A crowded patio at night.

The man has sturdy legs and broad shoulders. He’s handsome and looks comfortable in his own skin, like he’s very good at whatever it is he does for a living and is used to moving fluidly through the world. Behind him, holding his one hand with her two, is a blind woman. She is stunning in her beauty, radiant, even. Looking at her it feels possible that a mountain stream had assumed the form and flesh of a woman and appeared amidst us like a miracle. Those of us who are watching her have no conscious choice in the matter. There is something that pure and commanding about her beauty.

She’s blinking awkwardly into the lights above the bar as the man explains the topography of the patio she is trying to navigate through.

“There’s some uneven ground here, and then a slight step up. You okay?”

She nods wordlessly.

As they pass through the thicket of tables and chairs and people, every set of eyes are upon her. Conversations are falling silent, heads are turning and imaginations are sparking. Everybody is watching, trying to enter into the mystery of her life, trying to understand the uncanny sense of relief– of hope, even– we all felt in seeing a person so unable to apprehend her own powerful beauty, a person so unsullied. She moves through us like a saint through fire, and maybe she feels our eyes upon her, feels the hunger and predation that haunt a bar like this, but maybe, perfect in her own wilderness, she feels nothing. She moves closer to the man as the level of spatial complexity increases, dropping one hand from his and letting it idle in the back pocket of his jeans.

And just beyond them a red traffic light sways above the intersection while a bat swoops down through the night and across the clear, crisp moon. Each person there wanting to tell her about the moon, the beautiful moon, and how hopefully we’d throw ourselves into that unknowable night, just to touch it’s face.

As many of you will have heard, I have started a weekly Podcast with Heidi, our Miniature Dachshund.

This is an excerpt from our most recent episode:

**************************************************

Me: Before we start today’s Podcast I have an announcement to make. On our last broadcast Heidi made some remarks that were very hurtful to some beloved members of our community.

The appalling statements she made might even be considered an act of violence in and of themselves, and let me say unequivocally that we here at The Breakfast Club have always, and will always be, great allies to all of our friends in the SCBDB community. Your struggle is our struggle, and we will not tolerate any sort of hate speech, calls to violence or prejudice against you and those that you love. You are our family. We love you and stand beside you. I want to take this time now to formally apologize to all Squirrels, Cats, Birds and Dumb Birds who were wounded by Heidi’s words. We are profoundly sorry.

Although Heidi has been a mostly loyal dog to my family for nearly a dozen years, I simply cannot excuse her behaviour, and so she has been removed from the Podcast, effective immediately, and sent to live up in the country with my wife’s parents where she will undergo prolonged sensitivity training.

Taking her place will be Margaret Atwood, one of the supporting actresses from the hit TV show The Hand Made Tale.

Atwood: The title of the show is the Handmaids Tale, and I was the author of the novel upon which the successful TV show was based, not a supporting actress in it.

Me: Please don’t interrupt.

Atwood: You have more important things to say, do you?

Me: Nuts! Now I’ve lost my place!

Atwood: Yes, of course you have. A straight, middle-aged white man with no discernible talents suddenly adrift in a changing world. One day you wake up to discover that you’re not one of the good guys at all, but are actually an enemy of the people, an enemy to all those you never heard, saw or even thought about in all the decades you stomped so blindly through this world. Now that the shell of your status has been cracked open to reveal your mediocrity and fear, it must be so very difficult for you! And how have you responded to this sea change, Michael, to being revealed so nakedly to all whom you ignored? With hostility and defensiveness, of course, with a desperate attempt to portray yourself as a victim rather than a victimizer. So yes, I can see how you might feel that you “lost your place.”

Me: I WAS PATROL OF THE WEEK IN GRADE SIX!! I WAS AT THE BARRICADES KEEPING THE WORLD SAFE FROM TYRANNY, GODDAMNIT!! NOBODY CAN TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME!!

The film Mahogany was released in 1975.

