No Black Friday For Ken

WRITTEN 11/27/20

Every Black Friday American consumerism outgrossed the previous year's gluttonous excesses, as shoppers descended on the XXXL malls to buy corporate crap at discounted prices. The hoi polloi in the millions fight over wide screen TVs, iPhones, and Barbie dolls. Having never participated in the capitalist frenzy, I left the Fort Greene Observatory on Friday and headed down to the nearest 99 Cent store on Myrtle Avenue only to discover that the management had opted out of the post-Thanksgiving Day tradition.

"Nothing is on sale." The clerk waved me away from the counter.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

I accepted my defeat and exited from the store with a 99 Cent roll of toilet paper.

No one on Myrtle carried a shopping bag, except for a frazzled white suburban mother in exile. Her daughter had an iPhone. She was happy, but I had to ask myself, "Why doesn't anyone fight over Ken dolls?

The answer was that it's a Barbie World.

She rocks.

Naked or not.

Mea Culpa Barbie

Barbie was a doll born of the 60s. Her original body scale if set to the height of 5-9 would give her dimensions of a 36-inch chest, 18-inch waist and 33-inch hips. Her unearthly body was never questioned by the millions of girls, who loved the Mattel creation, and certainly not by their brothers, who undressed Barbie whenever no one was home, s they recreated the act of sex between Barbie and her boyfriend. Few of us were imaginative enough to realize the possibility of a menage-a-trois.

Barbie was the first women of the 1960s that boys ever loved and anyone who tells you different is a liar, unless they were into Ken.

And a lot of my friends did love Ken.

He was so cool.

Especially when watching us play with Barbie.

Ken never squealed to my sisters.

He was a good guy and there was nothing wrong with playing with dolls. At least not by my method, because rubbing Ken and Barbie together like two sticks inflamed my pubescent mind to a fever pitch.

Mea culpa Barbie.

Barbie Does Boston

Playing with dolls was considered a sin for boys in the 1950s. Anyone caught playing with one was endangered of being labelled a queer and that accusation was impossible to erase from your peers' permanent record.

All that changed when Mattel's came out with Barbie 1964. The statuesque teen doll possessed Jayne Mansfield's curves and a waspish waist unlike any women in you town South of the Neponset River. My friends and I were on the cusp of pubescence and Barbie was our first girlfriend, although only when our sisters were not at home. They would not have liked what we did to their dolls; Barbie and Ken. The unspeakable was saved for Midge. We had no respect for her. At the end of my 'play' session I would redress the dolls and put them back where I found them with a warning to Barbie..

"Don't say anything."

Silence was always their answer and my sisters would ask the dolls, "Why aren't you talking?"

They knew something was wrong and told my parents that someone in the family was abusing their dolls. I never admitted to the truth and Barbie kept her mouth shut even after I abandoned her for a Playboy featuring Dinah Willis as the centerfold. Barbie and I were done, but somewhere in my heart exists a atom of love for my first girlfriend.

Barbie had such tiny lips for a kiss.

Oh Barbie.

The first love is always the best.

Mea Culpa Barbie

Barbie was a doll born of the 60s. Her original body scale if set to 5-9 would give her dimensions of a 36-inch chest, 18-inch waist and 33-inch hips. Her unearthly body was never questioned by the millions of girls, who loved the Mattel creation, and certainly not by their brothers, who undressed Barbie whenever no one was home to recreate the act of sex between Barbie and her boyfriend. Few of us were imaginative enough to realize the possibility of a menage-a-trois.

Barbie was the first women 60s boys ever loved and anyone who tells you different is a liar, unless they were into Ken.

And a lot of my friends did love Ken.

He was so cool.

Especially when watching us ply with Barbie.

Ken never squealed to my sisters.

He was a good guy and there was nothing wrong with playing with dolls. At least not my method, because rubbing Ken and Barbie together like two sticks inflamed my pubescent mind to a fever pitch.

Mea culpa Barbie.

Barbie BBQ

It's the dead of winter in Fort Greene York. The backyard is covered the blizzard. The grill is under wraps, but a good barbecue around a fire is a great way to celebrate winter.

And there's nothing wrong with playing with your sister's Barbie as long as the Smurfs don't violate them.