life, I don’t see my son choking one out on her behalf.

The End

By,

Michael Kornbluth

One thought on “Disorder In The Dollhouse

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