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#11 — West of Lake Victoria

This English guy was getting on every American nerve in the room. 

“All you ‘ave to do then is blow the bloody doors off and there ya go, Bob’s yer uncle, sweet as mate, sweet as!” BC knew no job was ever that simple. Their backup plans needed backup plans. They needed a plan B to their plan C, D, E and F. Every plan should be ready to blow, just like those ‘bloody doors’…

“Where’s the getaway car gonna be? Have you scoped out the location?”

“Chance would be a fine thing, the English nut uttered meaninglessly, “a fine thing indeed.” English Malcolm didn’t work alone, of course. There was Bartholomew, the over-thinker. There was CircuitBoared, the username of the hacker whose logo was a wild pig tearing up a desktop computer tower. And last but by no means least, there was Tommy Long-Shot, the sniper.  

There was no doubt that Tommy would’ve scoped the exit route meticulously, that dude was a professional. Not like Malcolm who left loose ends untied. Malcolm was becoming a liability. Malcolm heard a knock at the door, and all the armed occupants of the hotel room silently drew their firearms. The door opened with a creak, but there wasn’t the sound of human voices. After the creak there was a crack, like the canopy of treetops, giving way and dropping a helpless primate to the cold hard earth. It was a crack that shook the room, and that’s because it was not a crack but a gunshot. It sailed through the room, it made itself at home. Why, it may has well have sat down on the couch, put its feet up on the coffee table, and put the game on.

The bullet struck flesh, but thankfully it wasn’t BC’s flesh this time. It was Malcolm.

Malcolm was irrefutably, irretrievably, irrevocably… dead…

“We gotta go,” said Tommy, not shedding a tear or even sparing a moment for his friend and fellow Englishman. The building was wired to blow. FUCK! If BC could just remember what Malcolm had been blathering on about concerning the detonator. There was no time left, no time now, no time ever again. The butt of Tommy’s sniper rifle was already smashing out the windows out of the back office.

“Don’t get yer knickers in a twist darlin’,” Tommy began, a fresh cigarette somehow already lit between his lips, “but we’ve got have a bit of an obstacle course ahead.” BC was already planning the route down the side of the building. Two floors down there was a fire escape, but that was blocked by an old couch that stank. It seemed like the rats were having a party, and they’d need to crawl past the cameras to avoid detection.

“Remind me to buy you a pint if we get through this,” BC said to Tommy, and there was a moment of recognition before the gunfire started. The guards had broken through the barricaded doors to the back office, and were wasting no time on trying to waste them both. BC climbed and jumped her way to the fire escape, and over the couch, and somehow avoiding the rat party. Tommy was definitely hanging back, but he couldn’t die. Not Tommy Long-Shot. He had so much life left to live. BC couldn’t take it if this bad job gone wrong claimed another Englishman. “Not in my name!” she thought to herself. But she needn’t have worried. Tommy got through the obstacle course not long after BC did, but there was no time for pleasantries. They had to get their stories straight, their fake documents prepared, and go their separate ways.

Lake Victoria was calm. 

After everything BC had been through, the lake didn’t show any signs of ripples, shockwaves, giant tidal waves coming to swallow BC right up

By nightfall BC was west of Lake Victoria. She had made it to the city of Masaka, the headquarters of Southern Uganda’s unsurprisingly named Masaka District. 

BC wanted to get the shit that had just gone down out of her head. 

BC wanted to get loaded and ideally toasted… nicely toasted… but then she suddenly heard those now famous and unmistakable lyrics in a mixture of English and Lugandan:

She's on fire

No man can satisfy her

Every day’s a party-day

That gyal, she says

Niagala Kunywa...

BC’s Lugandan skills were weak, and yet the lyrics went on:

To...? Alright Then

Waliyo Abakanudde Amaaso

Balinze Kazinywe

Bayimbe Kalyonso (Eeheheee)

Nabatagedde (My Lord) Nabatagedde

Yankoba Ayagala Kutamira

Ayagala Kuvakooo

Omunanansi Tegumukolera

I wonder

Ono Mwana Muwala

BC kept drinking. Perhaps she was drinking to forget the shit that went down, but she didn’t want to forget too much in a foreign country. She needed to keep her wits about her. It was still perplexing that this had all started as a simple fact finding mission, and now all of Hell had broken loose. 

The night was a blur, and BC blacked out. All she could remember was that the chorus that just kept repeating Mwenge Bigere (Tonto!) Mwenge Bigere (Tonto!)

What she gathered from speaking to the locals was that Tonto was a drink, but it was also looked down upon for hygiene reasons. There are those who love it, but younger generations are more likely to be worried about bacterial infection. The trouble is always knowing whether you can trust the producer of a product that was made behind closed doors.

Trust was going to be an important word if Barubido was going to rebuild itself in Barbie’s image. You have to have trust in your Barbie Dream House, and you must trust your fellow Barbies with your life. It’s ride or die, and sometimes both on the same day. 

BC was a bad bitch straight outta Fordham, and she knew the Mwenge Bigere Revolution was coming. 

BC had the connections to get started. 

Margot Tonto would be the first on the market, but it wouldn’t be the last. Not by a Tommy Long-Shot.

[barubidobarbiewar]

Source: Barubido Barbie War

[barubidobarbiewar]

BC was a bad bitch who came straight outta Fordham.

Now she was rocking Balenciaga, which she could never afford when she first stepped off the bus in Barubido. Rival Barbie Dream House bitches were losing the plot. That’s how she got to the top, because all her opps were buried.

Why would she beef with a flop?

