Toy Tuesday: Mod Hair Ken with Facial Hair
Here we are again. It’s Toy Tuesday. That special time of the week that occurs on Tuesday. When I feature a toy. And that’s why I call it Toy Tuesday.
But first, let me revisit with you a couple painful subjects.
(1) The Blogging Blahs and (2) Rainbow Horny Wings.
Ahem, the Blogging Blahs. I’ve had a pesky case of them for the past three months now.
I’ve lost the will to write.
Not a case of Writer’s Block, mind you.
Oh, no, no, no. Nooooo.
No performance problems here. My creative noggin is as virile as the Brawny Paper Towel guy. And I’d like to talk more about my hulking, mustached beast of a creative noggin, but now it’s on its way to hammer up some drywall. Later, nogs.
So I bring up the Blogging Blahs because these past two weeks since I introduced Toy Tuesday, you all have lifted me up with your love and enthusiasm for flashback toys!
Dare I say, I want to write again? I think so.
You all are the wind beneath my Rainbow Horny Wings!
Rainbow Horny Wings of course being my top secret toy pitch to Mattel that consisted of a hybridized winged unicorn. “Anatomically impossible!” said Mattel.
Nothing is impossible, my friends. Nothing.
So my sincere thanks for reminding me why I have this blog.
To remember things that you’ve forgotten.
And to remind the world that I invented the winged unicorn.
Today I’m reminded of a toy I don’t remember. I remember playing with it. Sooooort of. But I don’t remember where. Because I personally didn’t own this fine specimen of plastic testosterone. So whether I played with it at a friend’s house or stumbled upon it in the hepatitis box in my doctor’s waiting room, I just don’t know.
But I know I played with it. Him. I played with him. I played with Ken. Oh my, yes I did — wink, wink, hubba-hubba, if you catch my drift, which you shouldn’t even bother to catch because I lack all imagination in that department.
You might be a little disgusted when I tell you that I remember the plushy feel of his Coloforms-style punch-out facial hair.
It wasn’t bristly. It was soft, velvety and never rough against my skin. Which was too bad since I needed it to itch my chicken pox.
And if you think those scraps of facial hair were adhered only to his upper quadrant, you must think children are made of rose petals and smell of cinnamon with nary a snotty booger stuck to their bedposts.
And then you probably also believe this is Greg Brady’s friend Phil Packer.
And not just Peter in a Mod Hair Ken mustache.
Is it getting hot in here now? Well it’s about to get hotter.
You think you know a person like Mod Hair Ken.
But you don’t ever really know anyone, do you.
Until you strip off the illusion — in this case, a polyester leisure suit — to unveil the truth.
HE HAS A DICKIE.
It’s okay, Mod Hair Ken.
A lot of men have this.
Nothing to be ashamed of.
Nothing that a couple of sideburns and a Fu Manchu patch can’t hide.
Mod Hair Ken, wherever you are, I raise my glass of Tang to you.