It was a melodrama of it’s time, a rags to riches story in which Diana Ross fought to become a great fashion icon before giving it all up for love.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ra71dvxOVX8

It was not a critical darling. It was a one-and-a-half stars kind of movie, an enterprise that revealed that although Diana Ross was a great diva, she was not destined to become a great actress, and ever since, the movie’s been slowly dissolving into the past. I bring this up just to say that if you missed it, there is little reason to want to go and find it.

Nevertheless, when a pair of friends asked if I’d like to see it with them last week, I jumped at the chance. I’ve known both these movie-going women for over thirty years now and the sheer improbability of that– that we would travel such great and impossible distances through time– and still be connected, was a kind of miracle to me and I would have gone anywhere they asked.

It feels important to note that when the movie was made the three of us were all just children. Not one of us would have yet reached the age of ten, and the worlds we inhabited then were as small, beautiful and mysterious as marbles lost in a forest. The movie, regardless of it’s failings or virtues, was an extraordinary time capsule that opened up all around us in the popcorn dark of the theatre. It was impossible not to see ghost-images of your own life as the frames passed by. Perhaps a snatch of music would summon my childhood cat, or the shape of a car would remind me of a family trip, a dress, a friend of my sister…And to be called back to those lost spaces and allowed to just float there for a few hours, to drift along this underground river free from the obstacles, complications and mortal apprehensions of the adult world, was a glowing, holy thing.

And then the movie was over. We chatted for a moment on the street, and then the three of us headed back into our current lives, each one likely marvelling at the forces that charted our days and brought us together again, compressing time on this autumn night so far from where we started.

In my imagination “The Internet” descended from the deep reaches of the universe and settled upon our planet like a mist. We began to interact with this powerful and mysterious entity without any real understanding of how it was going to effect us, or even if it was going to effect us. Most of us just assumed it was going to make things better, amplifying potential in a good, rather than harmful way.

However, it hasn’t exactly worked out that way. The astonishing gifts we’ve enjoyed have come with tremendous penalties, the primary of which might be a massive, unacknowledged mental health crisis.

I don’t know about you, but I have never seen as many declarations of anxiety and depression in my life as I now see on a regular basis online. It’s not at all uncommon for me to have multiple chat windows open at once, each one a conversation with a friend in crisis. This is highly subjective of course, and that people now have the means and social sanction to communicate their feelings might be something to celebrate, or, as my intuition suggests,  it could be something in the disembodied interactions we’ve been reducing ourselves to that’s causing this articulated spike in mental health problems.

It seems that the more we inhabit the abstracted realm of The Internet, the more certain we become of our beliefs. This is highly ironic to me, because we all know that amidst the spin and swirl of disinformation, fake news and uncanny algorithms, we should be as skeptical of claims to truth and certainty as we’ve ever been.

Take the White Power symbols that have been in the news.

As you may be aware, the symbol that you always thought meant “OK,” might now mean White Power.

This transition took place about a year ago on 4Chan, where it was conceived as a conscious lie. What I mean by that is that it wasn’t a White Power sign. The intent was to take an existing symbol and change it’s meaning, thus confusing the public and media and further eroding the idea of public trust.

Regardless, once this meme was in the blood stream there was no way to know what the use of the symbol meant. Did the person know it was a white power sign? Were they just saying “OK!?” Were they making a joke? Were they communicating racist ideology?

The first instance of this that I saw was of White House Advisor Zina Bash during a Supreme Court confirmation hearing.

Based on this image, people thought she was a White Supremacist.

Bash is of Mexican and Jewish heritage, and this photo that was widely circulated was a high resolution screen capture of a video, so she was in motion, not in a fixed, posed position. Claims that she was communicating a racist message seemed to me ambiguous at best. But people I know, like and respect saw this photograph, and others like it,

as crystal clear evidence of racist intent. Where I saw nothing but ambiguity, they saw none.

