Mannequin Soap
Mannequin Soap. Touch that body. Work that body. Lather up that body. I like to use it until the booby mounds wear down, thereby changing the gender of the mannequin. I’ll have 200 please! Gonna put them all over my bathroom so people think I’m a serial killer.

“Where are the bodies you sick son of a-”

*Shrugs* All over my bathroom. You’ve seen ’em.”

“You wise-ass! Where did you dump them? I’m gonna see that you rot. Gonna make sure you get the death sentence.”

“Whoa! Hang on a second! For washing my hands with tiny mannequins? Good thing you guy’s didn’t see my wall of newspaper clippings and string flowcharts illustrating the takeover of our government by reptoid aliens who killed JFK and make crop circles for fun. Uh-oh… My right to be silent isn’t working. Obviously. Look, I’m just weird. I like weird soaps. Not the daytime variety though. Speaking of, shouldn’t a soap opera be lots of bubbles and a fat lady singing? See why the world is confusing for me? Are we done? It’s almost my nappy time.”