“Well, your Ken? Can kiss my Barbie.”

Email to a friend:

“I’m about to talk to a guy named Ken on OkCupid. I know one super-rad Ken (your husband), and one super-douche Ken. So I’m going into this with mixed expectations.

“I guess there was also Ken from Barbie and Ken, but he always struck me as kind of a tool who was trying to hold Barbie back. Plus he had no penis, which sort of defeats…I’d say 33% of the purpose of me dating in the first place.

“Actually, he also had no tongue, and probably gave really shitty hugs with those unbending arms. And couldn’t have made any sexy-man-noises when I did something pleasant to the blank canvas where his dick should be. And overall he seemed fairly disagreeable to be pressed against…

“Wait, what was my point?

“OH. Right. KEN.I hope this Ken is not a Ken of the genus Superdouchus. I don’t need him to be a husband, just not a super-douche.

“P.S. I feel like Ken Burns maybe makes up for Barbie’s Ken. So perhaps balance in the Ken Universe is restored.”

But Barbie doesn’t even HAVE a vagina…

I hope to be gainfully employed and in a new apartment soon, and to that end, I’ve started sorting through my stuff, trying to pare down as much as possible beforehand while I have the time. (Plus I’m just bored as shit.)
This led to the discovery of this back-in-the-day Barbie doll, and this discussion with a friend:

Me: “I can’t be the only person who finds this immensely inappropriate. Why is Barbie doing that?”

Friend: “Whatever that ring thing is looks distressingly like forceps — it’s like she’s the world’s most excited gynecological patient. ‘Inspect my vagina! USA! USA! USA!'”

P.S. Yep, Caldor, y’all. We rolled fancy back in the day.