Smear Campaign

Turning Shit into Gold since 2006

Barbie, who is my daddy?

This has got to be the creepiest image of all time, and to think that this is a toy that was actually advertised to little girls is even creepier. Sure I understand the appeal of a baby doll that wets it’s pants or the functionality of a vibrating Harry Potter broom stick, but a pregnant Barbie doll, seriously Mattel?

Like most little girls at a curious stage in pre adolescence, my Barbies were more sexually active than a sorority girl on a hot date. In the bath tub, in the back yard, on the kitchen floor, these are all places my Barbies used to make passionate inanimate object love. Unlike this suggestive plaything above I never wished or even had the comprehension that she might soon be plump with child after a tumble on the living room rug with Tom, Ken, or Joe.

Here is where I admit that yes, my Barbies did not discriminate when it came to dick. When Ken was too busy or could not be found, Barbie liked to get rough with any and all of my GI Joe infantry men. What can I say, nothing substitutes a man in uniform.

Had my Barbie actually become preggers I would have been faced with the harsh reality of discovering who the father of her child was, something an eight year old should never have to do. The guilt, the possibility of domestic abuse from a jealous Ken doll, the confusion of child support in case of divorce, and god forbid if an abortion was her only choice for me to make.

That is why if I ever have a little girl, instead of buying her such a ridiculous excuse for an educational toy I would simply bequeath her my extensive Maury show collection.

One comment on “Barbie, who is my daddy?

  1. Amanda Cech
    December 9, 2011


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