If you’ve never heard of Bratz than get on a kayak, row to a deserted island, and bask in your ignorant happiness for all eternity. If you are familiar with the preteen ho-bag dolls, than I can only offer my condolences. You, like most of the World, have been tarnished by an icky underage sexuality that never really washes off. Released in 2001, the Bratz are basically a harlotized version of Barbie, except rather than existing on Ken’s paycheck, they whore around a little bit in order to buy tacky jewelry and incomplete clothing.
Naturally, I’ve been loathing the premiere of Bratz: The Movie with the type of sheltered anticipation I normally reserve for West Nile Virus, but like most disgusted viewers, I’ve been reading up in an attempt to figure out exactly who thought this was a good idea. You know, so I can light poop on fire on their front doors. Thankfully, I may have finally gotten my answer from Yahoo. Basically, in a lot of euphemisms and fancy business talk, the movie was released to help promote a more wholesome Bratz image to eventually sell more dolls. Why am I not surprised?
Since I live in America, I always suspect financial compensation as the root of every decision ever made, but I had written this one off since even the most optimistic observes admit that Bratz will undoubtably fail at the box office. This shrewd cross promoting will likely end with a net gain.
I have no way of preventing little girls from sauntering into local Targets and purchasing Bratz dolls, but I do have a small internet following less than that of Lonely Girl 15. So, I’m asking you, my loyal readers, please do not go see Bratz: The Movie this weekend or purchase any of their herpes infested dolls for your children. It would be your lose anyways, though, as early critical whispers have told me that the film is worse than Lindsay Lohan’s car insurance record.
