n autopsy of the internet-famous body of former Libyan dictator Muammar Gadhafi early Monday uncovered one shocking detail: the so-called corpse is in fact a sex doll likeness of Gaddafi, manufactured by the Middle Eastern RealDoll knock-off company, FeelDoll.

"We resent being called a knock-off. If anything, our models are superior to RealDolls, with suppler orifices, stretchier lips, and more voluminous skeet reservoirs," explained an incensed Roman Starsky, head doll fucker for FeelDoll.

"If anything, we’re a knock-up," Starksy added. "If you’re going to jizz into a big polyurethane corpse, we hope it’s ours."

The sex doll in question, an expensive high-end model a far cry from the inflatable emergency dates most commune readers would be familiar with, features a posable internal skeleton, lifelike silicone skin, interchangeable hairpieces for alternating between "stern sexy dictator Kadafi" and "fun on the beach Qaddafi," and numerous cute outfits in all the latest styles. There has been no word as to who ditched this particular love doll in the drainage ditch where it was found by revolutionaries on Friday, but judging from its condition, they were apparently finished with it.

"Ga-ddammit," mused National Transitional Council Executive Chairman Mahmoud Jibril, upon being told the news.

When asked how the entire world could be fooled by footage of a rubber sex doll flopping around and being shoved into a truck, psychologist Ben Wahbals explained the powerful role suggestion plays in the way our brains interpret the outside world.

"For example, all I had to do was tell you I was a psychologist, and because of that you never even noticed that I’m wearing an Arby’s uniform and we are, right now, inside an Arby’s," explained Dr. Wahbals.

The day went from bad to double-bad for Libya’s new government later Monday afternoon, when a closer inspection of the corpse of Qadhafi’s son Mo’tassim (Ed. Note: Seriously? Fact check that name), thought killed in fighting last week, revealed it to actually be a goat wearing a dress.

Monday’s shocking developments raise several disturbing questions, not the least of which is where the actual Qadhaffi might be if he’s not really having his anus measured in a morgue in Libya. The leading theory as of news time was that Gathafi has been hiding out for months as a member of the cast of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, though journalistic ethics require us to point out that this almost-certainly-true theory has not yet been backed up by hard facts or cursory examination.

Upon the first breaking of this story on news breaker site Zapshit.com, several posters in that article’s comments section admitted this news made them feel less guilty about having masturbated to the YouTube footage of Godhafi’s capture last week.

Possibly even more pressing, however, is the question of why in the holy Allah someone would make a sex doll to look like Malomar Kurdhafi.

"Male sex dolls are relatively rare compared to the female models, yes, and are mostly purchased by conservative politicians and for the rec rooms of women’s prisons," explained Starsky. "But there is a demand, and a demanding demand at that."

Sure, but why Gutthafih?

"Likenesses are entirely based on popular demand. And who is to say the sexual appetites of the public are wrong? Is being sexually attracted to Dick Butkus wrong? Just because I want to dip my wick in a life-sized plastic Ernest Borgnine, does that make me a freak? On a side note, our Ernest Bornine FeelDolls are all on sale this week, those things haven’t been selling worth a goddamn."

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Throughout all of history, human beings have gone to excessive lengths in an effort to not be so damned ugly. Few have succeeded, but we humans have kept bravely banging our ugly heads against that wall in vain hopes of fooling others into letting us be near them for purposes of a brief, sweaty sexual encounter. Has it all been worth it? The human race has survived, sure, but at what cost to our personal dignity?

Early prehistoric attempts at plastic surgery involved smashing in an ugly person's face with a rock, in the hopes that they would either stop being so ugly, or else go die somewhere. Problem solved either way. Modern plastic surgery involves the same basic principals, only due to inflation, the face-bashing is no longer provided free of charge to the afflicted.

Uglies unwilling to go to such radical extremes for the sake of modest downgrades in their retch factor have faced any number of bizarre alternatives throughout history, depending on what part of the world they'd been uglying up.

In Borneo, unattractive natives would stretch their earlobes down to shoulder level in an attempt to draw attention away from their unfortunate natural physiologies, preferring a lifetime of hearing "Holy shit! Look at them earlobes!" to cries of "I'm gonna sick up my monkey meat!" As an added benefit, the elongated earlobes could be tied behind the head for carry extra food, or let loose to give the impression that the wearer was running really, really fast.

