When I first saw him I knew he was trouble. He entered my world through demonic means and by the temper tantrums of an eight year old girl who’s only purpose in life at that time was to torture me with the presence of everything Barbie. He catapulted his way into my legion of warriors, cowboys and comic heroes well known to many budding men as action figures. But he was no action figure. He was an emasculated sissy sent from the darkest corners of hell to play ornament to a materialistic dame and foreshadow the coming of the metrosexual. His name… is Ken.
Yes, the Ken doll. That tightie-whitie wearing punk that spends his time at tea parties and at arranged marriages instead of fighting evil is the reason we are where we are today. In the midst of those days when everything was about GI Joe and the Kung Fu Grip, the Six Million Dollar Man and packages of little army men taking anthills in the field, along came Ken and the downfall of man.
I know what many of you are thinking, ‘James, you’re walking on shaky grounds here, bruh.’ Well, I’m here to declare that that is not the case. The Ken doll was a propaganda tool by mustache-wearing, Adam’s apple having feminist. Their goal, drain testosterone from the American sphere. They gave Barbie beauty, brains and a career and then placed her in the presence of a chest hairless, bikini wearing, short short sporting with sweater wrapped around his neck, cheerleader squad joining PUNK. They neutered him to the point that even women didn’t like him.
I can't tell you how many Saturday afternoons I spent saving my Batman action figure from the abomination of joining a Barbie tea party. And where was that wuss Ken during all of this, in the corner of the closet with pompoms in his hands. He was even too much of a wuss for a little girl’s tea party – that my friend is a sad state indeed.
So I say to you my fellow Jurassic era Neanderthals, it is time stand up and proclaim that the era of the Ken doll is over. Cast him into the fiery pit of hell from whence he came. Showcase your childhood action figures and let the Ken doll feel the pain of a GI Joe Kung Fu Grip. Stop wearing white gloves, men. Stop wearing pink polo shirts, men! Stop with the body waxing and stop putting cucumbers on you eyes. Simply put – STOP BEING KEN!!!
Ok, it may mean that you will forgo some of the improvements your leading lady enjoys. But when the day comes when she sees you sitting on the sofa watching the game with rusty knees, ashy feet, straggly beard and scratching your armpit and ask what every woman would ask of the degenerative virus sitting before her, ‘what the hell are you doing?” You will reply with the force of 50 million years of stunted evolution and yell, “I am wallowing in the midst of the warrior that resides within me. I AM MAN, HEAR ME ROAR!!!”
Disclaimer: Make this comment at your own risk. Results may vary. Side affects may include, spousal yelling, screaming, being forced to endure long shopping trips to the mall, purchasing forgiveness jewelry or going without ‘hot lovin’ for an extended period of time.
Men, when you wake up in the morning. Ask yourself a question. Do you want to be this:
The choice is yours men. Let us not buy into the propaganda any longer. Let us no longer believe that there is something terribly wrong with senseless violence in movies. Sure, you can play dolls with your daughters, hold your woman’s hand in public and even enjoy a chick flick every once in a while. But pick up a hammer. Put up some drywall. Use a charcoal grill. Order a meat lovers deep dish pizza! Be a man. There is no need to bring Ken out of the closet. No need at all.
Trust me on this men. One day you're at the beauty parlor getting a pedicure because your girl can't stand the look of your toes... and the next thing you know you're popping a hip...