I can’t help it if my sculptor loved Poltergeist (from the point of view of an outcast mannequin).

Somebody is going to be totally offended by this post.

I don’t know who, because it would take someone who can’t take humor very well, but i guarantee you, out in this big wide blogosphere where one can get offended by the simplest goddamn thing, SOMEONE will find a way to make this a political statement about my lack of respect for someone else’s culture.

So here’s my disclaimer:

I did not start this blog to write about the same things that everyone else does.  Nor did i set out to prove that i am in expert in anything.  I simply started it so that as weird shit happens in my life, i have an outlet in which to write about it, so i don’t have to hold it in my head, because my brain only holds so much and right now it’s full of wine.

After i get through this trip, there will be some serious writing (judge later, please) about how impactful, spiritual, and heavenly Morocco has been.

But for now, i’m writing on something about which i doubt anyone has blogged before (i haven’t actually validated that, but the internets are a crazy place and i’m scared to look).

So to get to the point, here is a blog about the crazy ass mannequins in the souks of Morocco.  They all have a story, but because they are made of some form of plastic, they can’t speak, so i figured i’d do it for them.

Tell their story, if you will.

And if i get it wrong, don’t blame me.  i’m not a goddamn mind reader, people. 

So here we go.

Lady in Blue:  “OMG, do you have a thing around your neck?  because i totally have a thing around my neck, but i’m made of plastic or something so i can’t turn to see if you do but if you DO, would you let me know so i don’t think i’m alone in this Hell?”

Lady in White:  “I can’t talk, i have a fucking noose around my neck.”

As a “consumer of goods” in this world, i was totally confused by the story below.  I think the doll was for sale, but she was riding Bambi, goddamnit, and i’m not sure if she was riding Bambi because she felt bad that her (the deer’s) mom had died (sorry, did i just spoil the ending-which-is-not-quite-the-ending-so-don’t-hate-me?). So is Bambi for sale?  is this a package deal?  Like, buy the doll with the weird hat, but you also have to buy her deer, because that is her transportation in her imaginary world.  And then WTF with the luggage?  Is she a super high-maintenance doll that needs a fucking duffel, backpack AND pink carry-on?  or is that what the deer needs because he lost his mother and he’s turned to material needs (like Hugo Boss deer tuxedos for special deer occasions) to compensate?  (i have to apologize, i seriously can’t remember if Bambi is a boy or a girl.  it’s been 30 years since i’ve seen it, people.) And the doll’s like, “Bambi, you totally need some sunglasses if onl…oh shit, here are some right next to me!”

This one’s like, “fuck you all, i’m PINK.  Explain that shit, Bambi.”

and this one’s like, “yeah, well i’m going to a goddamn Rodeo, which would be SO COMPLETELY AWESOME if someone had painted my face.”

And this one’s all, “I’m a spy (and in her head she’s thinking, ‘with an amazing hairdo and new dye job’) and i’m totally packing heat, so don’t even fuck with me or i will brandish my weapon and take off your entire BODIES.”

and these girls are howling (on the inside. The sculptor here decided howling expressions probably wouldn’t have sold many head scarves so he gave them somber faces because that is totally the look you want to sell a shit ton of them) because they don’t have any bodies so they’re all, “go ahead, BITCH, just try it.”  

and he’s like, “the fuck ladies… can’t you all just get along?”

“no,” says this one, “because we all have some really major issues not the least of which is my head is taped on my body.  And also you never called me back you dickwad, and i thought you really meant it when you said you liked me, but you know what?  i HATE that sweater, even though i told you i loved it, so for the love of Allah would you quit wearing it every goddamn day???”

But this one below is the best of all… i imagine it goes something like this…(and i’ve thought through this one for days in my head):

GIRL AND BOY IN BLUE SHIRTS:  “We totally rock because we have headless parents that work for both NIKE and Adidas, but that almost caused a divorce because of course MOM works for NIKE and she almost kicked dad’s ass, but since neither of them have heads, they couldn’t see each others’ faces to hate each other (nor could they yell, which kind of ruins the whole story) so they’re still together but they don’t speak.”

GIRL(S)? IN GREEN AND PURPLE SHIRTS: “Yeah, well my mom totally works for (knock off) Adidas and just ADORES my dad because he’s a fucking TECKTONIC KILLER and you know what that means when they hit the dance floor youknowwhati’msayin’???”

GIRL IN LOWCUT HIPPIE DENIM DRESS OFF TO FAR RIGHT: “i hate all of you because i’m an 8 year old with cleavage.”

GIRL ON FAR LEFT WHO ALWAYS GETS LEFT OUT OF THE CONVERSATION:  “Hey, have any of you guys seen Poltergeist?  because we totally look like that girl.  all of us.”

and these kids HATE the Poltergeist kids, because at least they have stinkin’ heads and they don’t give their kid hosts freaking nightmares.

Good lord i have SO many things to write about Morocco.  It’s about 3 blogs waiting to happen.  But i just HAD to get this one out of my system before i can even begin to write about how deeply this trip has affected me, and i can’t start them yet because i still have probably the most amazing three days ever ahead of me (and if you think i’m bullshitting you, then check this out, it’s an invitation from the goddamn KING and QUEEN to their PALACE on Friday, which just by posting this and using bad words will probably get me uninvited but you know what, i don’t care, because how can i not get so excited for this that i don’t post it and also, i’m hoping they don’t know English well enough to translate all the swear words and be the ONLY ONES that are totally offended by this blog – they may own the corporation that makes the mannequins for all i know.  i’ve only been here 10 days, folks, i can’t know EVERYTHING). 

But for this post, just take it for what it is:  that i am a crazy person that can’t get deep into the meaning of this trip in my life until i unleash the story of the mannequins that have been running through my brain for the last 10 days.

If you want something really offensive, watch this.  Course it will probably only be offensive if you are a Republican or a tea-thingamagij, or if you hate vaginas.

Peace, or as they say in Arabic, “Inshallah.”

which is totally inappropriate given the content of this post.

But i’m trying.

AC

PS – if you’re at all interested on the album i’m keeping on non-mannequin photographs i’ve taken thus far in Morocco, and you are on Facebook, you should be able to find them HERE.

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This entry was posted in humor, Mannequins, Moroccan Souks, Morocco and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to I can’t help it if my sculptor loved Poltergeist (from the point of view of an outcast mannequin).

  1. sabeekadar says:

    Oh my Allah, this is one of the funniest fucking things I have read. Your head space is hilarious and it makes me laugh like a lunatic in public spaces. Note to self: always read these at home.

    Shukran,
    SD

  2. sarah says:

    Nan. This was hilarious-laugh-out-loud-funny. I read it twice.
    xo

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