Last night, I had the most disturbing dream.
JR and I were working at a doll factory in the Midwest. But wait! It gets worse. Basically, we worked on an assembly line where it was JR's job to snap the heads off the dolls that came out of the machine. Then, I was responsible for reattaching the heads, as some kind of "quality control" program. JR loved his job and I hated mine. Why should he get to have all the fun? He took great pleasure in beheading the baby dolls, especially. Soon, he was given the task of ripping off their limbs as well. JR bubbled with glee as he tore them apart, leaving me with six separate pieces to reassemble. Well, I had had enough and began what I call "Picasso's Revenge."
As the doll parts came down the belt, I quickly reconstructed them. Leg to neck. Arm to Leg. Head to Arm. Now, they were mutant dolls, and I began to really get into it. JR noticed what I was doing and happily joined in. Soon, we were aware that the "suits" behind the two way mirror that overlooked our workstation were watching us. We were summoned to the office. Busted! I was sure we would be fired.
We followed a guard down a narrow hallway with pictures of various celebrities adorning the walls. At the end of the hall, we were led into a room, designed apparently by David Lynch. Red velvet curtains hung on the walls, no windows, black and white checkerboard tile. At the far end of the room sat the president of the company, Mr. Dume. He was an old man with tubes running in and out of him and a severely hot nurse at his side. Female. Very Marilyn Monroe-esque. She checked his tubes and would reinsert them when they fell out. We stood there waiting for what seemed an eternity before he spoke.
"Gentlemen," Dume began. "We have been watching you with great interest. It seems you possess talents beyond your positions here on the factory floor. I have been waiting for you... I have a top secret project that needs men like you." He went on to explain the project which had been years in development, showing us various graphs and charts. DNA and machinery. Mr. Dume was a big fan of movies, especially blonde bombshells. It seems that the company had been working on a plan to introduce life-like dolls based on Hollywood stars. Through the magic of modern technology and modern DNA techniques, they were able to create "living dolls" that were exact replicas of their original.
"Then what do you need us for?" I asked, not quite grasping the concept. Mr. Dume motioned to his nurse.
"Marilyn, show them the prototypes...." Nurse Marilyn walked across the room to the corner, pulled on a gold braid cord and the curtains parted revealing a grotesquely huge Mae West, slumped over in a cage, drooling and sad. "Mae was the first to volunteer. Of course, this clone was too large to market and we have kept her here for 80 years. I destroyed most of the others, but I was curious to see how long they would live. As you can see, she stands at about 22 feet and weighs almost 800 pounds. She has never aged."
"Who the fuck is that?" Asked JR, too young to remember Mae. "That bitch is friggin' huge!"
"That was precisely the problem, dear boy," Mr. Dume replied. "Mae's persona was simply too big for the process and as a result, it was years before we could get something more... realistic. Marilyn, here was a breakthrough for us." Nurse Marilyn smiled at us, pleased with the praise. I looked closer and saw that she was indeed, a life size clone of Marilyn Monroe. It was amazing! Mr. Dume continued, "While this was a much needed improvement in scale, it was not without it's problems. Say something, Marilyn..."
Marilyn bit her bottom lip, nervous and scared. Mr. Dume just nodded in encouragement. She opened her mouth and the sound that came out was not human. It was more like a dolphin! She stopped "speaking" and turned away in shame. It was a result of experiments in mixing human DNA with sea creatures.
"Oh! I get it!" I said. "With Mae, you used a whale! Marilyn is part Dolphin!"
"Yes, it's true, Mr. Dume replied, as Marilyn rolled out a room service cart with a covered silver tray. "But times have changed and the ladies who grace the silver screen have changed, too. We finally found the right combination to make doll sized clones by using shrimp and.... they tell me that this Cameron Diaz is the modern equivalent." Marilyn removed the top off the tray and there she was: a Barbie doll sized Cameron Diaz. She looked pissed!
"Fuck you, Dume! You think I got nothing better to do, asshole! I'm outta here!" Then the tiny Cameron jumped off the table and began to scamper around the room, looking for a way out.
"Seize her!" Shouted Mr. Dume. "She mustn't get away!" The next few moments were chaotic. JR and I chased Cameron around the room, she was really fast and slippery, though. Because of her shrimpness, I supposed. Marilyn echolocated when Cameron tired running up her leg. She kicked and the Diaz was airborne. I ducked out of the way and JR reached right out and snatched her from the air. He returned her to the silver tray and replaced the cover. "Do you see now, why I need your help?"
"You want us to pull her head off? JR inquired.
"Not exactly. I need strong, creative young men, like yourselves, to train these creatures before they can be properly marketed. What do you say?" Mr. Dume waited expectantly for our reply. I looked at JR and could see our future in his eyes. They said: Let's do it. Being the slightly more practical one, I had a question.
"How many of these are we talking about?" Mr. Dume signaled for Marilyn to pull another cord, this time revealing a warehouse sized room full of tiny Cameron Diaz clones, practicing Karate, pulling each others hair and dancing, lots of them were dancing. I sighed. Anything was better than reattaching baby heads. "Mr. Dume, we would love this assignment. When do we start?"
We started immediately and quickly worked out a system. JR would capture the Diaz' one at a time and then I would talk to them, brush their hair and tell them how much joy they would bring to little girls (and some boys, too) by being their doll. It was surprisingly easy work. JR only killed a few by accident. It seemed we had found our calling.
Then I woke up.