A better woman you’ll never find

My oddly disturbing appreciation of Danielle “Topanga” Fishel has been well documented in Eighty-Four Glyde, (you may remember my groundbreaking entry about Topanga in the appropriately titled “I have an oddly disturbing appreciation of Danielle ‘Topanga’ Fishel”*) but it doesn’t stop just there. I often find myself day dreaming about cute t.v. vixens from the 80s.
Anybody remember Soleil Moon Frye? You might remember her better as t.v.’s lovable Punky Brewster. Now, Punky wasn’t all that as a child --if I recall correctly she had the appearance of a Muppet—but she had one asset that many other girls in the 80s didn’t have. Well, two assets really, and I’m not talking about her Converse chucks with the mismatched shoelaces. Nope, Soleil had a disease. A terrible, life-threatening disease that affects countless people everyday and can destroy marriages and families.
I’m talking about whatever the hell that disease is that gives chicks ginormous ta-tas. Some call it a blessing; some call it a curse. Soleil was of that second group. Her ridiculously large bewbies often gave her back trouble and it was embarrassing for her to blossom at such a young age when all of her other friends were as flat as Mila Jovovich (have you seen her chest? She’s so flat I think it’s concave.) So, she got rid of her huge dirty pillows, and the fantasies of boys around the country died that day. It was as if a thousand voices cried out in pain, and were suddenly silenced. If you want to see pre-surgery Punky Brewster, then check out Pumpkinhead II. You’ll enjoy her performance.
But Punky, in all of her splendor was just the appetizer to the true perfect girl of the 80s: V.I.C.I., (which is short for Voice Input Child Identicant. And I’m pretty sure that identicant isn’t a real word.)
For those who may not recall, V.I.C.I. (pronounced Vicki) was a ten-year-old girl robot from the show Small Wonder. The concept of the show was that some nerdy guy created a robot but decided to hide her from the government by claiming that she was adopted. She lives in the bedroom closet of her “brother” Jamie, and gets involved in zany shenanigans. I don’t really care who the girl who played V.I.C.I. was, (though she was cute) I always thought the concept of keeping a girl in a closet was great! (Though not as good as keeping a girl in the well in your basement and forcing her to rub lotion on herself all day so her skin will be nice and pliable when it’s removed and re-stitched as a cardigan.)
She’s the perfect girlfriend! No unnecessary emotions to complicate things, the need to do everything I say hardwired into her brain, and best of all, when you’re done with her, you can just put her in the closet or under the bed, for easy storage.
“But Josh,” the ladies say, “where’s the love in a relationship with a robot you keep in the closet? How can you grow as a couple or feel the joy of loving another human being?” To which I reply that if vibrators and dildos had the ability to listen (and care) to all the jibba jabba that comes out a woman’s mouth, they would have gotten rid of men a long time ago. Don’t judge me! I feel that I would find great happiness with a girlfriend whose off switch I could flip whenever I felt like it. And I’m sure a lot of other guys would agree with me.

Robot girlfriend: Josh, I heard some new gossip today that I want to share with you, about my friends that you are indifferent to. Plus I had a rough time at work because of my boss and I want to let you know all about that. And I think I’m getting fat, I’m considering taking up yoga, or that exercise class where women use stripper poles. What do you think?

Me: Wow! That all sounds really interesting! Tell me all about it!

Robot Girlfriend: Okay, well first I…

*sound of me pressing the off button located on her left nipple*

Me: There. Much better. It’s Miller time!

Now that’s a relationship that’ll last.
On another note, to get everybody in the holiday spirit, and because I love to educate and raise awareness, here’s The history of Thanksgiving. Eighty-Four Glyde style. Enjoy!

*Not the actual title, but an incredible facsimile