Monday, November 16, 2009

Dear Santa: I want a blow-up doll for Christmas

"She's like a porcelain doll. She sets me on fire."
--Lieutenant Benjamin Franklin Pinkerton
in Madame Butterfly
The Muse's Salon
   FEB. 9, 1999 
           Elmer (not his real name) and I rented the video "Shooting Fish" last night.  In this snappy buddy romp, two winsome hustlers swindle over 50,000 pounds from an inexhaustible supply of veddy propah British suckers.  Their scam with a bunch of blow-up dolls reminded me of my encounter with the adult inflatables a few years ago.
              I had run into an old girlfriend at the vet's.  She was planning a huge surprise party for her ex-husband 's 60th birthday and was overwhelmed. I offered to help.  She seemed relieved and leaned over to whisper, "I need one of those blow-up dolls."
              An odd request.  But Carla's relationship with her ex was far from ordinary. Despite the passage of a decade, she clearly was not emancipated from their 20-year marriage. She had found a particularly wily way to watch over her former spouse.  Their divorce decree mandated "joint custody" of the couple's six pedigreed puppies.  So the hunting dogs lived at the big house with their master, while Carla enjoyed unlimited visitation rights.  She visited daily.
              As Carla handed me some cash for the doll, she issued a stern command, "It must look like me."
              I knew the import of my task and decided to visit a local emporium advertised as "the world's largest adult super-market."  I parked at the edge of the parking lot by a trash dumpster and prayed no one would recognize the red Corvette with the license plate "CARGO."  
              I'd never been inside an adult bookstore and was as jittery as a teenage boy buying "protection" for the first time.  As I entered the immense warehouse, I tried to not turn or lift my head, to not move my hands or eyes, to not see other shoppers, to not see row after row after row of porn videos and sex toys. I tried to not notice a very long pegboard wall with hundreds and hundreds of dildos. (Dildoes?  Where is Dan Quayle when you need him.)
              "Everyone is watching me," I thought.
              I was paranoid and hot and beginning to sweat as I approached the elderly clerk behind a counter. She was finishing a vibrator sale and explaining to the clean-cut young couple that the product was non-returnable.  Her hands shook as she installed batteries, rocked the switch, and placed the humming wand against her wrinkled wrist 
              "Wanna see how it feels?" she offered the young woman. Speechless, the young man grabbed the device and his consort's arm as they left the store.
              "Uh-uh-uh, " I stuttered.  " Uh, it…it's not for me, but I need one of those dolls. F-f-for my  friend."
              The old woman pointed to the farthest corner of the store, and I tried to remain inconspicuous as I began the journey there.  Mid-way, she screamed at me, "And don't open them dolls!" 
             Quickly, I crouched to hide behind a display of Kamasutra potions. Then duckwalked to the distant corner.  Finally there, I found a dozen cartons of the dolls, with full-color photos of sultry nude models on the covers.  But all sealed tight.
              I looked to see if Bad Barbie had been opened and heard the clerk's loud unsubtle admonition again, "Lady, I said don't open them dolls!"  
              But there were no cellophane peep windows in the boxes. No way to see what the dolls looked like.  One of them cost almost $200 though -- it assured anatomical correctness and sensual reality.  I had seen enough movies to know that blow-up dolls didn't look anything like the vixens on the boxes.  The dolls were cartoonish inflatables with flailing legs and arms and with several suggestively-placed hollows.
              I knew that if I was to acquire one that resembled Carla, it simply must have black hair.  And the only models with black hair were either Asian or African-American. Carla was quite Anglo. 
              Just as I was ready to surrender and withdraw, I saw it.  A plain white box with bold black letters in all caps spelling "PARTY DOLL."  Priced at $29 and promising to be "the life of every party-- public or private." 
         Sold!  To the bad lady in the back of the store!  I had no idea what the thing looked like… if it was even female or human.
              Days later, Carla called to report the party's success and to thank me for "the absolutely perfect doll-- she looked JUST like me!"
              I told my sweetheart the story last night as he was falling asleep after the movie,  " Party Doll was perfect.  It had short straight black hair and was petite."
      "Had no teeth?" he mumbled groggily.
      " I said it was PETITE!"
      Lights out.
      "…and it had no teeth."

"In West Virginia yesterday, a man was arrested for stealing several blow-up dolls. Reportedly, police didn't have any trouble catching the man 
because he was completely out of breath." 
Conan O'Brian

 CLICK: FUNNY! White Water Rafting on Blowup Dolls
2009 Postscript. Blow-up dolls can be boundless fun at your next party!  Put him/her in a classy top hat for New Year's, in a diaper as Cupid, spray-painted kelly green for St. Patty's, draped in Mardi Gras beads, as a sexy Santa or elf.  

But before you surf over to the Frederick's website for costume ideas, check these tips: 
* Do not blow up the doll in a hot place.

* Buy the doll early enough to organize the costume changes, an impressive set, and that thrilling script.
* If you're contributing the doll for a friend's party entertainment, make sure they (your friend, not the doll) wouldn't be embarrassed... unless it's a surprise party or you want to embarrass them, and lastly
* Do not use crazy glue on the doll.  We've heard that attempts to attach anatomical appendages can melt the plastic.

I Want A Blow-Up Doll For Christmas
(c)1992 by Eric Brown
CLICK: LISTEN TO THIS HOLIDAY CLASSIC!"I Want A Blow-Up Doll For Christmas (c)1992 by Eric Brown
I want a blow-up doll for Christmas.
I want a girl I can inflate.
I saw one like I want in a girlie magazine --
The one that I hide between my mattress and box springs.
I want a blow-up doll for Christmas.
Hurry up, Santa, I can't wait!
I want a blow-up doll for Christmas,
'Cause I know that she'll be the perfect mate.

She must be heavy-duty to resist wear and tear.
She'll come with a special set of sexy underwear.
I'll dress her like a hooker, then dress her for the prom,
Then let her air out, fold her up and hide her from my Mom.

She won't talk so I won't have to call her on the phone.
I won't have to comb her hair because it's printed on.
Her lips will be shaped like an "O" and painted ruby red.
I'll have to hide her from my friends -- she'll be a real airhead.

Oh, I want a blow-up doll for Christmas.
I want a girl with vinyl flesh.
She must have a pretty face up above her neck.
The rest of her body must be anatomically correct.
I want a blow-up doll for Christmas.
I think I'll call her Judy or Beth.
I want a blow-up doll for Christmas,
'Cause real girls, they scare me half to death

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