BC had a pretty-ass face, and she had some pretty-ass boobs too.

She was a Ken’s poopie like she needed a diaper…

Source: Barubido Barbie War

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#10 - BC: Barbie-in-Chief

FACT: The term ‘Barbie-in-Chief’ never existed before Barbie (2023).

This unfinished beat covers the night

Embracing us before we’re crushed

Even if your hand is unreliable

That is your own hand

There will be change if you just reach out

This title was bestowed upon the highest ranking Barbie in a Barbie Dream House, and was inevitably the result of a decade or more of hard, honest work. BC was the first Barbie-in-Chief of the Margot Barbie Dream House, and as such she played an iconic role in its history.

BC was a bad bitch who came straight out of Fordham.

Now she was rocking Balenciaga, which she could never afford when she first stepped off the bus in Barubido. Rival Barbie Dream House bitches were losing the plot. That’s how she got to the top, because all her opps were buried.

Why would she beef with a flop?

BC had a pretty-ass face, and she had some pretty-ass boobs too.

She was a Ken’s poopie like she needed a diaper…

“Please, Barbie, let’s talk drills,” the Ken beckoned BC towards open open door of his hardware shop. “our drills are the best in the world. Please come in. You'll find that we have the finest selection of drills in the whole city of Barubido. Come in, Barbie. Come in and take a closer look. The one you were looking at is the best drill in the shop…”

BC shot the man a look of pure disdain, an eye roll so powerful it had already destroyed many Ken’s souls. The Ken tried to sell her a $250 drill, but she knew it was overpriced. Any price was too much, because she usually got everything for free.

“Like, let’s be real,” BC wasn’t swayed by his sales pitch, “who’s bigger, prettier or littier than me?”

“No one, Barbie, I’m sorry Barbie, please forgive me…”

“I won’t forget you tried to upsell me, Ken. Do you know who I am?”

“You’re BC, Barbie.”

“And what am I, Ken?”

“Barbie-in-Chief of the Margot Barbie Dream House, Barbie.”

“That's why I can take your drill, boo.”

“Damn, Barbie. I can’t do that, please!”

The Ken was sweating, he knew his manager would be so mad that he gave away a $250 drill. But he knew that Barbies shot Kens for much less.

“That’s a big knock, Ken. You better watch your mouth, I’m a bitch who likes getting scrappy.”

IS pulled up outside in the V, and BC threw the freely acquired drill in the trunk. “Gimme a light,” she commanded her subordinate, who dutifully passed her a pink Zippo. On the way home she was not boxing the V, and why wouldn’t she?

She had a fat ass, so her pants fit tight.

She had taken from a Ken, because getting whatever she needed from him was her right.

He didn’t want a big knock, so like… why would he fight?

IS had laid low and done a grand theft auto to obtain the V less than 15 minutes before picking BC up. She was also speeding, and when she looked in the rear view mirror, she saw red and blue flashing lights.

“We’ve got company,” she said to BC, who was now as baked as a blackened sheet of chocolate chip cookies.

“Don’t worry your silly little head IS, who’s bigger than me? Piggies can’t touch me.”

Without warning the V crashed headlong into a fire hydrant. The fender was as crumpled as their chances of escape. It was time to get out.

“We’ve got to go BC,” IS said, pulling her gold Desert Eagle from her pastel blue dress striped with pink and green. Without wasting a second, she leapt out of the V and started blasting. The pigs who had skidded to a stop were wasted before they had even undid their seatbelts, the windscreen shattered by a hail of .50 Action Express bullets.

They had been hit by a smooth criminal, firing the largest centerfire cartridge of any magazine-fed, self-loading pistol.

IS opened the passenger side door, and BC immediately fell out of the car ass-first onto the sidewalk. “Woah,” she muttered, before reaching out her hand towards IS who now stood over her, reloading her gold Desert Eagle and asking “Are you hit?”

“I’m fine, but we gotta go, there’ll be more of them any second.”

“Damn piggies,” BC cursed as IS pulled her to her feet, “they’re breeding like bunnies.” They began running at full tilt down a nearby alleyway, with IS pulling BC by the wrist every time they made a turn. They emerged onto a busy road, the sirens wailing like the screams of little piglets stolen from their mamas too soon. They dodged 4 lanes of crosstown traffic and darted into another alleyway. BC suddenly tripped and hit the deck.

“Get up BC, we gotta go,” IS pleased, her eyes scanning the alley for an exit.

“I’m so tired, I take a nap right here,” came the response from BC, but IS was having none of it. She dragged her fearless leader back onto her clumsy feet, and they sprinted around the corner.

There were two trash cans, a dumpster, a startled stray cat, and an unyielding brick wall.

It was a dead end, and the sirens had never been louder. There was only one way into the alley, and it was now apparently the only way out. IS holstered her gold Desert Eagle and threw up her hands. The pigs stormed into the alley, guns drawn, happy to have caught the criminals.

Allow me to take the fall for this, Barbie,” IS quietly whispered to BC. This is was the way things went in Barubido, the leaders were spared the consequences by underlings who gladly took the rap.

The Barbie-in-Chief was untouchable.

“What’s your first name?”

“That depends,” IS smiled. “My family name is Ide.”

“Is that your first name or your second name?”

“Here in the United States, you would call that my second name. Where I come from, we would say it first.”

“Look lady. I don’t have time for a cultural exchange, okay? I got a lot of other collars to book. Can we move this along? What’s your first name as we would call it here in the US of A? Your given name?”

“My given name IS…” she paused for effect for a big reveal…

“Sachiko.”

