Not The Hip-Shaking King...The Plastic Variety

The stalker is back. I ran into him outside my building so there was no avoiding it. And in the three minute conversation we had, he managed to bring up a body part that, really, should not come up in casual conversation. Especially not in the context he was using it. [Example: Did you party your {fill-in-the-blank-with-male-body-part} off?] I mean, really. How does a girl respond? So he creeps me out.

But you know what creeps me out even more than some lustful, ogling pervert?

The King with the big, plastic, smiley bobble-head. The King of Burger King commercial fame with the advertising slogan, "Wake up with The King!" or, "Up late with The King!" Have you seen these commercials? It's this big human puppet. In bed with you when you wake up. Or he's outside your window a-knockin' when you open your currents. That painted on smile. I am sure he just wants you to forego the McGriddle, the McMuffin, and the Breakfast Burrito, for BK's own, I'm sure, equally delectable breakfast. Maybe he doesn't intend to kill you. Or does he?

Is it an indelible image of kind and sympathetic marketing? Oh, I think not.

If you have never seen these commercials then you -you lucky bastard - will forever have peaceful slumber. With birds and sweet song. Meadows. You may skip. And eat straight from a sugar jar. And never get a cavity.

But if you have seen these commercials, then you will be haunted in your dreams if you turn your tv off right at the point when the plastic-headed King comes on your screen and that is the last image you are left with before turning in for the night. Or is that just me? A conspiracy afoot? Because, if last night was any indication, the King does not like to be silenced. He will come back for more.

As all creepy creeping creepsters do.

I don't want to go to BK if there is a chance I will run into this creepo. I'll run for the Border before I run to any castle. King and my Prince be damned!

But if he taunts me in my sleep again, I may have to. Damn marketing genius. How do you do it?

So, you see, I have this aversion to puppets, dolls with the blinking eyes, and clowns. Never liked them. My mom has a few of these antique dolls, some with the blinking eyes, and they all have a spot on her bed, which is just....creepy. The oompah loompahs? Creepy. Those halloween costumes with the plastic masks? Creepy. Ronald McDonald, for that matter....creepy. And a plastic life-sized King will still scare the shit out of me!

But when anything fearsome or creepy enters my dreams - then that just crosses the line into Horror-Film-Where-I-Am-The-Victim territory. And you are the audience, screaming at the tv to GET OUT OF THERE! YOU IDIOT, HE IS RIGHT BEHIND YOU! Or is he in the parlor with the Professor and the candlestick?

Uh-oh....where is the King now?

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Scared yet?

Let me give you an example of how my dreams are capable of haunting me silly. And I am not alone, my sister can attest, as she is victim too.

We were young - grade school age - and we were in a Publix (the best grocery store with the best bakery in the world, y'all!). We were horsing around as young kids forced to go grocery shopping on a Saturday afternoon will do. And we carried it too far because we dumped over a standing ashtray that - back in those days - they had standing on every aisle so you could, you know, smoke and shop at the same time. Shortly after the "Clang! Clatter! Clatter! Shwwwwiiiiiinnnnkkkl!" came a booming voice - out of nowhere - very Wizard of Oz - summoning a "Clean up on Aisle 6!" So my sister and I started giggling at this because, slap your knee, look at what we did and our parents didn't even see it! Not only are we bad-ass, we are scot-free. But! Then came the Evilist Man Of The Evilist Empire In All The Land shooting us the most evil dirty looks as he was forced to sweep up the ash and butts. In all its sooty-gag-me splendor. Then he muttered something in his "native tongue" at us - A Spell! And so for years that voice and that look HAUNTED us. In our dreams. And we always shared them with each other to let each other know that we were in this nightmare together. Which haunted us in the real world too. See, this guy happened to be of a certain ethnicity and so we just stereotyped the whole country - or the whole continent, which we didn't realize at the time - as one man. The evil Chinese Man.

We feared the Chinese Man.

Dad: We are going to Chinese Restaurant tonight.
Me and Sister: No! No! We are sick! We are sick!
Dad: ???
Me and Sister: Chinese Man will be there. Chinese Man wants us dead.

We got over that eventually and have since come to love the Chinese Man. In fact, we love all Man. We always vote a Liberal ticket. Our hearts bleed. We are cool like that. And I have dated a Japanese guy - by our little girl scared-shitless standards he would have been Chinese Man.

So, you see? Our own mind creates and conjures icons of fear. Or is that just freakishly me? The mind she is wild - and mine just happens to run, run, run. I would make a plea to BK to kill the plastic-headed King but we know that the monsters never die. They always come back.

And so I go to Burger King.