“The types of mutilation are varied and creative, and range from removing the hair to decapitation, burning, breaking and even microwaving.”
The CBC reported this week that, “many young girls like to mutilate and ‘torture’ Barbie dolls, including popping off their heads and microwaving them,” in order to bid farewell to their childhood.
Read the article here.
For myself, my ovaries began to churn and around the same time I became the proud owner of a AAA cup and that was that. I can recall one particularly confusing day in the summertime when I caught my parents laughing at my little chest mounds. I now know they were being joyful about my passage into womanhood, but at the time I was shy and embarrassed.
I did play with barbies as a kid, but I don’t recall any guillotine action. Maybe I’m in denial. I remember I tried to make them do sex moves (as I imagined them) but I don’t equate that with torture as much as I do with healthy roleplay. (Although you could say, if applied on breathing adult bodies, those imagined sex moves would mos def constitute torture…)
As hard as this is to say, I did torture my poor hamsters, Hammy and Sammy; and I know firsthand that a scream from one of these little creatures is not a happy thing. One time I demanded that Hammy drive my barbie van and he was having none of it. I pushed and I trapped and I repositioned. I was so startled when he made such a piercing noise, I put him back in his cage right away. I was haunted for days.
Then one time I thought Hammy might like to try some turntable surfing at 45rpm. Unfortunately for Hammy, his long hamster fur got wrapped around the spindle and I didn’t realize until at least three revolutions later. There were no hamster howls this time, by now Hammy was so exhausted from the good fight that he just submitted. No fun.
Despite all this, Hammy and Sammy lived a long time, almost four years I believe. But once the infected eye cysts surfaced we knew their days were numbered. And their late adoption of cannibalism didn’t really impress my parents. I’m not exactly sure how the furry ones succumbed in the end (I suspect there may have been a .22 involved); all I know is this, one day I was presented with two shiny chrome canisters, allegedly containing their remains. My father and I buried the tins at the corner of Victoria and Queen in Kitchener.
Enough hamster dance, back to torturing barbies. I can dig that a young girl would set out to destroy the doll at some point in her transition from girl to adolescent. Come on, those sex moves I made my Barbie do were embarrassing! Imagine how I felt when I learned what sex really was. Of course I never wanted to play with Barbie again. Who would when you could have the real thing? LOL…