Dec 07 2010
If you would like to climb inside my mind and get a better feel of my mental state when I think about The American Girl Store, I suggest you turn your speakers up as loudly as they will go, tape them to your head with duct tape, smash a habanero chili into your eyes, knock your teeth out with a hammer and play the video below.
I fucking despise The American Girl Store and the army of rich, white 8-year-old zombies they are grooming to take over the planet. If my daughter asked for an American Girl doll I would kindly ask her to pack whatever she could fit into a paper sack and then she and I would take a leisurely drive to the orphanage. The uncomfortable silence of the car ride would only be broken when I softly say, “You are no longer my child” from a rolled down car window as the nuns take her and her paper sack into her new home.
“What’s the big deal, it’s just dolls” you say. After I’m done throwing my beer in your face I will tell you what the big deal is. Here’s the way it works… first you have to be a rich white girl. Second, you have to have a bat-shit crazy mother who is trying to compensate for her own fucked up childhood and thinks it perfectly normal to spend several hundred dollars taking you and your fucking piece-of-shit doll for a day of pampering most adults can only dream of. These soulless zombie dolls spend the day getting their hair styled, attending tea parties, buying expensive clothing, snorting top notch Colombian cocaine off a Huey Lewis and the News CD while getting jerked off in a 1993 Honda Civic in the Burger King parking lot near the airport. Wait, somehow that turned into my day.
The point is this, FUCK YOU and your fucking doll that’s dressed like you and is an asshole like you even though you are only 9 and fuck your overnight stays at the Ritz for the low low starting price of only $430 “for a moderate room.”
Take the pain away, Abominable Iron Sloth!
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