i don’t know about you, but when i was a kid, my Barbies had everything: the latest and greatest in fluorescent-and-faux-jean 80’s fashion; a huge, beautiful piece of real estate, handcrafted by my father’s own crafty hands; all the plastic food they could ever need, and more plastic pets under one roof than would ever be legal in any state. As the 90’s progressed, they even had ball-and-socket hip joints, enabling almost a full range of motion! (All the better for hot doll-on-doll sloppy makeouts).
So why couldn’t they just live out their fake plastic lives in happiness, thriving in peace and abundance?
Maybe they just felt like there was inexplicably something dark and different inside them, and they didn’t really fit in…
(Or maybe their fake plastic sister was just being totally annoying.)