God Hates God

Several years ago during one of my daily student cartoon breaks, this disturbing advert appeared on my television. The first thing I thought? I must - MUST - buy this for my best friend. So I set about my quest to find this toy, in the hope of one day bestowing it upon a great friend.

So I went to all the toy stores in London; nothing. All Baby Wee-Wees had been removed from the shelving owing to the complaints and perverts alike. I was even escorted from the Harrods toy department for daring to speak of Baby Wee Wee.

But I was not deterred, oh no.

A few weeks later, I was listening to Edwina Currie’s (a former Conservative MP, known for her stern nature, bedded the then PM John Major, then resigned over a salmonella fiasco) radio programme. The topic? The world’s greatest toy. I sent through a tongue-in-cheek missive, paying special attention to Baby Wee Wee’s anatomical correctness. Much to my surprise, she read it on air. One of her guests was listening, and lo, he had a Baby Wee Wee collecting non-perverted dust in the back of one of his stores! Would I like it for free? Oh yes, I said, I would.

And so my best friend got Baby Wee Wee for Christmas that year. He was briefly used as a vodka dispenser, but now hides in her attic, as he terrifies her husband.

And that, my children, is how a Conservative MP best know for *ahem* enjoying John Major’s company facilitated the procurement of this distinctly disturbing toy.

Further to this story, I had to fly to The States to give it the friend - the terror I felt when my Baby Wee Wee-filled hand luggage went through the x-ray machine was unlinke any other. “And what, madam, is this?” “A pissing doll.” “And this?” “That, sir, is his wrinkled cock.”