(It’s funny because Alice looked just like Barbie when she decided on her career six months earlier.)

Last week, we gave you the first in our new column, New Sports, in which pissing off Gary Coleman got extreme and fun, and therefore competitive. In this second edition, we move on to a sport that ruins the lives of people who have a right to be short.

Mousetrap: Hopes and Dreams Edition - With each incarnation, Barbie dolls serve to demonstrate to young women just what avenues the feminist movement has opened up for them. Over the decades, Barbie has adopted all kinds of careers and pastimes that were previously considered solely within the realm of men. Don’t want to stay home and cook just to make that sonofabitch happy? Try being a doctor, or go water-skiing, why not? But Barbie’s 126th career is taking to exxxtreme sport levels the trend of glamorizing what women can do to make their daily lives as horrifically mundane as the 9-5 gentleman. I give you: Computer Engineer Barbie.

Computer engineer Barbie, which will be released in winter 2010, sports a geek chic binary code patterned tee (We’d so wear that!) and she comes equipped with everything a modern day geek girl would use. That includes a smartphone, Bluetooth headset, laptop travel bag, and last but not least – a pink laptop. No word on whether it’s a Mac or PC though.

Be honest, would you so wear it ironically, or because you just can’t get enough of the myriad ways ones and zeros can be arranged? This has to be a sport the employees of Mattel are professional level at by now. “Let’s see what we can make girls believe they can maintain their blond hair and pink clothes in perfect shape through.” You’ve got your veterinarian Barbie, who manages to keep a crisp doctor’s jacket and miniskirt pristine while hosing down dirty, hairy dogs with shit-matted fur and fleas, all in preparation to give the thing an intrusive operation that is costing its owner enough to feed Ethiopia for a week. Does she use a pink syringe to put down the hopeless and unloved mongrels, or is that reserved for the cupcake enema bag? Or convincing girls that after the first year of ankle swelling, tumor breeding agony, elementary school teachers continue to pick out matching ABC jumpers and cute horn rimmed glasses, and don’t just thank fucking christ that they can show a VHS and work through the Thursday morning hangover. And does Desert Storm Barbie (I shit you not) come with a pimped out wheel chair, or a pink happy-pill container to hold the prescriptions that Therapist Tiffany (sold seperately) gave her?

Fuck no, because coming up with ways to set up epic adult disillusionment from childhood like some hellish game of Mousetrap from the seventh layer of Drury Lane is just hysterical to them now. If the makers of these dolls had ever left their pink tower filled with carb-free muffin tops and unicorns, and actually met a software engineer, they would know that it pays the bills, but at the cost of any semblance of a social life and, in some cases, sanity. Does Computer Engineer Barbie leave the pink convertible behind for a rusting, tan ‘87 Escort? Or Ken for some hapless Dilbert clone with acne and premature ejaculation because real men like Ken and G.I. Joe like girls whose calves justify the wearing of mini skirts? Do you make the Dead-End Alcoholic Barbie or the subsequent Christian Scientist Psycho (complete with rotting teeth and an outfit for AA)?

The real moment of victory for Mattel employees – their touchdown with a two-point conversion with 20 seconds on the clock – has to be when the girls finish college and, assuming they haven’t adopted the persona of Unshowered Hippie Barbie or Militant Dyke Barbara, they walk into their first place of work decked out in pink down to the scrunchie and panties, and everybody immediately hates them. And they can’t understand it when nobody is impressed that her bedazzled smart phone can find a nail salon in under 10 seconds, or that her binary shirt is both functional and fashionable, and they just want to sit in the bathroom stall and sob and eat Twinkies.  I bet the very sight of a paunch and a receding hairline on a 30 year old woman gives them so much wood they go home and put the beavers in the creek out back out of business.

In the first round ever (debatable) of the new professional sport of playing Mouse Trap with millions of little girls’ futures, I award the sadistic employees of Mattel a win over their tiny consumers, who should start fitting themselves for orthopedic loafers and posture correcting braces now before there’s too much demand. I give the sport as a whole four stars for entertainment, because disillusionment is all I have left for visual pornography. I’ll give it a 5 when Mattel stops trying to be subtle about it and makes Piss Standing Up Barbie (Dream House Set comes with a pink urinal) and No More Periods Barbie (hey, Ken’s back!) so that in 13 odd years we can see a whole female generation of hopes and dreams fall like Goofy off a cliff.

(Story-board from Under The Smallpox Sheets, a period piece. The dialogue will be something like, “What are you doing with that Maize?”)

So much of the Internet pornography library is devoted to what we will call “Erotic Schadenfreude,” the feeling watching somebody suffer can offer another person. But where can a scumbag go when he’s seen the same stable of lesser beings beaten over and over with the same riding crop, or a redundancy of the same humiliated losers in tutus watching their purported wives get boned? Where does the jaded, discriminating erotica enthusiast go when the rape scenes seem forced and insincere and every french maid on the planet seems to have been spanked? And seriously, does anybody find those ridiculous leather and metal and latex suits sexy anymore?