It felt like looking at the Neckar’s Cube, like some optical illusion was at play and the mechanics of our brains were prohibiting us from seeing the same thing.

There was simply no consensus on what was real. We were living two different stories when looking at the images. Where I was looking at what was directly in front of me, my friends were looking at circumstance, or perhaps subtext, seeing this single image as part of a much greater and evolving narrative.

Perhaps I am antique in my thinking, but when I see stories like these, I look for a kind of “courtroom proof.” If I have doubt, I am unwilling to prosecute the reputation and livelihood of the person being judged, even if they might still be suspicious to me. Maybe that makes me unwilling to act, and if so that is a sin I will one day have to answer for. Regardless, online a “thing” is true if it has momentum, if it supports the continuance of a passionately held belief, not if it meets some “clinical” standard of proof.

As our shared sense of truth and morality fall away– and disagreement leads to suspicion, if not flat-out contempt– we fearlessly share our certainties, but shamefully keep our uncertainties sheltered within, anxious that we’ll be attacked rather than supported by those whom we would love, and that, well that’s making us all feel a little jumpy and untethered.

It was a hit.

A really big hit.

It became pretty hard to keep up, and then, after one reader misinterpreted my thoughts regarding the use of fire while giving a reading, I decided to step back to spend more time with my family. Regardless, the letters kept coming, and so I feel I owe it to my loyal fans to resurrect the column, which is what I’m doing right now.

*****************************************************

Dear Bitter Writer:

You’re likely aware of the Twitter Challenge in which women were asked to, “Describe yourself like a male author would.” The point of this, of course, was to illustrate how men objectified women, but what I would find really interesting with you– as an impossibly mediocre white man in possession of a level of confidence that outstrips your very modest competencies by an incalculable magnitude– is to have you describe yourself. I have included a photograph in case you should need a reference point.

Lynn from Montreal

Dear Lynn:

In Havana he was known as “ La muerte incómoda.”

It was a term of respect, of great respect, in fact, and more than a little fear. What had Michael Murray done to earn such a nickname from the gentle people of Cuba?

Well, that’s a long and complicated story that will reveal itself in time, but for now we should just imagine the man as he sat there, commandingly, in the barber’s chair. His face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, and his most striking feature was his opaline green eyes, which could be both alluring or intimidating, as the situation required. A part of his barber’s apron fell open from the cooling breeze of the fan and revealed the shirt he was wearing. There were little baseball players on it. He looked up, his eyes clear and even as he wiped some sweat off his upper lip, “ ¿Cómo está mi calva haciendo allí?” he asked the trembling barber. And in that moment Murray’s beauty was revealed the edge of a very sharp knife.

Dear Bitter Writer:

It recently came to my attention that an author at a major publishing house threatened to slap a reviewer who didn’t like his moronic, insulting book, and I was wondering if the publishing house was going to punish him for it, or if white male authors can do literally anything?

Karen in Toronto

Dear Karen:

Have you seen White Male Author: Infinity War, yet?

Easily the best of the franchise. Just fantastic.

At any rate, this movie goes a long way to answer your question. In it, Thanos

attempts to destroy Planet Earth, and after incapacitating both The Avengers and The X-Men it seemed that victory was certain. Right at this despairing point in the movie, White Male Author showed up and blasted him with his laser pulses.

He then flew around Thanos so quickly that the wind currents kept him pinned to the ground while the other superheroes freed themselves from the Polaris Fog that Thanos had used to trap them, and then all together were able to cast Thanos back into the Canyons of Zorg. So it’s clear that although White Male Author is VERY powerful, certainly superior to Spiderman, he might not be as invincible as The Hulk or The Thing.

At any rate, even though White Male Author is very, very powerful, I don’t think he can do literally anything.

Understand that it’s fucking Mordor.

It’s totally evil.

It really is.