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#9 - Maid In Barubido: Another Day, Another Chance To Go "Moe Moe Kyun"

I’ll never forget the Japanese stranger came to the Margot Barbie Dream House.

She wasn’t a Barbie, in fact she was the furthest thing from a Barbie I could imagine. “I come to the pigsty for my moe moe kyun, that’s my way of life,” she explained as she sipped her first Margot Barbie tonto.

“The pigsty?" I chuckled mirthlessly, but she did not chuckle mirthlessly with me. "That’s what you call your Barbie Dream House?” She stared me down, and an eternity of seconds seemed to pass in the awkward silence I had created.

“The one who makes fun of me sees blood,” came her honest reply. I wondered who this bitch was, and what right she had to come waltzing into our Dream House with this kind of attitude, but I didn’t want to see blood… not my own blood, anyway...

“So, do you have a Ken that you like? I could introduce you to one…”

“The hesitation that crosses my chest, is it the lingering scent of a person’s heart?” Her question hung in the air like dust particles dancing in dappled sunlight. Was it rhetorical? What was I supposed to say? Maybe it was a Japanese thing…

“Hey, you made it!” CT emerged from the dance floor, clearly greeting the stranger as a friend she knew from many years ago. The stranger stood up, and I wouldn’t say that she hugged CT, but her stiff and awkward body was certainly hugged by CT without much resistance. 

“This is Ranko, we had a rager for her 37th birthday last night,” CT said, after turning to face me, as I was still sitting at the bar. “She has plenty of experience with a similar business idea they have over in Japan. There’s a lot we can learn from her!”

“Whether you live or die, follow your own path,” she droned in the same monotonous voice she had been using in our earlier conversation.

“Good advice!” I said with an encouraging tone. After all, I didn’t want to see blood. She sat back down next to me at the bar, and CT ordered her another Margot tonto.

“Have the guts to pull that trigger,” she continued, as if her previously vague advice hadn’t really been about following your own path in life. No, the path she meant was the life of the Barbie, thinking about dying every single day, where Barbies get shot on the street, any street, especially near the corner of Pink Boulevard and Alan Street…

“Who are you?” She finally asked me, and I realised CT had never introduced me. CT looked embarrassed, and interjected before I could even open my mouth.

“Oh my Barbie, I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you who she was! She’s MC, she’s one of the Margot Barbies here. She’s got trouble in her love life…” Did CT just wink at me? That was uncalled for. Ranko still didn’t laugh. I was beginning to wonder if she had any sense of humour whatsoever. She looked at me seriously, with her look of seriousness, her only look, and asked me to open up.

“Let me know with pain,” she requested, and “if you don't know the meaning of love, there's nothing to be afraid of.”

“Oh, that’s okay, thank you though,” I think she knew I was uncomfortable talking about relationships. “Tell me more about the place you work at, you said it was something to do with pigs?”

“I come across some kind of cause and effect together with the pigs of like-minded people,” came the reply. Maybe it was lost in translation. If only Sachiko was still here, she could tell me what pigs meant in Japan. Was it all a metaphor? Oh Sachiko, she was always so happy, wasn’t she? Irrepressible Thoughts of Death bombard me at inconvenient times, like meeting a stranger in a bar that is both my home and my workplace. Before I could grapple my emotions back within my control, a single tear fell down my cheek.

It felt achey, but… good…

“The sparkle running down your cheek, is it the warmth from a person's heart?” I never thought about tears as being sparkles before. We in the English-speaking world like to talk about what gets lost translation, but never what gets gained… “I’ll do it again if I get hit,” Ranko added, as if she too was capable of crying. But she was so uptight, it was hard to imagine her having a full range of human emotions, as if she gave up on being human a long time ago. She continued like a philosophical steam train that was picking up speed. “What lies ahead… I was searching without knowing who I am, in the beginning of not knowing anything. It's not bad to the corpse... There is someone who sings me a lullaby. Whether you live or die, follow your own path.  Have the guts to pull that trigger. Who are you? Let me know with pain…”

“Come on Margots, it’s time for the dance!”

This voice had no Japanese accent, but it wasn’t CT’s either. It was SF, and she had come from the dance floor just to wave her arms in an attempt to get us to do the ‘dance.’ She always acted like it was a party every day, and I couldn’t fault her for that. She was like a cheerleader giving us a pep rally every night. Every Margot knew the planned choreography for our bespoke song, and Alan and the Kens always got involved too. Ranko had a plane to catch, so she bowed respectfully to each of us in turn, and made her way out of the Margot Barbie Dream House.

I had a question for CT as she left, and it had been troubling me since I first laid eyes on Ranko.

“Is it me, or does that maid look almost exactly like me?”

“That’s crazy, she looks nothing like you,” CT laughed in my face, as if the uncanny resemblance had been a mirage.

“Anyway, you’re blonde.”

[barubidobarbiewar]

#8 - Psst, I See Dead People

Acid at a funeral was a bad choice. I couldn’t stop laughing at how stupid the situation was. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes to block out the visions I was seeing, and tried desperately to remember who was actually dead, and which corpses were only a hallucination.

That growing list was thankfully shorter than the Barbies I already put in the ground since I joined the Margot Barbie Dream House.

FACT: Sachiko was dead.

It was traumatic for me, not least because I was there that night.

I pray to Barbie every day that she didn’t die in vain, but I know she did. I know she died because Barbies don’t give a fuck who gets shot on the streets of Barubido.

“Say SF, I can hear I Like ‘Em Young by Tove Lo,” I whispered.

“Nope,” she said.

“But I can hear Tove Lo. You can’t hear Tove Lo?”

