I'm of the belief that the best thing you can do for someone who is struggling with their mental health and horrible life circumstance is to manipulate their illness so they have a psychotic breakdown and then pat yourself on the back for a job well done like Spongebob and Patrick when they burn down Bikini Bottom and think they saved the city.
Wait, apparently this is a shithead move and leads to *checks hand* suicide. Interesting. Oh well. Not my problem. I tried to help.
Speaking of changing the subject: this entry is about the Barbie I had when I was four.
Bedtime Barbie! (from 1993) (she is my homegirl) (i love her omg)
Look at this comfy bitch. Are you shitting me? She looks like she just chugged cough syrup and is time traveling. I'm living for it. I'm about to fucking freak out. This bitch is nuts. I love her.
She's got a soft body so you can snuggle the shit out of this vapid whore and she loves it. That's right. Get squeezed you fuckin' cunt. I'll kill your parents.
Let's face facts, folks:
This is Barbie's world. We're just living in it.
I would do crime for this bitch.
It was actually a hand-me-down from my cousin, since she was all like "I'm an older woman. I have no need for Barbies and such." Fuckin' idiot. Absolute maroon. You're never too old for Barbie you bitch. How dare you abandon this princess of extreme rest and comfort? Who do you think you are? You think you're better than Barbie? Your husband is overweight.
Anyway. Barbie is the shit. Fuck you.
I used to brush her hair and shit. She was like my older daughter, and by that I mean older than me.
...man, doll shit is weird.
UPDATE: I just found out if you put cold water on the eyes, they shut.
I'm almost 30 and I just learned this.
ABOUT A DOLL I GOT WHEN I WAS FOUR.