Drew and I are both under the weather today and stayed home. What that basically means is that I feel like crap and I am trying to work from my recliner in the living room while Drew, who had a miracle recovery at noon, is running around the house beating the cats with his light sabers. Do I have to tell you that I have a headache?
Since I am normally at work at this time of day I have been fairly sheltered from the commercials for products aimed at the kid crowd. Today the television has been on in the background all day because I am trying to use it as a hypnosis tool for Drew. I keep hoping that on one of his stealth missions to beat the cats into submission he will be mesmerized by something on the television and will stop running and/or yelling for five seconds. So far the only things that the television has managed to do are 1. keep me from getting work done and 2. create a deep-seated desire to run out and firebomb the toy companies.
Before I managed to clear my congested head enough to get out of bed this morning I turned on the tv in the bedroom for Drew to watch. It buys me a few extra minutes to finish whatever dream I might have been having before shuffling into the shower.
These days the dreams consist of me somewhere quiet...preferably warm...and occasionally David Aebischer is there wearing goalie gear and a smile...but, I digress.
My point is that I was lying there trying to hang on to a few more seconds of Hot Goalie and a commercial crept into my consciousness. A commercial for Bratz.
I know that girls have played with dolls since the dawn of time, but since when did we start manufacturing, marketing and selling prostitute dolls? Have you seen these things? It's truly disturbing that someone thought these things up, sold the idea to someone else, got the money to make them and then someone actually looked at it and went, "Hey!!! This is the perfect thing for my 8-year old daughter because I am really sick of that whole third grade thing and wish she would just hurry up and start looking like a tramp already."
It was bad enough when we were giving little girls baby dolls that cried and peed and burped. I mean...how confusing is that? Starting when girls are practically babies themselves society begins teaching them to take care of babies and be all maternal and then society issues a mass gasp when young girls get pregnant and have babies. Yeah - I know you are thinking I am all "women are oppressed," but I'm not. Honest. I just wish dolls didn't have to cry and pee. It's fifteen kinds of creepy.
Now, instead of teaching them to be maternal we are teaching them to be little hookers. Whee! These freakin' dolls have on the entire Maybelline makeup line applied via trowel and dress with almost as much class as Britney.
Low cut blouse? Check.
Push-up bra? Check.
Ass cheeks peeking out bottom of skirt? Check.
Stripper heels? Check.
Giant bug-like sunglasses? Check.
Next thing you know they will start selling Bratz dolls with ripped fishnets and a pack of Marlboro Reds. Let's take a look at some examples.
This particular Bratz must have had a long night on the corner and really just wants to kick those Payless Shoes buy-one-trashy-pair-get-one-free high heels off and smoke her crack in peace because, Damn! She worked hard for the 20 bucks to buy that rock so just step off.
I am not exactly sure what this Bratz is supposed to be. I think this could be Dominatrix Bratz or Call Girl Bratz as opposed to the aforementioned Prostitute Bratz. She doesn't look quite as...ahem...tired as the Bratz in that last picture. She must have the cash for the good kind of pre-trick "pick me up"...sniff...if you know what I...sniff...mean....sniff.
So, now I am on copious amounts of cold medicine, trying to work, keep the cats from meeting an untimely death AND trying to erase images of Bratz dolls coming to life and taking over the world like some kind of scantily-clad, un-dead army of vapid souls.
Oh, wait. That already happened...I think they call them "the Class of 2010." I think I need to just go back to sleep and see if I can find David Aebischer.