Entertain for a moment the idea that the NFL might actually be nothing more than a flashy delivery system for gambling. The games are just accessories created to facilitate the exchange of a mind-bending amount of money. It’s impossible to calculate how much cash– both legally and illegally– is bet on the NFL each year, but it’s hundreds of billions of dollars. It might be a trillion. The NFL, and the owners of each of the the 32 teams that comprise the league, make pornographic amounts of money– so much so that even the pathologically greedy Donald Trump wanted in on the action back in the 80’s.

Working beneath these overlords are the players. About 70% of them are black, and the average length of a career is about 3 1/2 years. It is a brutal, collision-based sport, but beyond the mechanical failure of knees, hips and such, there is CTE, a brain disease that virtually every football player seems to acquire due to the concussive nature of the sport. And because the NFL is evil, they withheld this information from the players even as symptoms set in and raged amongst them.

Essentially, what the NFL does is hire people to engage in combat while America bets on who the winner will be.

It’s the bread and circuses we’re fed.

The game itself is about martial precision rather than athletic improvisation. The players are armoured and anonymous, strategically deployed by the technocrats on the sidelines, and whatever exuberance or individuality they bring to the game is swiftly crushed. When celebrating and dancing after a touchdown became a thing, the league outlawed it. It was considered “disrespectful,” ( but not in the same way that calling a team The Redskins might be “disrespectful”) which put another way means it was considered too black. In effect, they took an African-American product, subordinated it to the tastes of a conservative white audience, and profited obscenely from it.

Colin Kaepernick, a talented black quarterback, ( It was not that long ago that a black quarterback in the NFL was unheard of, the belief being that they didn’t have the “faculties” to perform the job) began the practice of taking a knee during the national anthem as a protest against against racial injustice.

He was subsequently black-balled from the league, even though his talents should have been in high demand. In his absence, others players stepped up to continue the practice, all of which came to a head when Trump started calling for the sons of bitches to be fired. This cynical and amoral manipulation of existing divisions in the nation forced the players and owners to respond.

Siding with those who are against racial injustice and for freedom of expression seems like a pretty obvious choice. I mean, this is a no-brainer, right? History is unfolding in such a way that it’s forcing people to make a choice, whether they want to or not, and many players took the knee. And the photographs–all so familiar, inevitable and urgent– were deeply moving. They gave me chills, and for a moment it was easy to believe that things might finally be changing for the good.

But then again, this movement was taking place largely within the pitiless machine that is the NFL, and so many sought a middle road that they hoped wouldn’t interrupt any revenue streams. The Dallas Cowboys, led by their owner, took a knee before the anthem, and then standing, locked arms as a team during the anthem.

It was a muddle of a message, one that managed to suggest the players had some sort of solidarity with ownership instead of a grievance with institutional racism, but that was the point. It was supposed to mean all things to all people. Ultimately, they co-opted the symbolism of Kaepernick’s protest to support the idea of “protest” without actually joining the protest. It was nothing more than damage control, a gesture as empty of meaning as a Pepsi commercial, and one more thing the NFL can add to it’s wall of shame.

One of the components of this event was that I was signing copies of my bestselling book A Van Full of Girls. In case the book has somehow escaped your attention, here are a few press clippings:
“ I thought it was fine, but it could stand for less swearing. Swearing doesn’t prove what a big man you are.”
—Barb Murray, Canadian mother

“Although I could not invest in Michael’s book project, I was struck by how courageous he was to put his thoughts down like that and then, in spite of the risk of public embarrassment and the terribly long odds of any sort of success, seek publication. So brave. We need more people with Michael’s spirit in Canada.”
—Arlene Dickinson, star of the CBC hit TV show Dragon’s Den

“ It’s just lie after lie after lie.”
—Doug Ford, Canadian businessman and politician

I have to say, and I’m giving you the straight-up truth here, the book really is a fucking game-changer.

You should buy it.

