Vitruoso

        I had a life size Barbie once.  She was just like a Barbie that you buy in the air tight, sealed, plastic and cardboard boxes, but just a little shorter that I was.  She was a platinum blonde bombshell, with bright pink lips, and straight white teeth.  She has blue eyes, and a light blue eye shadow that was evenly and nonchalantly places under her perfectly curved black eye lashes, which nearly touched her well groomed eyebrows.  Her hands were small and thin, the nails painted pink to match her lips.  The bottoms of her feet were flat and curve less, and her toes were proportional and soft.  That soft plastic makes anyone go wild.  I peeked under her clothes, but was too ashamed to rip them off of her perfect plastic life size body.  I'd sit and stare at her in wonder, she would always stare right back into my eyes... I thought it was love.  I couldn't take staring at her anymore thought, it was time for my primordial instincts to take charge and rip her clothes off, like the beast in my wanted to do for so very, very long.  When I did I saw that she had a silly painted on light pink corset, with white fringe lace, bordering the pink.  It was like a strapless bathing suit, and it was skin tight.  In a mad attempt, I tried to scratch it off.  I picked at it, until all of my nails slowly began to dissapear from my finger tips.
          Little Miss Barbie just didn't want to show her perfect plastic life size self to me.  I would dress up for her, and pretned like I was giving her a show, so she'd then join in the fun.  She just sat there, unblinking.  Her blue eyes just staring at me, at my assests, at my defective humankind like irregular self
          That bitch.
          That bitch thinks she can just stare at me sitting in the same position: unblinking, unthinking and unable to breathe.  Oh no Barbie- you benevolent bitch.  Think again, and again, and again.
          "Think again..." I say to her.  I screamed it in her face.  I screamed it so hard that spit ejected from my mouth and coated her permi-grin.  With that grin and those teeth, I swore that Saint Lucifer was seeping out and slyly gamboling his way into the depths of my being.
          "Think again..."  I informed it, as I walked away quickly, down the corridor.  I glanced back; just to see that perfect plastic life size body sitting there, all in different shades of pinks and baby blues.  Its smile, still fixed on its face, as if it had died.
          I arrive back to my beauty with tools.  Make up tools; to both apply the colour and give it it's never changing affect.
          Colour makes the world go around, you know.
          First, I take the lovely exactor knife, raise its blade, and carefiully engrave a heart betweent its two life size tits (I also emboss profanities on her thighs, back, arms, and calves).  As I drop the knife to the floor, I pick up a nice hand saw; which is perfect for sawing off medium sized limbs of trees, planks of cedar wood and so on and so forth.  I grated the rusted blade with my finger tips and then hold the perfect plastic life size arm between my hand and the floor.  I tell it to bite the towel if it feels any pain.  I begin to saw through the first layer of plastic, but then there is nothing, just air.  It's hollow.  I saw through the second layer of plastic, and it's amputated hand is clenching onto mine.  I do this to the other hand.  Then I point and laugh at it and call it an amputee.
          That lying bitch.
          I then do the same to both its feet, sawing them off with my rusted tool.  Taking duct tape, I then tape the hands to the legs (left on the right, right on the left) and tape its feet to the arms (left on the right, right on the left- but it's not as if it matters, seeing as the feet were flat and had no curves).  I look at it.  It looks at me.  I take my sheering scissors; used to cut stems, leaves and other outdoor organic material.  I cut the blonde locks off and tickle the putrid face with the strands of fake blonde.  It sits there and smiles, the whole time.
          I look at it.  It looks at me.  I get my rusted tool, again, and begin to saw through its face, right in the middle of the bridge of its nose.  I take the top of the life size head off, and hold it in the palm of my imperfect hand and notice... There is no brain.
          That stupid bitch.
          I duct tape the head wrong, at a 97 degree angle.  The stubble comming out of its scalp is almost cute.  Seeing as the rest of this monstrosity is mutilated.  I hold it close to me now, holding onto the foot-hand, embracing the hand-shin.  I am the only one to ever do so.
          I know that we must depart; I take a rope, fasten a noose which I learned to do in camp (where I said my scout's honor to never harm a human being), and tie this around the perfect plastic life size neck, which I left untouched.  I hang it from a plank of woof from the ceiling and solute it, for being such a sport.
          Yet, I grasp her in my memories; I shed tears galore for the fallen angel, I glorify it in the largest sense imanginable.  I clutch onto what I have of it, the locks of fake blonde hair.
          And I embrace the perfect plastic life size Barbie.