- Kurt Cobain In Memoriam Lunchbox
- Betty Page Lunch Box
- The “Just Plain Mean” Lunchbox
- Tonight We Dine In Hell Lunchbox
Instill in your toddler the merits of asceticism and a life of self-restraint with this Spartan lunchbox. Perfect for large picnics, the “Tonight We Dine In Hell” lunchbox is roomy enough to hold rations for your child and all of the classmates with whom he was separated from the rest of the community at an early age in order to undergo extreme physical conditioning and preparation for warfare. The thermos doubles as an ice cooler, and in a pinch it can be used to transport blood for battlefield transfusions. And before you object to the verisimilitude of the steroid-enhanced abs on Gerard Butler depicted on the front of the lunchbox, remember that juxtaposing this picture with those from recent movies will only underscore for your toddler the merits of consistent self-restraint and unrelenting physical training.
This is quite simply the lunchbox for the toddler whose parents long for a bygone era, who ache for the days when GenX rock idols were just misunderstood suicidal heroin addicts, rather than the deceased subjects of tedious Gus Van Sant films. And what burgeoning young creative genius won’t appreciate the flexibility of the included thermos? Concealing the vodka you brought to share at snack time or disposing of used needles has never been easier! Plus, your child can spread word about the grunge movement among a new generation when he sets up his lunchbox at the miniature table at lunchtime, where all of his preschooler buddies can get a clear view of Kurt Cobain at his guitar, smoking as he composed what would become the soundtrack to the 1990s. And when all the other preschoolers start debating the aesthetic appeal of Kinderslut, or exchanging bon mots like “Rape me, my friend . . . rape me, AGAIN,” or “Polly wants a cracker, guess I should get off her first,” within earshot of their parents, well — how proud will you be that it was your precious little one who first got them to wonder if they were dumb, or maybe just happy, before popping an SSRI?
Before Betty Draper was picking out lunchboxes at the Five & Dime that morning, she hadn’t realized that her daughter’s destiny was to be the contestant on every season of Project Runway whose personal style consists of mixing red gingham with Doc Martens. But when her three-year-old picked out this Betty Page lunchbox, Betty Draper realized it was only a matter of time before Michael Kors was sending her home in the fourth or the fifth round, declaring himself “so tired” of candy apple red lipstick set against a backdrop of paler-than-pale skin. And so Betty Draper objected at first that the lunchbox glorified a woman of loose morals and middlebrow tastes, and besides, it was far too small to accommodate her daughter’s beloved goldfish crackers and chocolate Ho-Hos. But then a Betty Draper had a feeling — or something akin to those instinctive impulses she once felt, but had then learned to ignore (with the help of an extra glass or two) of wine at dinner). Betty Draper realized that if she did not do something quick, then one day soon all of those fruit roll-ups and granola bars would become more cellulite on her daughter’s hips, and so why not choose the smaller lunchbox now, taking her daughter’s aesthetic preference as a sign that perhaps it was already time for her daughter, too, to begin tenure on the Mother’s Little Helper diet of melba toast, coffee, wine, and prescription amphetamines.
Mean is cool! In fact, mean is exactly the kind of ideal we want to set for our burgeoning young feminists! Being mean will keep the boys safely away from you, where they cannot infect you with their nasty boy cooties or subject you to their patriarchal-reinforcing rituals of heteronormativity! And not only that, embracing your inner meanie also encourages and propagates the overly simplistic, black-and-white epistemology that has plagued the assessment of female characters since the beginning of time! Is Susie a nice girl? No, she’s mean! Have you ever seen her actually kick somebody in the crotch? No, but I’m sure that she would. Where did you pick up the term ‘vagina dentata‘ anyway, Billy? Has your grandfather been sending you stuff from his 1930s pulp fiction collection again? But, Moooooo-um — I’m telling you that she’s that kind of girl: she’s MEAN!
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