BTK Barbie

You know what I hate? Dollies. Almost everything having to do with mothering two little girls is fantastic. Except the dollies. Yesterday, my idiot cat peed on a couple of 'em. He pees on everything, except litter. I think he has some type of genitically-defective penis.

I proceeded to do what I always do when he soils our goods: I threw the dollies in the washing machine. When the spin cycle stopped, I reached in and started pulling out a vareity of piss-stained items. I gasped when I pulled this out:

Yeah, I know. You thought Linda Blair's spinning head gave you nightmares. Wait until you go to bed tonight. It won't be pretty; believe me. I woke up 3 times last night hyperventilating. This is no Malibu Barbie. It's more like B.T.K Barbie.

When snapping this shot of B.T.K Barbie, I also decided to let you have a glimpse into the floor of our garage. Not so you could see the mounds of dirty clothes and miscellaneous junk with no other place to go, but so that you could see this:

It's another dollie. One who appears to be the victim of BTK Barbie. Look at her creepy pink face. Why is she designed to look like a strangulation victim? She also has boobs and a navel and though you can't decipher her scale by this picture, let me tell you that she stands about as tall as my 7-year-old. Creepy? You bet. In fact, I suspect that if we're ever investigated on serial murder charges, we'll be gassed based on this grizzly image alone. This is what our garage floor will look like after the investigation:

My daughters refuse to leave dollie's clothes on her. And I'm pretty sure my dogs have had their way with her. I suppose it's time to throw her away, but I'm too scared to put her into my garbage can. You never know what type of perve will take her and torment her. Boy would I love it if our life was more simplified by tonka trucks, plastic guns and green army men!