“Don’t worry, there’s no Tove Lo playing.”

“But I’m definitely getting Tove Lo. Oh my Barbie SF, I’m hearing things! I don’t think I’m having a very good time. I can’t be sure, but I really don’t think I am.”

“It does sound kind of a lot like Tove Lo,” CT finally chimed in.

“Have another tab of acid,” SF told me. That’ll sort you out… maybe?”

“No, don’t do that,” CT wisely advised me.

“Listen girl, just a little tip, alright?” SF said as she sat in front of me, making direct eye contact. “You’re on the edge now, right? And you need to pick the right way, because one way’s Barbie Heaven, and the other… well… it’s probably best not to think about that right now… but it’s fucking horrible!”

“We got a problem!” came a Russian accent from the distance. A Barbie dressed in the roller skating outfit from the Barbie movie came running up to where we were sitting. It was obviously ZY, and she was right. We did have a problem. And it wasn’t just me being on acid this time, it was a problem that the whole Margot Barbie Dream House would soon be feeling. 

“It’s the Tovies!” ZY shouted the words I had been dreading since I heard those strange lyrics when she finally reached us. 

If Sachiko was still alive, she would tell us an interesting story about the origin of the Tove Lo Barbie Dream House, but she was dead. 

She was definitely one of the dead ones.

FACT: That Bitch was dead.

It was traumatic for me, not least because I was there that night.

I know that she died in vain though, because I was the Margot Barbie that pulled the damn trigger. ZY mustered as many armed Margots as she could, and bravely led them back to the frontlines. After those Margots opened fire on the rapidly approaching Tovies, I couldn’t believe my ears.

“CT, I can hear another song,” I said meekly, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. “It sounds like…”

“I hear it,” CT stood up, almost resembling a meerkat as she tried to hear the song. “It’s…”

“Numero Uno by Starlight,” I cried.

This alarming discovery could only mean only one thing. It was another surprise attack, this time from the Numero Uno Barbie Dream House. We hated them ever since that night in their casino, but we didn’t think they’d stoop this low. This was a funeral! It made even less sense that they would team up with the Tovies, but here we were. I couldn’t stop crying. What were gonna do?

FACT: The Chief was dead.

It was traumatic for me, not least because I was there that night.

In many ways, this was the hardest pill to swallow. Acid is a ‘tab’ not a pill, a small piece of paper soaked in the liquid hallucinogen, but swallowing that was a lot easier than dealing with the reality that our beloved Barbie-in-Chief had died in battle.

“Pssst,” I whispered, trying to get CT’s attention. “I see dead people!”

“Well I get The Chief, it’s her funeral,” she quipped, sneaking over to where I was hiding behind the bushes. “But who else is dead?”

“Everyone!” I whispered. “SF told me I should drop acid at the funeral, make it more intense.” 

“That girl… every day’s a Party Day to her! Was she right?”

“Of course not you idiot, obviously she was completely fucking wrong,” I screamed at her at as low a volume as I could. “It’s been fucking mental. I was crying and laughing. I didn't know who was dead and who was alive. It feels like there’s slime in my head…”

“Wow, this is the worst funeral to drop acid at,” CT laughed. “We got attacked by two other Barbie Dream Houses…”

“CT! I don’t even have a gun, and I don’t trust myself to shoot in this state anyway.”

“Look,” she said, pulling a large hunting knife from somewhere on her paint-stained pink dress. “Take my knife, just don’t stab any Margots, you got that?” I nodded furiously as I took the knife with both hands like a greedy toddler.

“We gotta pop out, but we'll be back,” ZY told me, and CT nodded with grim acceptance before turning back to me. “Be careful,” she told me, “I love you.”

“Fuck ‘em up, okay? Fuck 'em up!" I said threw tears that were streaming down my face. I desperately didn’t want them to leave, but I knew that they had to. Taking acid was my choice, and I had to just hide until it was over.

When they loaded drew their pistols and ran towards the battle, I felt at peace. It was eerily calm, just like the eye of a hurricane. Wait, the eye of a hurricane has danger all around it! I had Uno’s to the left of me, Tovies to the left, and here I was, stuck in the middle with CT’s knife. 

I stabbed this way, I stabbed that way… I stabbed every which way I could.

[barubidobarbiewar]

#1 - Dear Bestie (Comic)

Tw: gun violence

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#7 - The Church of Barbie

I never expected to come back to The Church of Barbie. I guess you could say all the sins I committed in Barubido until today were just ways of running from my saviour, as if being in constant danger meant I was never afraid. I hope what I wrote in my letter ended up in That Bitch’s grave, but either way it was still a relief to write those words:

Forgive me Barbie, for I have sinned

Oh please show me mercy Barbie

Barbie… please forgive me for what I’ve done

I hadn’t addressed Barbie as my Goddess for so long, and I’d forgotten how it felt to beg for forgiveness. The road that led to that alley behind the deli was long, so long in fact that the road to my own personal salvation might’ve actually been more direct. I’d gone full circle morally, and now I was once again asking for Barbie’s support, to reject this sinful gang life and to become devout. I couldn’t sleep last night, so I got up early to go to the service at my local Barbian church. I had to look up where it was, can you believe that? I never went to church once I arrived in Barubido. Back home when we were kids our mothers would always make us sing “it’s Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday” to remind us of when the services were, but we all knew how to get to our local church. Oh my Goddess, how times have changed…

