When I was five years old, I was given a Barbie doll. This plastic arsehole followed me around for a large portion of my childhood and soon inflicted my peacefully forming brain with the image of the perfect woman. Since, I have willingly read women’s magazines and articles entitled, ‘How to make your body look great while having sex,’ ‘How to shed half your weight’ and ‘How to make him love you.’ I have looked at the hundreds of adverts that are designed to exploit my established self-loathing offering me surgery. I have been shown pictures of MASSIVE TITS while in the Co-op looking for milk and persuaded by endless billboards, cereal packets and Patsy Kensit-alikes that I need to constantly modify the way I look.
This modification, this endless struggle, is perpetual and unrelenting. When we achieve the right size waist then our skin breaks into acne and starts to look grey from the lack of nutrients, when we start to age we are encouraged to get down to see a psychotic plastic surgeon who will say,’hmmmmm, yes I can see what you mean.’
I have a friend whose 80 year-old Nanna bulk buys wrinkle cream! 80 YEARS OLD!
There are several female figures that represent the brainfucked impression of the ‘perfect woman’ today. Judging on my sorry experience I would say that, despite her enormous talent, Dolly Parton is certainly one of those women who have taken the whole Barbie ting quite seriously. Parton should be about as appealing to all mankind as, well, um, a dolly.
Massive tits, blowjob lips, skinny as fuck, smut nails and the hair of twenty-six bald Russian children. Dolly is the big mama of all things OTT, she based her look on the founders of plasticated bowlegged dream girls and looks pretty much the closest you can get to becoming a sex doll without having parts of your brain removed. But if we assume that Dolly Parton is everything that women should aspire to, if she is what we get on the Special K for, what we cut our bodies and spend hours choking on peroxide for, then how can she be in such a vulnerable position?
How is it possible for Dolly to be begging any woman not to take her man?
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Surely there should be some kind of law that says, ‘if you look like we tell you to, then men will love you, bang you and treat you like the plastic fantastic goddesses that you are.’ It’s just that, personally, I am not really willing to starve myself for my entire life if some ginger bitch is going to rob me of my reason for life anyway.
How could a man want more than a walking, talking barbie, who cries every time you leave the house and dresses in fluffy nightgowns 96% of the time? Could Mr.Parton’s actions lead me to, for a second, entertain the idea that perhaps this isn’t what men want? Get out! I mean really, could it be that men crave some kind of difference in a woman, someone who is strong enough, potent and real enough, to fill his dreams after an entirely satisfying night of fucking with Mrs. Double D?