What. The. Fuck. Maybe, maybe this would be funny if it was 1950- I could have a fleeting, perverse chuckle and be relieved that things- although far from perfect- have at least improved. But this is from father-fucking (thank you, Peaches) last year!
"Taking care of my home is a dream, dream, dream!"
What fucking kid wants to play by pretending to do laundry? The only thing I would have used that pastel-covered-sexist-piece-of-shit for is hiding my Barbie-GI Joe-Princess Leia doll orgies. Or possibly my brothers and I would have vandalized it and used it as a fort. I would sooner buy my (imaginary) young daughter a flame thrower and a carton of Virginia Slims (don't get me started on those) than this land-fill-clogging reminder that we've got a long way to go, baby.
2 comments:
Does this thing come with miniature beers that they can promptly deliver to their make pretend husbands on the couch?
It might, actually. I know it also includes diet pills and a book about how the female orgasm is a myth.
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