Barbie the Goddess

The Mother of Barbieland

Have mercy on us

Barbie the Daughter

The Redeemer of Barubido

Have mercy on us

Barbie the Holy Girl

The Tears of Ghostly Ears

Have mercy on us

Holy Trinity, one Barbie

Have mercy on us

I was hoping to have breakfast before I left for church, but all I found was my last can of Margot tonto. I needed some courage to go back to my place of worship, so I drank it as fast as I could while I put on my pink gingham dress. After staring down the loser in the mirror, who I both feared and resented, I started putting on my foundation. I must admit that I haven’t worn make up for a while. I had been too busy plotting my revenge against That Bitch to think about my body’s basic needs like food, let alone make up. I still wanted to look cute for church, but not too cute. It’s church, after all. Once my foundation was done, I didn’t fuss about with contouring. Instead I gave myself a simple but effective eye look with smouldering plum eyeshadow and winged eyeliner. When my tonto was finished I looked at my Margot lip colour collection and tried to make a decision. Velvet Ribbon from the iconic 2001: A Space Odyssey homage in the movie’s opening scene seemed a little too red, while the Carnival lip gloss seemed a little too pink. But there it was: my Velvet Petal lipstick. Velvet Petal was like the soothing song of a spring peony in full bloom…

Barbie, Mother of Barbies, pray for us

Mother of drinking, pray for us

Mother of eating, pray for us

Mother of serving, pray for us

Mother of charisma and uniqueness, pray for us

Mother of nerve and talent, pray for us

It had been a short walk to the church, but my heart was still racing. Who was I going to meet there? The churches were not strictly segregated according to Barbie Dream House, and this time I saw an unlikely ally within seconds of walking into church. We go by initials in the Dream Houses, and hers were SF. That’s right, the first woman I ever kissed, the former Margot Barbie that knew I was a lesbian before even I did.

“Hey,” she whispered to me as I passed by her, followed by “it’s done.” I smiled back at her to indicate that I was pleased, but I made sure it was subtle enough that we had deniability. I couldn’t be seen talking to her, but she was confirming that the letter was in the grave. SF left the Margot Barbies to join the Flame Barbies with That Bitch, but I had no bad blood with her. After all, she taught me that no man can satisfy me, and for that I’m forever in her debt.

She once told me her initials stood for ‘she’s on fire’, which made sense if her middle initial really was an O…

Mother most wealthy, pray for us

Mother most fierce, pray for us

Mother most violent, pray for us

Mother most defiant, pray for us

Mother most admirable, pray for us

I could see why Barbies prayed here. Their worst traits were justified, because our fight was a Holy War. We shot rival Barbies in back alleys to protect the revenue that kept our Dream Houses in business. The Church of Barbie depicted our deity as a vengeful Goddess, but not always one that would take vengeance against us for our sins. With Barbie in our hearts we were martyrs for a cause. I felt that I was once again a part of the community. I felt that as we were all sinners from birth, we were no better or worse than one another. I felt ready to go back to working for my sisters at the Margot Barbie Dream House. We were Barbie’s representatives on earth, and there was only one way to spread the gospel. This was all being a Barbie was about. I didn’t know if all this threatening and beating and killing had ever been fun for me. I wasn’t sure if I enjoyed making people scared either, but I knew I had a solemn duty to my fellow Margots. After I rejoined the church I ate better, I served better, and I kept striving to make a difference. I had been lost once, but now I was found.

[barubidobarbiewar]

#6 - Suddenly, Ken Was Awake

Suddenly, Ken was awake.

He hadn’t slept exactly, but he had been stored for Barbie knows how long. No one had given him a thought, but he knew! He knew what he was. He wasn’t all that much, and he definitely wasn’t everything. He was just…

“Ken!” Alan shouted, as they walked up the beach away from the sea. “Hey Ken!” Ken barely noticed them, and certainly didn’t verbally acknowledge them. Ken continued to walk towards that beach, a walk he had done so many times, as Alan arrived at a distance too close for the avoidance to continue. “Hey Alan,” Ken muttered, quietly enough that he could be pretty sure that none of the other Kens could hear. Still he glanced around, but there were no other Kens within earshot. That also means there were no other Kens for Alan to ask their question:

“Which Barbie Dream House Dance Party are you going to tonight?”

“You know, whichever,” Ken told them, “few in each district. Whatever, no big deal. It’s cool.”

“Can I come?” There was an awkward silence for a few seconds, but it felt like minutes.

“I… I don’t know about that,” Ken trailed off as he walked past Alan and towards the sea, which is where Alan had originally come from to meet him. Alan stood pondering what this meant for their social plans tonight, and realised they had no other choice. They stood still, waited until Ken had left them well and truly behind, and then continued in an attempt to persuade him.

“I can remember all the songs,” they said, when Ken was already a considerable distance away, and Ken finally stopped. Ken was in the danger zone now, there were Kens Kenning everywhere, and he needed to be discrete. “Fine,” he whispered over his shoulder with an annoyed tone. “Meet me at the Margot House at the start of tonight’s dance party.” He had gotten away with it, and Alan would finally leave him alone. It seems like none of the Kens that were Kenning nearby heard him either. That was good. He hated being embarrassed in front of other Kens, especially the Kens that Kenned the hardest. Just full-on, day in, day out, Kenning everything they do in every way. Ken wished that one day, just one day, he might Ken as hard as the Kenniest Kens could Ken. Then, and only then, could Ken teach Kens to Ken as he did, to Ken as he would, to Ken his way, the only way, to Ken or not to Ken.

If the graduates of all of the Ken schools in all of Barubido were rated out of 10, only Ken’s Kens would be a 10…

Suddenly, Ken was awake. 

