Nearly eighteen years ago, I turned fourteen. As a birthday gift, Doctor Hot Lunch, a friend of mine since kindergarten, bestowed upon me the splendor that is Barbie Sticker Fun. Needless to say, the two of us defaced it post-haste. Ever wonder where or when my penchant for the absurd was born? Probably not, but here's proof that I've been a weirdo for a long time.
DISCLAIMER: some of this stuff could be considered offensive. It was all created in the spirit of mockery by fourteen-year-old boys. I hope you'll forgive us.
Click below to see the pages in all their glory.
In Thailand, this ladyboy may have been accepted and even lauded, but here in the US, things aren't so easy for those who like to pull the ol' switch-a-roo. Demon/dancer was to be the only life choice available, leading to a "best of both worlds" situation biologically and occupationally.
My steady-handed script is all over this one. "KKKen" is probably one of the funniest ideas I had at fourteen. Strange, the way these plastic white supremacists post notice of their rallies in dance studios. Mocking racists is fun.
27 dancing Roman senators agree: bowling is awesome.
I Papermate-penned the hell out of lady Ken's head.
I'd have to say that this is my favorite page. It's my favorite kind of bizarre. Is Barbie a chandelier or a mini slave waitress?
I would happily take credit for the misspelling of "biggot," but as has been proven on earlier pages, I wrote like a caveman when I was a youth. The proof is in the pudding, DHL. Strangely enough, Doctor Hot Lunch was a multi-year spelling bee winner in elementary school. He bested me in the first grade finals and I was crushed; I couldn't spell "cherries." Back to the subject of sticker fun, here, we reintroduce the "let's make fun of the Klan" theme. Note this white hood's cleats and hand-held flaming cross. I'm not sure what exactly we were going for here, but I've got a hunch it had something to do with the racists being morons. Picasso-face agrees.
Another favorite of mine. In case you can't decipher it, the can of soda reads, "Bean Soda." Again, it's my writing. I have no idea why I ever would have thought that was funny.
Aha! Proof positive that the morgue is run by Baathist pigs. This page was born amidst tensions between Papa Bush and the Middle East's favorite fascist, Saddam. I remember thinking of Bush senior as a pretty swell guy, but anyone who contains within themselves the material to spawn a creature like Dubya can only be considered sketchy at best.
Move along, nothing to see here (uploaded for completists).
In this portion of the operatic tragedy, Regal Duckman trifles with his new Duncan as one his fair concubines dances her final steps toward his ignorant embrace. DHL was enamored of the ninja turtles at the time, hence the sai in the belly of the dancer.
All credit for this, the final page, must be given to the Doctor. Ken is both a Joker-esque mafioso and a minion of the evil Shredder. Note the slash marks on the neck of his cardboard bride. Ick. A tad morbid, DHL, but a great end to twisted diversion.