welcome to my nightmare
Some day, I will write a novel about the most frightening species in the rogue’s gallery of monsters, mutants and deviants:
I have always DESPISED dolls, from my earliest memories. They are like, totally creepazoid. They look at you with those dead soulless eyes, like they’re planning something. Waiting for you to fall asleep.
Oh, make no mistake. They’ve got you dead in their sights.
There’s even one on Twitter. And she doesn’t even TRY to hide what she is:
I could never understand those other kids who carried their little babykins around, lovin’ on them, cooin’ at them. They were friggin’ pieces of plastic that smelled funny when you left them out in the sun.
Tell me that doesn’t look like a dead thing.
I guess the thing that makes them so disgusting is that they’re NEAR alive. If they were outright fantasies like a Muppet, or, of course, actual babies, they’d be adorable. But this pseudo-quasi-almost-living being strikes me as kind of blasphemous.
So watch out for this little gal on Twitter:
That’s right. They’re part little girl, part plastic, and ALL PSYCHOPATH.