“Beaching again Ken?” the barKender asked Ken, as he got him a Margot Barbie Dream House strawberry flavoured can of tonto from the fridge. It was night time now. “This must be the Dance Party,” Ken muttered to himself.

“What’s that buddy?” the barKender replied, but Ken hadn’t intended for his muttered utterance to be heard by anyone. He was just one of those people who has no internal monologue. Ken paid for his drink, and finally remembered what he had originally been asked.

“Yes I was beaching it again today, okay Ken? I’ll be beaching tomorrow, and that’s okay, because it’s me! Beach is who I am.”

“Sure it is Ken,” the barKender smirked, and that’s when he heard that annoying voice again.

“Hey Ken!” the voice belonged to Alan. Ken walked away from the bar, out of earshot of the barKender, and whispered his response.

“Hey, help me remember the songs again, and then buzz off, okay?”

“Okay Ken,” Alan agreed, before giving the help that Ken needed. “All of the other Maytell Barbies, excluding the Margot District, are in the Maytell District. All the Dream House operations down there are based on other Barbies that Maytell has produced over the years. All your favourite Maytell Barbies have Dream Houses there…”

“Right, I remember all that,” said Ken, even though he didn’t.

“Although Maytell never manufactured a non-Margot Barbie, there were several Barbie Dream Houses based on other popular Maytell products!” Ken wished he could be writing furious notes, but he knew that writing was for dweebs, writing was for nerds, writing was for… Alans…

“The A4 Poly Pockets were named after the slang name for a generic product known as punched pockets,” Alan taught Ken, “In US English this protective plastic might be called a sheet protector, but in UK English it is commonly referred to as a ‘poly pocket.’ This is because poly pockets are made from polypropylene, so the name comes from the first two syllables of this thermoplastic polymer. The A4 is a reference to the letter size (21cm x 29.7cm) in most of the world, which for some reason differs from the Letter size (21.6cm x 27.9cm) used in parts of Central and South America, as well as all of North America.”

I don’t need to know any of this,” Ken protested. “What’s the song?”

“In order to sell their own brand of poly pockets, Maytell came up with this advertising jingle that’s like “oh-oh, eh oh-oh, Poly’s an A4-sized locket so she fits inside a pocket, oh-oh, eh oh-oh.”

Suddenly, Ken was awake.

“I guess this is it buddy,” Ken told Alan as he patted them on the back. They stood on the boundary between the Maytell District and the Off-Brand District, where no Ken or Alan had ever gone before. They were about to go boldly to infinity and beyond everything they had ever known, everything they’d ever believed, everything they’d ever… trusted…

“This is it my friend,” Alan replied as they gently held Ken’s hand. Without letting go they took one step forward, together, and took one giant leap for Alankind and Kenkind alike.

Suddenly, Ken was awake.

It was another beach day, which is just another ordinary day for Ken, but Ken knew that last night had been an extraordinary night. 

No Alan or Ken had ever seen the Off-Brand District, and they had seen some incredible styles of Barbie. There were the Ice Barbies and the Flame Barbies of course, but there were also the Fish Barbies, who were their own ecosystem. They had every kind of Barbie fish you could imagine including the Alligator Gar, who were named and styled after the largest species of freshwater fish in the world. 

These Barbies naturally and logically called themselves the Gator Garbies. 

The Off-Brand Barbies weren’t just limited to living things as themes. There were the Paper Clip Barbies, whose style choices were based on the iconic MikeRoweSoft office-based assistant Clippo. They had an uneasy alliance with the Ink Barbies, who all truly believed that the pen was mightier than the sword. 

The Ink Barbies used carrier pigeons lent to them by their closest allies, the Bird Barbies. 

The Bird Barbies, AKA the Birbies, were always dressed in a style they called Robbie. What this style consisted of was matching the colours of the bird called the robin. Because it was robin-like, it was called Robbie. The trouble was that there was a lot of disagreement about which kind of robin to be, as the local Western robin of California is paler and tinged more heavily brownish-gray, but Margot’s Oceanic homeland has Petroica rodinogaster which are pink…

There were so many other Off-Brand Barbie Dream Houses. 

There were the Shampoo barbies and their incessant nightly foam parties, the Star Warbies, The Bull Frarbies (The Bullfrog Barbies) and The Cricket Barbies. A Barbie Dream House dedicated to the sport of cricket soon led to the formation of the “I Don’t Like Cricket” Barbies, Then the “I Love It” Barbies… who were of course named after the Charlie CXC song and were a Barbie Dream House with no opinion of the sport of cricket…

For the first time in his life, Ken felt happy just being Ken for once. He didn’t need a girlfriend, he didn’t need a house, he didn’t need a mink coat, he didn’t even need beach.

He wasn’t sure which Barbie Dream House was his favourite overall, but he knew the one he’d be going back to for tomorrow’s Barbie Dream House Dance Party.

[barubidobarbiewar]

#5 - Dark Margot

Tw: strong language, gun violence

It was late, so the Naomi Barbie said goodbye to her friend, also a Naomi Barbie, and began to walk home. She walked down a dark and quiet street, passing an even darker, even quieter alleyway. Suddenly two long black gloves grabbed her and pulled her into the darkness. Before she knew it she was being pushed instead of pulled, and she barely had time to put her hands out in front of her before she hit the ground. Her vintage Versace sunglasses clattered along the ground and into the shadows behind the overflowing trash cans.

