Love Story, the Sequel

Love Story, the Sequel

Strauss Home / Humor Channel / Bullz-Eye Home

So I think I'm in love with a mannequin at JC Penney's.

The thing is, I didn't plan on falling in love. But I guess no one ever does, y'know?

I mean, there I was in the mall, minding my own business, when I saw her in that little black dress. 

As our eyes made contact, I realized that while she didn't have any eyes, those deeply carved sockets near what were supposed to be her temples were like limpid pools melting my very soul.

I was humbled by her beauty. Her innocence. Her perfectly defined taupe- colored PVC calves.

And while I'm certain that she has no heart to have heartfelt feelings, I believe that sometimes, the chemistry between two people -- or between man and plastic -- sometimes goes beyond the bounds of explanation.

Frankly, far greater men than I have tried to put the concept of love into words.

Shakespeare. Yeates. Burns. 

The guy in this month's Penthouse who did his wife's best friend while his wife was at the grocery store.

Suffice it to say, however, it was almost indescribable the way Brook's beauty overwhelmed me. 

Yes, her name is Brook.

And while I'm sure someone in a factory in China named her MODEL # EWS-324, I named her Brook because that seemed to be the kind of name a woman of her style and elegance would possess.

I had considered other names -- Monique, Claire, Miss Whoreywhore -- but there was just something about the name Brook that spoke to her grace and sophistication. It felt like the perfect name for a woman surrounded by style. And the housewares section two aisles over.

I love my Brook. She's perfect.

She's tall and thin. She has long legs. And best of all, she had no arms.

Whether Brook's arm was broken, or whether that's the way she was designed by her overseas manufacturer, I didn't care. All that mattered was that our love would keep us together forever.

Plus, since she has no arms, I know that she can't carry a purse and spend my money, like any of those fleshy women ever would.

She is my dream girl. My Brook.

From the moment I saw her, I put her on a pedestal. Which actually made her super-tall because the people in the store had already put her on a pedestal.

My Brook has a thin waist. A perfect curve to her hips. And my darling appears to have an ample chest.

To me, Brook is like Pamela Anderson. With maybe a little less plastic.

As I stood in the concourse of the mall admiring my love, my mind raced as I began to fantasize about our first date together.

I closed my eyes and envisioned the two of us sitting at a candlelight dinner.

And even though she wouldn't actually be sitting because her legs don't bend, it would still be a romantic dinner. Me sitting. Her standing. 

On this, my dream date with Brook, I'd do everything I could to make her feel comfortable. From the second I carried her stiff plastic body under my arm into the room, I'd want her to see how much I cared for her. How I was trying to do whatever I could to let her know that she was the girl of my dreams.

I'd have a plastic tablecloth. Plastic silverware. Plastic cups. Food covered in Plastic Wrap. 

And while you'd expect a hopeless romantic like myself to set the mood with beautiful music from Sinatra or Miles Davis or Diane Schuur, instead, I'd show my Brook how much I loved her with the perfect song that only my girl could relate to.

Artist: Aqua
Song Title: Barbie Girl

Hi Barbie
Hi Ken
Do you wanna go for a ride?
Sure Ken
Jump in

I'm a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world
Life in plastic, it's fantastic
You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere
Imagination, life is your creation
Come on Barbie, let's go party 

I'm a blond bimbo girl, in a fantasy world
Dress me up, make it tight, I'm your dolly
You're my doll, rock'n'roll, feel the glamour in pink
Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky panky
You can touch, you can play, if you say: "I'm always yours"

I'm a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world
Life in plastic, it's fantastic
You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere
Imagination, life is your creation

Clearly, while my name's not Ken, and she's not some slutty bimbo like Barbie, I think this is the kind of song that a plastic girlfriend would appreciate hearing.

From this day forward, when I listen to this song, whenever they sing the word "Barbie" I'm going to shout, "Brook!" really loud.

I love you, Brook.

As I stand here and gaze at your motionless loveliness, I find myself a bit jealous knowing that other men are gazing at you as they walk by as well. I'm getting over it, though, because I know how much you love me. 

Also, every time a guy stops and looks at you, I turn and say, "What the f*** are you looking at, asshole?" 

I love you, Brook.

I can tell by the way your legs are posed and how your torso is turned that you're not the trampy or loose kind of mannequin that winds up in the underwear aisle of JC Penney's. 

The sluts.

