Dorothy Dolls

If one were to produce "Dorothy Dolls" I'm sure they would have the label "Made in China" tattooed on a pair of skinny blue jeans, slightly too short, mimicking reality (pants to leg ratio). The fine print would say "Do not mandhandle me." It is my catchphrase. But I am not a superhero, no way Jose. Just because an ancient plastic Roman Statue (Being International Dorothy Doll Barbie I named him Jose) comes free with me does not mean I am cheap, nor does it mean I'm trying to "reach out to my Greek friends across the ocean". We both know I have no friends so don't even joke. My publicist thought it would be good for my image. Not the no friends part, but the "reaching out to friends across the ocean". Tell anyone and I will stick a plastic pump in your eye.

The reason Jose comes free is because (whimpers) I get lonely in my box. Children run right past me in Toys-R-Us, straight for the Robert Pattinson dolls. I don't know about you, but who wants to buy a ManBarbie with retractable fangs who looks like he rolled in a tub of white-out? Anywho, the fact that Robbie gets sold out faster than burning hot JerseyShoreDolls does not frusterate me as much as this hairstlyle. I mean come on. Do I seriously look like this is real life? I think shaving the head and turning into BarbieBrittanysWackyShavedHeadFriend would be an improvement.

One day my prince will come, with his golden shiny locks, and then we will drive off into the sunset (aka flourescent light bulbs on Aisle 4). After basking in the glorious sunlight we shall eat a picnic of plastic grapes and styrofoam fizzy drink. Then, after a long afternoon of rollerblading on the checkout conveyor belt, PrinceBarbie and I will get married. (sighs) Such is the life of a Dorothy Doll.


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