Anyone who has ever scanned though a National Geographic magazine in search of library-sanctioned pornography is likely familiar with the Padaung of Burma, a small tribe that spices up the rather lackluster appearance of their women though the application of brass neck-rings, which elongate the neck dramatically and give the impression that the women are actually very expensive giraffes. Though the Padaung insist that the neck rings are used to prevent tiger bites, a quick blow to the throat of a Padaung woman proves that the brass rings provide little in the way of protective function. Politically-correct anthropologists have suggested that the rings were originally instituted to make the women less likely to be taken by slave traders, but any honest appraisal of the Padaung has to conclude that these uglies would have been flattered by the attention.

In Vietnam, the practice of teeth-blackening has fascinated anthropologists for years, or at least those anthropologists too dim to recognize this as the Vietnamese equivalent of the pre-emptive baldness technique of head-shaving popular among Western males. If your teeth are ugly and fucked up, you might as well make it look like you did that on purpose, right? Accordingly, the practice of chewing Betel nuts and brushing with off-brand convenience store toothpaste has provided the Vietnamese with beautiful black smiles for generations.

The same strategy has applied to cultures around the world that value fatness as a beauty ideal, perhaps wisely deciding that keeping thin was just a whole lot of work. Experts have argued that obesity was valued in 17th century Europe and China because it proved the person in question could afford plenty of food, but these are just the kind of experts with too much educational prestige on the line to call a lard-ass a lard-ass. Similar is the western reaction to the Tibetan tradition of considering excessive flatulence to be beautiful, which was supposed to prove that the flatulator could afford rich, gassy foods. Not true. Unfortunately for the revisionist historians, the Tibetans are just a naturally farty people.

The ancient Mayans and Egyptians both practiced the strange art form of binding infants' skulls to produce elongated, pointy-headed babies. Though many explanations for this odd practice have been offered, most available evidence suggests that the Maya and Egyptians just thought it was funny. And after all, what's a helpless little infant going to do to you? If the pointy-headed freak ever makes it to adulthood, providing the entire village with years of entertainment along the way, they're still not going to remember what you did to them when they were just a baby. It's a little surprising this practice ever died out in the first place.

Likewise with the tradition of foot-binding in China, where women's feet were kept unnaturally small by restricting their growth throughout childhood. While women were convinced the tiny feet would land them the most desirable husband, men just enjoyed getting drunk and watching their wives totter around and fall down like stilt-walkers on their useless, tiny little toy feet.

Modern attempts at marginal beauty have proved no less desperate, only more expensive. The plastic surgery industry has made millions off the idea that moving fat around to different parts of the body will somehow confuse the viewer into finding someone beautiful, like a mesmerizing shell game.

But the true benefactor of our collective ugliness has been the cosmetics industry. The idea that blondes have more fun, or at the very least get laid more in the back of convertibles, has fueled the sale of millions of bottles of hair coloring in the West, enriching the cosmetics corporations and fooling countless men into thinking their dates were going to end better than they actually would. Thanks to the blush and lipstick used to simulate sexual arousal in females wearing them, the cosmetics industry has made a fortune landing women dates and confusing Western males into a state of perpetual blueballs from which they may never emerge.

But hey, have you seen the alternative? Yeech.

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It turned out in the end that the Bauhaus was a terrible place to raise children. First of all, it's more of a loose conglomeration of artistic ideals than it is a freestanding masonry structure or plywood shelter. That's the last time I trust a pink dolphin reading the New York Times. Huh, like the Times knows shit about shit. A mistake I chalk up to chalk and hallucinogenic sweater yarn.

Second of all, which of course is first of the subdivision following the above comment, uhm.... do you smell that? Nevermind. Second of all, them Bauhausers are just wierd goddammned people. I mean, you let loose a monkey in a dress wielding a monkeywrench in to the average person's bathtub and they don't fucking crawl under the sink and hide for three days, humming Wagner under their breath. Society just can't function on that level. You need straight-laced people who know the difference between tinfoil and galvanized tinfoil. Chumps.

So anyway, the third reason is that I never had any kids. I mean, shit, you'd think it wouldn't make much difference where you raise some imaginary kids you don't even have with some hot little dish you saw down at the DQ, but trust me my friends, it matters. See the tinfoil comment above for details. So yeah, if I ever had any kids with a little Latino in hotpants, there's no fucking way I'd raise them at the Bauhaus. That would be right after the frozen foods isle at the Safeway on my list. But that's another story. And you can quote me on that.

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