A Blast from the Past: Barbie's Rhydin Roots
Oh, yes. THEY would pay.
So what if her stylist told her that anger causes those ugly little seams on a girl's legs to get bigger? There were some things worth coughing up the money for a little recontructive surgery over, and this was one of them.
The car veered wildly across the hardwood floors as she tried to steer it past the guards. She frowned and wished she could see over the dashboard. Not much you can do when your head is sitting next to you in the passenger seat of your Corvette, though. To say she was less than happy with the state of affairs was an understatement.
First, there was the issue of her head. Not only was it disengaged more than usual, but her normally perfect blonde hair was streaked with green and orange PlayDoh. The nasty stuff had already hardened, and it was leaving irritating green and orange clay crumbs all over the car's upholstery. The detailing alone was likely to cost her a week's royalties.
Then there was the matter of her legs. The legs that Ken went wild for? The ones that left G.I. Joe with his tongue on the floor and plastic in places where he normally didn't have parts? One was bent backwards at the knee. She could barely manage the brakes on the car and it was remote control! If she ever got her head back together, she was going to show them what she could do with those legs!
Something crashed across the hood, and her sparkly blue eyes looked up in time to see a gorillazoid transformer fly over the car. An evil grin spread across her perfectly pink, pouty lips. One down ... thirty or so to go. She twisted the wheel around, taking out a velociraptor with real dino sound and two G.I. Joes ... the new breed of midgets, not the real men she rememberred from years ago. Revenge was almost as sweet as the little lace coverlet on the bed of her Dream House.
Then there was Elmo. Like, d'oh! Where was he? He was supposed to protect her, wasn't he? Always smoking those smelly cigars and strutting around the place rhapsodizing about Her underwear. She gave a toss of her clay-caked hair at the thought of her erstwhile boyfriend, and her head rolled off the seat and wedged itself under the dash. When she saw that furry red loafer again, she was going to tell him a thing or two!
She should be almost to Flea's room by now. Not that she could see anything now but the dried up piece of FruitStripe gum plastered under the steering column, but she gave the wheel a hard turn to the right anyway. She counted. One ... two ... three ...
CRASH!
The car hit the door, Raven's "Keep Out" sign fluttering madly overhead at the impact. Her kid would take care of her. She would see this for what it was. She'd pulverize those two little monsters for wrecking a perfectly good hairdo ...
Oh, yes. THEY would pay.
So what if her stylist told her that anger causes those ugly little seams on a girl's legs to get bigger? There were some things worth coughing up the money for a little recontructive surgery over, and this was one of them.
The car veered wildly across the hardwood floors as she tried to steer it past the guards. She frowned and wished she could see over the dashboard. Not much you can do when your head is sitting next to you in the passenger seat of your Corvette, though. To say she was less than happy with the state of affairs was an understatement.
First, there was the issue of her head. Not only was it disengaged more than usual, but her normally perfect blonde hair was streaked with green and orange PlayDoh. The nasty stuff had already hardened, and it was leaving irritating green and orange clay crumbs all over the car's upholstery. The detailing alone was likely to cost her a week's royalties.
Then there was the matter of her legs. The legs that Ken went wild for? The ones that left G.I. Joe with his tongue on the floor and plastic in places where he normally didn't have parts? One was bent backwards at the knee. She could barely manage the brakes on the car and it was remote control! If she ever got her head back together, she was going to show them what she could do with those legs!
Something crashed across the hood, and her sparkly blue eyes looked up in time to see a gorillazoid transformer fly over the car. An evil grin spread across her perfectly pink, pouty lips. One down ... thirty or so to go. She twisted the wheel around, taking out a velociraptor with real dino sound and two G.I. Joes ... the new breed of midgets, not the real men she rememberred from years ago. Revenge was almost as sweet as the little lace coverlet on the bed of her Dream House.
Then there was Elmo. Like, d'oh! Where was he? He was supposed to protect her, wasn't he? Always smoking those smelly cigars and strutting around the place rhapsodizing about Her underwear. She gave a toss of her clay-caked hair at the thought of her erstwhile boyfriend, and her head rolled off the seat and wedged itself under the dash. When she saw that furry red loafer again, she was going to tell him a thing or two!
She should be almost to Flea's room by now. Not that she could see anything now but the dried up piece of FruitStripe gum plastered under the steering column, but she gave the wheel a hard turn to the right anyway. She counted. One ... two ... three ...
CRASH!
The car hit the door, Raven's "Keep Out" sign fluttering madly overhead at the impact. Her kid would take care of her. She would see this for what it was. She'd pulverize those two little monsters for wrecking a perfectly good hairdo ...