I'm working on a story and need some good ideas. Can anyone remember the destruction you or your brother inflicted on your poor Barbie ( or Jem or Fisher Price People or Cabbage Patch any Doll for that matter.)
My daughter had a cabbage patch doll named Clarke. I had jokingly told her, the next time I got a call from her teacher to say that she hadn't handed all her homework in, he was going out the window. Suffice to say, one morning I got the call, and so I went to work. I fashioned a harness and parachute, (the latter would be deployed a little later than the initial drop by way of a monofibre trigger) and strapped Clarke in. My daughter's route home from school gave her a decent view of our 12th floor apartment balcony, and when she got to within shouting distance, I held him over the edge. Now my daughter knows me only too well, and panicked. I shouted down to her, did she remember my threat, and told her the teacher had phoned to say that the math section of her homework was incomplete. I remember her frozen, gaping mouth as I let go of Clarke. I quickly snagged the monofibre, releasing the parachute. It was actually pretty cool—well, except for the fact he got stuck in a tree. Luckily, my daughter did see the funny side of it. Unfortunately, Clarke met a very grizzly end. My now adult daughter returned from work one evening to find that her terrier had managed to open the door to her bedroom, and decided poor Clarke's face wasn't dissimilar to his own chew toys. He has since been properly, respectfully laid to rest. The doll... not the dog.
I once stole my cousin's barbie and used ink (my aunt was a scrapbooker and had the inkpad things for rubber stamps) to dye her hair.
This is half experience, because I'm male and actually horribly mutated a Dr X (Action Man's enemy)! Anyway, I used to use red felt tip pens and draw on his face and body so he looked all bloody. That would definitely scar some poor girl if they saw their Barbie like that.
1. My brother used to turn his lamp upside down and place my He-Man figures on the bulb. When they began to melt he would run into my room and tell me that He-Man fell into lava and I needed to save him. Of course, by then, it was too late. 2. My other brother was adept at separating my GI Joe figures (the small ones, not the 12") at the waist without breaking the rubber band. He would then attach Lady J legs to a Destro or Stormshadow torso. I could not get them apart without breaking the rubber bands. Ahhh, it's good to be the youngest
I didn't have a sister until I was 18 and she was 13 - my stepsister - so she was well beyond Barbies when I arrived on the scene. But I do remember one evening when she came home after having seen a couple of movies that scared her out of her wits (one was "Night of the Living Dead"; I forget the other one). Later that evening, I slipped quietly upstairs and hid in her closet. I waited until she came in and then...emerged. I never heard anyone scream that loud.
What I remember when were were pre-10 or something... -cut their hair -cut their "toenails" i.e. their toes right off -draw horrible tattoos on them -add "make-up" on them with a permanent marker (goth barbie ftw!) -decapitate them (cos you can't put the head back on right anymore. They'll look short-necked. It's the ultimate destruction of a barbie/ken doll!) -disturb our friends with lurid displays of barbies and kens having sex with each other (does that count?)
I never played with Barbies, though I had one. On the other hand, my electronic barking dog stopped working one day, so since I had no idea of the existence of batteries, I decided the dog was probably really tired because it must be hungry. So I proceeded to feed it Chinese shredded dried pork, stuffing it down its opened mouth. Months later, the batteries leaked horribly and my mum threw it away. I was rather sad. Lol.
Ahh... dolls... that reminds me of the barbies my sis use to have when she was young. But it was usually she that did whatever that she did to it. The most common form of destruction includes picking the doll apart, limb by limb, including the head. Sometimes, the doll would be torn to half. But the best thing about those dolls was that they came with reattachable joints. So essentially, you could tear them apart and join them together. Only probem used to be sometimes, the joints would have been torn larger or completely, so that the limbs no longer fit. Thats all I can remember from those days.
Pretty similar to what KaTrian said. I waited for months to get my first Barbie, and within a week, she looked like a zombie with a terrible haircut
I think a good thing to do would be to sit Barbie down and inform her that her fiance, Kenneth, has no tallywhacker.
The obvious ploy of pointing out to Barbie her own anatomical inadequacy had occurred, obsidian, but it struck me as a step too close to dark cruelty in a thread otherwise punctuated by playful decapitations and whimsical executions.
I'm an only child, but I was a bit like Sid from the first Toy Story movie. Whenever my toys broke, I would usually strip them for parts and Frankenstein something new from the bits and pieces. Sometimes, broken toys I found on the ground (in the park, by the road or outside McDonald's) would be added to my collection, giving me something new to make. This is how I ended up with a rocket-launching cyborg My Little Pony and a pterodactyl with Skipper's head. (not Barbie, one of my cousins informed me.) Stuffed animals were different. They were special, and my mom performed careful surgery on them.
When my brother was in highschool he took some of my older sisters (no longer) used toys to school for science. Apparently their teacher was a bit insane and put them in acid, lit them on fire, and tied magnesium to one and dropped it in water...
I hated the boobs on Barbie but instead I had Tutti dolls--the smaller version of Barbie, little girls with bendable rubber limbs. I loved my collection dearly and cared for them like a mother. My little sister equally loved the feeling of her teeth sinking into rubber. She bit the fingers off ALL of them.
When I was potty trained my mother used a sticker system. When I had enough accident free days I was taken to the store to pick any toy I wanted. I found this plastic baby doll. Naked except for the pink blanket tied with a ribbon around her waist. I loved that doll. In fact, in spite of naming every baby doll I ever received as a child, I could never remember what I named them...except Rebecca. Rebecca was my special doll. When I played house, she was my baby. She had a bottle and she peed if you put water in the bottle. I dressed her up in doll clothes all the time. She looked very abused after a while due to the black and purple marker inflicted upon her, but I loved her none the less. Fast forward, I was a teenager. I think 16ish. I ran into an old dress of mine when I was an infant and thought, this doll would fit this dress. I should put it on her and put the doll on display. Only, I couldn't find her. I searched for days. I looked in the storage locker. I looked in the attic. It was not to be found. A few months later, I mentioned it at the dinner table. And I heard my brother say "Oh, that doll? We wanted to see what happened if we set fire to plastic and we melted her."