The thing is, I've seen many mannequins in my day. But none like my Brook. I've even seen the movie "Mannequin." And while not wanting to take away from the fact that the movie "Mannequin" is without question the best movie ever made about a mannequin, I find that the problem with the movie "Mannequin" is that the mannequin came to life. 

What's the point in that, I ask? When a mannequin crosses the line and goes from plastic to skin, the attraction is gone. At least for me.

The thing is, any man can have an epidermis-covered lady. 

Me? My fantasy is to have my woman silky smooth. Like a dashboard.

As I stared at the deep angle that I'm assuming is Brook's mouth, I realized that soon, I'll be able to enjoy all the advantages of dating a woman of such substance. 

And for your information, that substance is polyvinyl chloride.

Soon I'll be involved with a woman who doesn't smoke, stares at me and doesn't talk back. 

Yes, soon, I'll be able to talk about what I want to talk about. 

ME: "Did you see that short track speed skating race the other night?"


ME: Oh darling, wait until you hear this!"

Even better, if I don't feel like talking about anything, I won't have to.

ME: I kinda don't feel like talking right now, honey. 


ME: I knew you'd understand. You're the best.

With Brook I know there won't be any emotional conversations about our relationship, or about the stress of her day, or about her PMS or anything else that living women like to burden men with.

Instead, she'll be my personal sounding board. And whatever I say will be fine with her. 

ME: Jesus Christ Brook, I had the worst goddamn day today. Can't you clean this freakin' place up once in a while? I'm gonna go lie on the couch and watch TV and not do a damn thing. You got a problem with that?


ME: Good. I didn't think so.

The other key advantages of dating Brook include:

*She'll age well. I will always look at her and think, "Damn, other than a couple scratches here and there, she looks as good as she did the first day she came out of that mannequin mold."

*She'll wear whatever I want her to wear. To me, this is a big, big plus. Never again will I have to beg my woman to put on the French maid's outfit, or the nurse's uniform, or the Richard Nixon costume.

*She'll never spend one dime of my money on her hair, her nails, or any sort of make-up. In part, because she's a perfectly natural beauty. And in part because her feet are screwed into a base.

Probably the biggest advantage to dating Brook, of course, will be the sex. 

I can tell already, sex with Brook will be better than anyone I've ever had sex with before. Including myself.

Never again will I have to beg, plead or grovel to get a woman on her back.

With Brook, all I'll have to do is push her over.

And my Brook won't care how long the sex lasts, either. 

No longer will I have to hear the words, "Are you serious?" or "Already?" or "It's a good thing you make a lot of money."

Twenty minutes of passionate lovemaking. Or 45 seconds of passionate lovemaking. Who cares? 

Not me. Not anymore. 

Plus, I'll never have to worry about satisfying her. Being with me will be satisfaction enough for my Brook. Just ask her.

Oh, that's right. I almost forgot. She can't answer you.

The thing is, though, I realize that never having "been" with a mannequin before, I'm not entirely certain what's going on "down there." 

For that matter, what exactly is down there?


Is it wrong to brag to someone that your girlfriend is shaved even if she can't grow hair?

Nevertheless, just to be safe…just to make our first night together a night of undeniable passion, I plan on leaving the condom at home, and bringing instead a power drill and a ¾" bit. 

For while many men can brag that they've popped a woman's cherry, very few can say that they've actually drilled a woman's cherry.

I'm so excited. This is going to be the relationship that I've waited for all my life. 

Brook and I, together forever. The possibilities are endless. My dream is about to come tru…

MY WIFE: Hey, they didn't have any flannel nightgowns that I liked. C'mon, let's go.

ME: Okey-dokey.

MY WIFE: Have you just been sitting here the whole time I was shopping?

ME: Me? Oh yeah. Just looking around. Watching people. Hey, y'know, you'd look good in that black dress over there.

MY WIFE: That? Sure. It'd look great on me as long as I had a body like that mannequin. 

ME: I know. She's perfect isn't she?

MY WIFE: What did you say?

ME: I said I think you're perfect just the way you are.

MY WIFE: Whatever. Let's go. I've gotta stop and get some tampons on the way home.

ME: Okey-dokey.

Who, her? Oh, she's just a friend, my love. 

A friend that runs my life.

You are the only girl for me, Brook.

Someday, my love. 

Someday we'll be together. I can't wait to see you again.

Please don't change, my love. Don't ever change.

Unless they put you in some short shorts for the spring. With a tight belly shirt.

Then please change, my love. Please change.

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