Playing with dolls

When I was growing up, one of my favorite pastimes was playing with stuffed animals. (editor's note: previous statement may contain lies. in fact, this entire post might be a series of lies for the express purpose of telling a really lame joke. therefore, it is probably in your best interest to stop reading now. How lame is this joke? This joke is envious of the abilities of Helen Keller.) I had lots of them. I had bears and cows and horses and pigs and dragons and maybe a moose or two and elephants and unicorns (speaking of corn...) and mice and what have you.
Now, people have long conjectured about the relationship between Bert and Ernie...are they brothers? friends? lovers? and the answer has always been...none of the above. they are Muppets...fictional characters with no sexual orientation. But of course, my animals all had genders. They were either male or female, and I could tell the difference. And the boys had boy names, the girls had girl names. Which brings me to my favorite animal, the llama.
Why, you ask, the llama? Okay, so you didn't ask, but if you don't, this already pointless rant must end...so ask, smurf you! Good, well done. Well, the llama rocked. I could get away with spitting on everyone...because, you know, llamas spit. So does Mark...(okay, so referencing former Olympic swimmer Mark Spitz might be a bit of a stretch...work with me here, people).
And it sort of became my spiritual advisor. It would instruct me in the proper ways to deal with the other animals. It was very helpful. And it was a female llama. So of course, I had to give her a proper name. Well, my sister helped me out. One day she saw me playing with my spiritual advisor and commented, "Hey! He is playing with his Dolly Llama again!"