My Fake Girlfriends Poem by Sergio Savioli

I wander the fantastic, nympholeptic Barbie Boulevard and recall the three romantic, sythnetic Barbie dolls sold every single second and the more than one billion in this world and also remember that Barbie was born in 1959 like my grizzled, bearded brother, though, unlike Barbie, I must clarify that he is not a cosmetic fashion mannequin, yet like her, for different reasons, he cannot menstruate, whereas her reason - and let's face it - it sounds quite realistic - is that she lacks the necessary body weight, unlike mine, it is permanently set at fifty kilos - but let's not talk about her body - she doesn't like it - I just remember her wise, dietetic advice to me on how to lose adiposity, it is very simple, pithy and crisp "Don't eat! " and you can guess the answer to her question "Will we ever have enough clothes? " she is after all a medium for the sale of related merchandise like accessories and attire - poor, poor thing, not exactly pneumatic, thin as a matchstick and mostly acrylonitrile butadiene styrene and polyvinyl chloride, I can't understand what I and charismatic fellow playfellow Ken really see in all that plastic, except that, in his case, he too is totally made of the same stuff and contributes to the dyspeptic 8.3 billion tons badly polluting our world which is quite a lot of plastic and is immensely problematic, very psychotic, almost apocalyptic, if you think about it.