“Tell me where I can find the Barbie who killed BC,” came a voice from the void. It was a voice that knew no mercy, a voice that had no patience left. The voice wasn’t here to play games. The Naomi Barbie was lying face down, so she used her right arm to push herself onto her back and face her attacker. The attacker was dressed in a puffy black dress, black stockings. She was wearing long black gloves, the ones that had originally pulled the Naomi into the alley, and dark black aviator sunglasses shielded her eyes from view. Even with her eyes obscured, the Naomi knew who she was looking at.

“You’re that Barbie from the Margot Barbie Dream House,” she muttered. Unsure what this meant for her fate, she closed her eyes, expecting the worst. Instead of responding with words, the Margot Barbie responded with a bullet. The Naomi thought she was a goner for sure, but when she opened her eyes again, she saw a small crater in the concrete next to her head, where the bullet had hit and ricocheted from instead.

“Who killed BC?” The Margot Barbie asked. This wasn’t an execution, it was an interrogation.

“How the hell should I fucking know?” The Naomi answered, now full of adrenaline and the will to survive this harrowing encounter. The Naomi should have suspected that the first bullet sent her way would not be the last. Another shot rang out, and this time there was a faint tinkling sound. It sounded like the shooter had thrown jewellery her way, but in fact, it was the Naomi who had lost some jewellery of her own.

She glanced to her left, the opposite side to where the first bullet had struck the floor of the alleyway, and there it was. She could replace the sunglasses, now hidden behind the trash cans and probably no longer in mint condition, but this was unacceptable. There was nothing but shrapnel left of her gold medusa earring now, and the surviving right earring was totally useless without the left one.

“You bitch,” the Naomi screamed, finding her fighting spirit again, and added “these earrings are vintage Versace!”

“The right one still has resell value,” remarked the unfeeling, unsympathetic voice in the dim alleyway light. “How about I blast that one to smithereens too, huh?”

“Alright, alright, just stop!” The Naomi begged,  “I’ll talk, I’ll talk okay!”

“The worthless scum that killed BC?”

“Why do you care anyway? You Stereotypical Margot Barbies are the worst. Why don’t you explore Margot’s back catalogue for a change? Naomi Lapaglia was a cool character, especially if you like Versace…” The Desert Eagle was fired again, and this time the Naomi thought she was dead. When she opened  her eyes, the barrel was aimed skyward, and this warning shot was probably the last. It was time to start talking. Luckily for her, the question came from her assailant quickly after the warning shot was fired.

“Did the Barbie-in-Chief of the Naomis give the order?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” the Naomi answered honestly, with some fear left in her voice, “but what I do know is that our Chief is rounding up Barbies and weapons to crush the Margot Barbie Dream House once and for all.”

“And where is she right now?”

“You think they’d tell an underling Barbie like me? Come on! Let me go!”

She shouldn’t have protested so much. Another bullet destroyed her right earring, taking some of her ear with it. “You’re one sick Barbie!” The Naomi screamed, clutching her bleeding earlobe with the fingers of her right hand. “ There goes my resell value!”

“Now you go tell this to all the other Naomis at the Naomi Barbie Dream House. Ide Sachiko is in mourning. Tell them I’m Dark Margot now.”

As the Naomi lay motionless in the alleyway, still frozen by fear, Dark Margot left her behind. She had bigger fish to fry. She had lost both a dear friend and a courageous leader, in The Battle of Margot’s Dream, but she had not lost her fighting spirit. She wasn’t cowering in some alleyway, she was on the warpath. She slumped into the driver’s seat of her pink Ferrari Daytona SP3, but didn’t immediately start its mid-mounted 12-cylinder engine. She still had to say another prayer before she left the scene. “BC,” she said, to the brave leader she once followed but who no longer lived, “please forgive me for having to change, but fighting for her Dream House is what a Barbie does. Sorry I disappointed you.”

Dark Margot wanted to move on, but her mind was full of racing thoughts. There had to be a reason that the Naomi Barbies had attacked Margot House that day, but what could it be? The Margots owed them nothing, and they had taken nothing from them either. CT had said that they were just warmongers, and that this was in their nature, but Dark Margot knew it was something more. Either the Countesses of Greystoke had paid them to take the Margots down, or they wanted retribution for one of the killings the Margots had carried out. The answer was out there somewhere, and Dark Margot was determined to find it, no matter how many Naomi Barbies had to die to get her to the truth.

[barubidobarbiewar]

#4 - “I’m Sachiko”

tw: strong language, gun violence, murder

“He said they only sell tonto here,” I told to Sachiko with a chuckle.

“That’s right!” her high Japanese voice confirmed as if it was common knowledge. “That’s all we drink here in Barubido! Would you like me to order for you?” I nodded and stepped aside, and she took one more tiny step toward the bar.

“She’ll have a Margot tonto please Ken,” she said confidently, beaming with the same smile that hadn’t left her face since she introduced herself. Although she only ordered for me, the Ken brought two pink cans from the fridge, and she paid for both. She must come here a lot.

“There are usually seats near the back,” she said, pointing to the back corner of the Bus Bar where there was a screen that was being used for advertising. We found a booth, sat down, and started chatting.

“TB must’ve told you to meet me,” I assumed, before adding “it’s my first day in town.”

“TB did tell me to meet you, and I did!” She laughed as if everything going to plan was the most hilarious joke ever told. “I’m here to help you learn about Barubido. I noticed you don’t know about tonto?”

“I’ve never heard of it,” I admitted as I opened my Margot tonto can, “is it an L.A. thing?”

“Hardly,” she chuckled. “It comes from Uganda originally.”

“Uganda?”

“I know it sounds strange,” she grinned, eager to tell me more. “It’s just a tradition here in Barubido. All the Barbie Dream Houses make their own brand, and this is the Margot Barbie Dream House’s brand of tonto!”

