Aw, man. You’d think after thirty-two years (of physical, if not strictly mental/spiritual presence) on this planet, I’d have learned that what looks swell on the page does not necessarily translate on the stage. The six inch chicken teriyaki sandwich that looks relatively appetizing in the Subway commercials tastes like a remoulade of fructose and plastic; the cute little gauzy, sleeveless top that appears a luxuriant shade of chocolate brown on the Urban Outfitters website is, in real time, the shape and color of a hippie Hardees uniform; and the Fairytopia Barbie that bears a slight, charming resemblance to Tori Amos on Target.com turns out to resemble nothing so much as a slutty virgin* teenager trying to sex it up by dyeing her hair road cone orange. Nerts.
Clearly the poor lass needs a makeover. I can’t stomach the thought of pawning her off on someone else simply because I think she looks like a hoe. What kind of precedent would that set, if I were to chuck her in a Toys For Tots bin? That’s about as charitable as bringing a can of Pathmark No-Frills creamed corn to a food drive. I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole, and I don’t care how goddamn hungry I am. Yes, I suppose I’d eat it if it were a matter of life and death, but really, the starving and indigent deserve better than that which we would not ingest except on the day after the Apocalypse. To wit:
If anybody can offer up some Barbie doll hair dyeing tips, please, please do so. Should I strip it first? Will nail polish remover get rid of the tacky eye makeup? What’s a good paint for vinyl? (And yes, I’m on the case too. Just, you know, if you know something, say something.)
And please don’t take canned cream corn to your next food drive, for the love of cats. I recommend low sodium minestrone soup. Progresso’s is my favorite.
*um, except for, like, blowjobs ‘n stuff? But that’s, um, not really sex, y’know, so can I still wear my purity ring?