May. 3rd, 2006

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Lumpy Rug Day
National Anxiety Disorders Screening Day
National Meeting Planners Appreciation Day
Paranormal Day
UN World Press Freedom Day
Wordsmith Day
Birthday - Bing Crosby (singer)
Birthday - Golda Meir (Israeli Prime Minister)
Constitution Day (Poland)
Constitution Memorial Day (Japan)
Day of the Holy Cross (Mexico)
Yom Ha'Atzma'Ut (Independence Day Birthday - Israel)


Last year Liz and I considered getting a cardboard cutout figure of some random TV character—ideally Grissom from CSI, but Captain Picard would probably have been easier to find. The idea was that we could play weird practical jokes with it in the dorms—stick it in one of the bathroom stalls, tape it to the elevator ceiling, dress it up for holidays or in drag, slide it under people’s doors with witty notes. We also considered using Norman Skully the small plastic medical school skull, who has an assortment of costume hats including pirate, quidditch player, jester, and shaman and plays in a rock band called Stormin’ Norman and the Sea Monkeys, as a friendly emissary we could sneak into people’s rooms and put on their beds, with candy or surprises inside his scalpable brainpan. Then we realized that out of all the people on our floor, we only really like about four, and we don’t trust the others not to steal Norman. So our friendly practical joke fantasies ceased.

And then I found these.

Don’t ask me how I found that site. Somebody who still wants an Addy doll cannot really comment on this idea’s stunning creeptasticity, but I will anyway: this is really weird. I don’t think it’s so much the doll bit—while there’s any number of psychological reasons for a phobia of things that look like humans, in this case the creepiness has a lot more to do with the attitudes of the artist and customers—something eerily perverse about this. Some of the dolls are very well-made, I admit—but the names are goofy in their popularity, and some of the testimonials make me want to gag, and there’s definitely such a thing as going too far.

But more to the point, when something gets warm and fuzzy to the point of nauseating, I start to compensate by thinking more and more like Quentin Tarantino or H.R. Giger.

I mean, how could you pass it up? There are so many fantastically horrible things you could do with a lifelike baby doll, things that could shock and disgust people. You could dangle it out of a window by its little neck! Run over it with your bicycle! Fling it from your car or whip it around by its ankles like a lasso! Go Scare the bejabbers out of them!

Not that I have anything against babies in general. I quite like ’em.* But now dolls—there’s no crime in damaging dolls, although Mom always taught me to treat my toys well.

I wouldn’t actually do these, anyway, even if the dolls weren’t expensive. It would be mean spirited and pointless.

But gods damn, I get no end of amusement thinking about it. The practical joke fantasies are flourishing again.

I realize I’m evil. But we all knew that.


*And no, I’m not going to do the Clever Internet thing and say “… with GRAVY! HA HA!”

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