I took a sip. It was like if a banana smoothie was somehow also a beer.

“Banana?” I asked.

“That’s right!” Sachiko confirmed. “We don’t grow the bananas here, but every tonto served here was personally manufactured by a Barbie right here in Barubido. We’re the ones struggling and putting in hard, honest work. That’s our Barubido Tonto Guarantee!” She was so good at smiling with her eyes.

“How do you join one of these Barbie Dream Houses?” I enquired casually.

“Oh,” she said, and all at once the smile vanished from her face. “It’s hard but honest work to get in. You have to do a lot of very hard but very honest work,” and temporarily furrowed her tiny brow to emphasise the hard work part. Then that smile was straight back. “But I can put a good word in with the Barbie-in-Chief at the Margot Barbie Dream House if you like!”

“I don’t really know what I would be expected to do,” I stuttered, already not sure what I had signed up for.

“You’ll be great, don’t worry!” Sachiko reassured me. “I can train you.”

“Train me?” I questioned the amount of very hard work the word ‘train’ implied.

I’ve loved women for as long as I’ve known what love feels like.

After I successfully joined the Margot Barbie Dream House, I still thought I was into Kens.

But whenever I saw a straight couple, I thought "she’s everything.” But then I’d look at the guy she’s with, and I’d just be like "he’s just Ken.” There’s nothing wrong with Kens of course, some of my best friends growing up were Kens, they’re just not… everything.I guess what I’m trying to say is… Barbies mean everything to me, but Kens mean… less.

I remember the night I discovered I wasn’t into Kens. Sachiko accidentally caught me in the alley when I was secretly kissing another Margot Barbie from the Dream House. We had been celebrating record Tonto sales, and a Margot with the initials SF had whispered in my ear that she was into Barbies too. Maybe we’d been drinking too many Tontos,

“I know a place,” SF said, taking me by the hand and leading me to the alley behind the Margot Barbie Dream House.

“Usually when people say that they mean a trendy bar, not the alleyway behind the house that is also your workplace,” She looked cute when she laughed.

“Wanna know my middle initial?” She dared me, rebelliously, before taking another swig of her open can of Tonto.

“Are we allowed to know middle initials?” I whispered, taking a step closer to her in case we were overheard.

“As long as you don’t tell The Chief,” she whispered, moving so closely that our faces were almost touching. She locked eyes with me, brushed some stray blonde bangs that had been covering my face. As soon as the words “It’s an O,” had left her lips, and before I even had a chance to respond, her lips were on my lips. At first I didn’t know what to think. Was this it? Was I into Barbies now? Whatever my sexual orientation was, I was definitely, passionately, kissing her back almost immediately.

I had been so blindsided that I had forgotten to breathe! I suddenly pulled myself free.

“Oh…” I repeated her middle initial.

“Are you saying ‘oh’ like this is a surprise?” She asked. “Is this a good surprise? Is this a good ‘oh’?”

I couldn’t hide that I was brimming with happiness.

“It’s a good ‘oh’,” I confirmed, and this time it was my hand behind her neck, pulling her lips back towards mine for more kisses. I just wanted to be right here forever, in the alley behind Margot House, kissing SOF. No more than 5 minutes later, the kisses were abruptly ended by the sound of a metal trash can being kicked over by someone small and clumsy. Sachiko stood at the back door, her tiny mouth agape.

“You’re a lesbian?!” she asked me with eyes wide with shock. SOF giggled and blurted out “No man can satisfy her,” which was a witty response.

For me, that ended up being true.

I was there that night.

“Do you think that Ken at the grocery store likes me?” Sachiko asked with the innocent anticipation of a little puppy as we turned onto Alan Street carrying brown paper bags. Now we were on the right street to get most of the way back to Margot Barbie Dream House, and I was looking forward to getting home and being able to put down my heavy bags. We had managed to get everything that the other Margot Barbies had put on the shopping list, so I was looking forward to seeing their excited faces. It’s just food mainly, but food can be such a nice thing to look forward to. Food can be an escape from all the hard, honest work of being a Barbie in Barubido.

“He likes you,” I chuckled, knowing that would excite her even more. She began skipping around me and singing what she had heard to a jaunty tune.

“He likes me!” She sang, “he likes me, he likes me!”

I only knew the Grocery Store Ken liked her because he had asked me what her ‘situation’ was one night at the Bus Bar. She hasn’t had a boyfriend in a while.

I could hear the music from the pink corvette music so loud, I initially thought I was overhearing a live music event, which wouldn’t be unheard of in this neighbourhood. Even so, there didn’t seem to be anything suspicious about loud music. Barubido was a party town, even I had worked that out by now.

Just as I was wondering whether the driver had drank too many Tontos, which also wouldn’t be unusual in Barubido, I heard them. I heard a popping, cracking noise, a noise I had often heard in Barubido, but this time they were close, a little too close. The tyres of the corvette squealed as they were peelin’ out, and it occurred to me that they seemed in an awful hurry. Not only were they in an awful hurry, but Sachiko was suddenly awful quiet. I looked to my left, where Sachiko had previously been walking, but she wasn’t there.

All I saw was a low wall. A low wall with a fresh bullet hole in it, the brick dust still settling through the air. Looking left inevitably drew my attention to my left elbow, which now had a fresh bullet hole in it too. I felt faint at the sight of the blood, my blood, now gushing onto the pavement. I felt so dizzy, and then I really did faint. I fell to the ground in a daze, but even from my limited and blurry vantage point on the floor, there was still no mistaking it.