I have an idea. It’s not a long term solution, but something to hold us over until the next genius of perversion invents a genre that will sprain wrists for at least a decade. I call it “Disillusionment Porn,” and you are going to spend hours in the company restroom thinking about it. It is all about the moment when you see all innocence drain from someone’s face in the course of thirty seconds, or the horror of having a life-long belief ripped from the very bowels of your soul and the resulting mess. Only disillusionment porn will take it to the next level, and use sex to make sure each subject’s internal concept of virtue and goodness is reduced to the part of the animal the dogs won’t eat off the floor.

Here are some treatments I’ve devised to give you, the reader, an idea of what I mean, and a starting block for producers in case they want to gank my idea and give me moneys. You’ll notice that several of them will fit neatly into various sub-categories and niche genres like granny porn and incest. We’ll start with the obvious:

Holly Bears the Frown – Setting: A Catholic school classroom, December. Holly (played by a member of the barely 18 set, I’m not going to jail for this) is very excited for Christmas this year, and expounds to her classmates all the goodies she hopes to receive from Santa Claus for being such a good girl. Her classmates taunt her for believing in Santa Claus at an age when she is clearly able to develop curves and get breast implants. They point out all of the reasons Santa cannot exist, and tell her it is actually her parents putting the gifts under the tree. Holly’s eyes widen, and begin to tear up, her lip starts to tremble; she is clearly devastated by the news. Her classmates then bend her over a desk and take turns fucking her, using her tears of disillusionment as lube, as she retreats into herself, contemplating why anyone chooses good over evil without the omnipresent moral compass of a fat slave driver with flying reindeer. (Alternate idea: “White Christmas.” Same scenario, only all of Sally’s classmates have big black cocks exclusively. I know, it’s niche.)

Somewhere Obscene - Setting: American Suburb. Throughout Dick’s courtship of Jane, she has been an attentive, loving companion. She cooks delicious meals, and even cleans his shoddy bachelor pad while he’s at work. She’s even a pretty good lay. He sees no reason he shouldn’t marry her. Fast forward to nine months after the marriage. The house hasn’t been clean in weeks, they’ve eaten Taco Bell every day, and Jane’s pregnancy has started to show. A new round of layoffs is coming at the office, and Dick’s mother-in-law is coming to live the spare room that was originally designated as his office. It has all been coming for months, but never before the moment his shitty, cheap gin runs out while surveying the new nursery does the magnitude of how screwed he is hits him. He falls to his knees, yells “WHY?!” at the ceiling, before his mother-in-law’s Mahjong group comes in and rapes him with strap-ons.

Play My Guy - Setting: Santa Monica. Jimmy spent his entire childhood playing video games, learning the ins and outs of every aspect of the industry, forsaking the outside world, a social life, and his volunteer work. His mother said he was wasting his time and that it would lead to nothing, and Jimmy was determined to prove her wrong. One day, his hours of gaming paid off and he landed his dream job: a video game tester at Blizzard headquarters. He would be able to play his games all day — and get paid to do it! On his first day on the job, he soon realized that being a video game tester amounts to hours and hours of tedious, mind-numbing work, playing the same levels over and over again looking for minute, insignificant glitches. At the end of the day, he is tired and disillusioned. As he picks up his coat to leave, his mother bursts into his office dressed like Bowser and power rapes him while yelling “I told you so!” over and over again.

Modern Magdalene – Setting: Wherever, US. Sheena is a good Christian, and wants only to witness Christ’s goodness to anyone that gives her an opportunity. All of her acquaintances think she’s a pious little twat. When, at one time, Sheena quotes the gospel verse in which Jesus says that people are blessed who persevere in their belief in him even when people challenge them or make fun of them, one of her friends points out the unbelievable ridiculousness of that statement, and all of the color runs out of her face in one moment of terrifying clarity. She then turns to vile Requiem For a Dream style prostitution because there really is no reason to try anymore, and her friends like her now because of what she will do for a quarter and half of a three day old tuna sandwich.

Too Old to Rock and Roll - A DJ whose life has just moved up from Bat Mitzvahs to running the local karaoke bar thinks he has done pretty well for himself until a patron points out to him that his artist directory for “Tull, Jethro” makes him an insufferable retard who should not be trusted with dispensing music to anyone. Disillusioned, not only by the fact that Jethro Tull is a band and not a person as he believed his whole life, but by the fact that his life’s ambitions have been nothing but fraud, the DJ quits his job, loses his studio apartment, and ends up homeless ally’s new prison bitch. (Sorry, the first part of that actually happened recently, and I wanted to express my dissatisfaction.)

Fail to the Chief - Setting: Washington D.C., the White House. An idealistic young senator is elected President of the United States under a platform of progressive reform, only to find out that the system of special interest groups, campaign contributors, and incompetent financial management techniques he has inherited will force him to deal with war and depression instead of the issues he promised his constituents he would work on. Staring down the barrel of four years of declining faith in Humanity, and the ultimate powerlessness of his office, the President huddles fetally on his desk sucking his thumb, while an endless train of pundits and politicians is run on his ass, each thrust pushing him closer and closer to the fabled Red Button that will finally put him out of his misery.

If you made it this far in one sitting with both hands above the keyboard, you have more restraint than me, good reader. Remember, the trick is to make the sex angle the insult that compounds the injury, and it is always better if they cry. When I win all kinds of Woodies for this, and they shower me with more money and bitches than I know what to do with, I promise to hire a team of monkeys to continue to provide quality Scumbag Style entertainment.