KEN has many fine things going for him. He has luscious, full lips, a complexion that could generously be described as “perfect,” and really nice hair. He also may well have some gender issues that he’s working through, but more importantly, has clearly been chewed up and spit out by the dark god of retail. Pity him.
If I was to die, and my head be removed by a skilled team of taxidermists such that my hair was preserved in its fullness and my expression be left pleasing, if not precisely lifelike, I do ask as my last wish that I not be thrown in the toy department at Thrift Town. And if I DO get donated to Thrift Town and thrown into the toy bin for little kids to paw over while their mother shops, please, please do not mark me at $2, with the sticker in the middle of my head like 2/3 discount day in the Beast of Revelation’s crap emporium.
But if, on my death, all these things DO happen, and knowing my family several of them are likely, please mark me as “KEN,” so that no-one will know that my final resting place is beside a “Happy Farmer” playset missing all the parts except, weirdly, the duck.
I don’t think KEN is is exactly a children’s plaything. He’s certainly not educational, unless you really want to learn about gender ambiguity. I did learn from Ken that apparently hair is sewn into the inside of the head in a sort of a running stitch, which was information that I did not previously have. Thank you, KEN.
Thrift Town on Manchacha and Stassney, Austin