The Three-Faced Doll: Part II

For those of you who’ve been reading this blog for at least a year, you’re familiar with my story about the three-faced doll.  If you aren’t ‘in the know’, please read it here.

And now, the conclusion of the story…

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After searching eBay for days, I finally located an exact replica of the three-faced doll that my Uncle Gerry had presumably destroyed.   I won’t tell you what I paid for the thing.  Price wasn’t an issue, because I had plans–Christmas plans, to be exact–for my uncle.

After taking several pictures of the “D****d Evil Doll” in different outfits and poses, I decided that we would wrap up the doll and give it to Uncle Gerry, along with a Christmas letter from the doll herself.

I began typing the letter and then went to bed, leaving the creepy thing on the countertop in our kitchen, and foolishly forgetting about our German Shorthair, Jersey, who had within the past six months consumed a bottle of St. John’s Wort, my husband’s glasses, a one hundred dollar bill (true story), and various other things that dogs–nor any other living creature, for that matter–should be eating.  (Just so you know, I’m now an expert in making dogs throw up, in case you’re ever in need of advice on such matters.)

I woke up the next morning to find the doll (now appropriately named ‘Trifecta’), chewed up on the floor.  Actually, she wasn’t completely chewed up.  Just the knob on her head.  I was very angry, and my husband had to keep the dog hidden from me for several hours.

My carefully calculated plan was foiled.

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On Christmas Day, we went to Grandma’s house as we always do.  When it came time to exchange gifts, I waited until every last one was opened, and then I handed my uncle the envelope with the Christmas letter from Trifecta.

Greetings, Uncle Gerry!

2007 was an eventful year for me. After taking a long break from scaring grown men with my mutant head, I decided it was time to explore the world…

First, I made an unexpected visit to Grandpa Alger and Grandma Lorraine. They were very happy to see me, and Grandma gave me some homemade ice cream and her famous ‘Shipwreck’ hotdish.  Yum!

I figured as long as I was in my old stomping grounds, I’d go out for a night on the town and hung out at Lucky’s tavern. After learning a few new curse words and how to skin a raccoon, I was given a sober cab back to Grandma’s.  She wasn’t happy with my new vocabulary, nor my drunken state.  She scolded me profusely and sent me to bed.

The next morning, I cured my hangover at The Lighthouse Café in Richardson. They have some good breakfast there, but the waitress thought I was creepy. That seems to happen wherever I go.

 

Next, I decided to go to Paris, France. I met a hunk of a man named ‘The Executor’. Turns out he’s a wrestler, and I just couldn’t deal with that. We parted ways after he attempted to spin my head around and body slam me. It was the low point of my year, and I really don’t care to talk about it anymore, if you don’t mind.

 

Soon after that, I decided to take a trip to see the White House. The CIA must have thought my tri-head was a threat to Homeland Security, because while I was on a tour of our nation’s capitol, I was given a police escort of the premises and interrogated in ways I can’t discuss in this letter.  I did manage to get a good picture first, however.

 

Egypt had always interested me, so I bought a plane ticket without a second thought.  I got to visit the pyramids, and was mistaken for an archeological exhibit. My eyes are closed in this picture. (I never was all that photogenic.)

 

Then, I visited the Grand Canyon. A little boy took one look at me, started screaming, and tried to throw me into it.  Remember when you tried to throw me into the firepit, Uncle Gerry?

 

Last, but certainly not least, I have met the man of my dreams. His name is Beach Fun Ken, and he’s much nicer than that loser wrestler. He likes to have fun in the sun, and I’m down with that.

We went to Las Vegas and got married in November. We’re expecting our first child, and I’m desperately hoping that it has his head.

 

Happy Holidays and Keep in Touch!

 

Now as you will recall, Trifecta’s knob on top of her head was chewed off by my dog, Jersey.  Instead of accepting defeat and just giving Uncle Gerry the letter, I discovered that an ornament top from a Christmas ball fit perfectly into the top of the hole that now existed in place of the knob on Trifecta’s head.  I pulled her head off of her little plastic body and turned it into an ornament, hook and all.  The best part was that you could stick a light up inside of the head so it glowed, which gave it a tremendously creepy effect.  I was pleased to demonstrate this to my uncle by hanging it on Grandma’s tree.

Needless to say, Uncle Gerry was both mortified and disgusted, just as I’d hoped.  I also stole the Trifecta head ornament from him before he left.  It’s on my Christmas tree right now.

So that, my friends, is the story of the Three Faced Doll, and probably the strangest Christmas story you’ll ever hear in your lives.

The moral of the story:  Never discriminate against little plastic dolls that have three faces, and don’t try to destroy them by burning them in a backyard firepit.  They come back.

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