You want a sample? I'll give you a sample:
IF ONLYTHEY KEPT DIARIES:BARBIE.
BY JEFF STEINBRINK
- - - -
april (i think)
still getting my balance. these heels don't help! loads of hot outfits. already tired of sucking in my gut. got to do something with this hair. everybody says wait till i meet ken.
april
if it's still april. heard i'm getting a corvette. hope it's better than this crappy beach house. not allowed to get a tattoo. thinking of becoming a stewardess. met ken. what a zero.
may
no smoking. no hanging out. no corvette. think my ass is getting big. can't be a stewardess, but go-go dancer or doctor are ok. go figure. ohmigod. g.i. joe. hot!
may
joe joe joe joe joe joe joe joe joe joe joe
may or june
what kind of name is midge? she's had work done. ken says she looks like a hooker. i say except in the doctor's outfit we all look like hookers. ken says not me, girlfriend.
june, for sure
had it with transformers. too confusing—now it's a spaceship, now it's a scissors, now it's a hammer. like going out with a hardware store. got the corvette finally. pink.
july
had muppets over to penthouse. big mistake—too much history with kermit. midge still "borrowing" my clothes. she gets to be a stewardess. i get a princess phone. pink.
august
read midge's diary. calls me "barfbie." big fight, hair everywhere, tears (hers). calls me "cabbage patch." i say, "you'll never work in malibu again." more tears.
august
ken says g.i. joe really likes midge and can we still be friends. i say midge = trash. ken says how about pinocchio. i say pinocchio = freak.
september
kermie kermie kermie kermie kermie
september
med school.
Not enough? Try this:
AN OPEN LETTER
TO THE FAKE BOOBS
MY HUSBAND BOUGHT
HIS EX-GIRLFRIEND.
BY MILLA WICKS
- - - -
Dear Fake Boobs,
There you perch, two gargantuan, pointy soup bowls, ogling me from across the party. Damn. You guys are amazing, sitting up like that, all by yourselves in that little tank top, with no bra on or anything!
Before I knew the truth about you two, I assumed my husband's ex had maxed out all his credit cards underwriting her frequent bouts of unemployment, or on less dramatic fare, like her bar tabs, vintage lunchbox collection, and those fun trips she used to take you on—including that time y'all went to Athens and got felt up, a lot, by the indie kid she dumped my husband for and married only a few months later. (More proof of your magical powers, I guess!) Imagine my surprise when I learned that among the Visa wreckage we'll be paying off until we die are you guys: her fabulous, phony porno boobs!
Back before my husband's good friend slipped up and told me you guys were a present, back when I thought you were actual glands and all—not just gel and saltwater in a couple of Ziploc baggies—you used to make me cry. I'd think: Goddamn, you guys are mean! You're middle-aged, for Christ's sake; start sagging like it! Then I'd feel a tinge of guilt and tell myself: Hey, it's OK. Luck of the draw. Sure, she has you two in all your perky glory, but she also has that really greasy hair she can't seem to do anything with but put up in a slimy ponytail.
You two even had my girlfriends going for a while. One asked, "How do they do it? It's like she's never been pregnant, like she's never nursed even one baby, much less two!" Haw, haw! Good one! You guys don't even pay lip service (pardon the pun!) to any of that "breasts serve a functional purpose" hooey that seems to be all the rage among pissy La Leche Leaguers and cultures of the Third World.
Maybe it's just sour grapes on my part, but I can only wait with bated breath for the day I see you both again—sometime around 2028 or so—when we're all at an age where it's no longer realistic or, more importantly, appropriate to have such a pert and colossal bosom. Maybe on that day it will be the two of you who will eye my breasts with wonder and remark on the way they fall—so casually, so gracefully—to my midriff. Until then, I wish you much happiness and good fortune in the future. May you always be well fondled by the half-dozen or so men in this town who have not yet had the pleasure.
With warmest regards,
Milla Wicks
Jackson, Mississippi
There's a LOT more here. Check it out. You'll be glad you did.
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