At any rate, while we were selling off our things, Margaret Atwood, who lives in the same area, happened upon us. I conducted a somewhat adversarial interview with her a few months ago for a magazine called The Knuckler, ( http://michaelmurray.ca/atwood-interview ) and as this took place  via phone I was unsure if she knew who I was, but when she saw me at my little A Van Full of Girls kiosk, she approached.

Margaret Atwood: I’ve been surveying all your trinkets here, such a contrast amidst the grandeur of the neighbourhood. So sweet, so hopeful.

Me: Thanks.

Margaret Atwood: It’s like an archeological dig. Sifting through the debris you can see the arc of a life, the enthusiasm and ambition that inevitably crumbles into failure, and then finally the recognition of that failure and the selling off of all that had symbolized your hope.

Me: I’ll let you have the Six Million Dollar Man thermos for a buck.

Margaret Atwood: I don’t think so.

Me: Your loss.

Margaret Atwood: You seem to have an awful lot of unfinished self-help books for sale. Why is that?

Me: I don’t know, why is the Handmaiden’s Tale so much more popular as a TV show not written by you, than as a book written by you?

Margaret Atwood: Handmaid’s Tale, it’s Handmaid’s Tale.

Me: Oh. Sorry.

Margaret Atwood: This book, A Van Full of Girls? Are you the author?

Me: Yes. You should buy a copy. Support the arts.

Margaret Atwood: So tell me, how does self-publishing work these days?

Me: My book wasn’t self-published.

Margaret Atwood: Really!? How extraordinary. Typically you don’t seen an established author out on a front lawn selling his book from a knapsack. And look, you have so many copies! You must have at least 40!

Me: You know what? I also have an awful lot of Margaret Atwood books for sale over there, but people just don’t seem interested. One woman picked up a copy of Lady Oracle, showed it to her friend and said, “Barf.”

Margaret Atwood: (Gives withering look)

Me: (Imitates withering look)

Margaret Atwood left shortly after this exchange, but not before telling me that I should keep all the self-help books I was trying to sell, and buying, for reasons we can only imagine, a used The Very Best of Chris de Burgh LP.

Today I have given the Blog over to Heidi, our Miniature Dachshund:

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Heidi like to party.

It true.

No big deal, just how Heidi unwind and have good time! Sometimes booze or drug act as social lubricant so Heidi can have sex with anonymous dogs.

Very exciting! Very, very hot!! Heidi love that, fun times!

Heidi always in control, though. Heidi could stop partying anytime she want. Heidi not on drug and alcohol leash, Heidi have dextroamphetamine on leash! Heidi always in charge! But then one night Heidi partying and Heidi begin to dig hole. Dig, dig, dig!! Heidi could not stop digging! Heidi crazy with digging! Would not notice if cheeseburger fell on Heidi’s head! In some sort of dig trance! And then suddenly Heidi come to and realize she have no idea why digging! Heidi not even know where she was!

Later, video of Heidi digging hit YouTube. Heidi not look right. Collar hanging all loose and stained, tail wagging strange and jerky. Heidi feel shame, Heidi bad dog that night.

Made Heidi stop and think.

Did Heidi have problem?

Heidi consider.

It true memory getting bad.

Always forgetting where bone is.

Sometimes have blackout and no remember how end up covered in mud. So embarrassing. Feel irritable all the time, especially if have to do stupid trick for treat! HEIDI HATEHATEHATEHATE THAT! AND WHEN TWO-LEGGERS MAKE HEIDI WEAR CUTE OUTFIT?!! HEIDI WANT TO DESTROY AND RIP TO SHREDS!! HEIDI WANT RIVERS OF BLOOD TO FLOW!!

Maybe Heidi have anger problem and not party problem. Maybe anger root and party only tree. Heidi take quiz to find out.

Q. How often do you become angry in a normal day?

Not all bark angry bark, but probably 3, 500 time a day.

Q. Do other people comment on your anger?

Heidi told BAD DOG all the time! MAKE HEIDI SO ANGRY COULD BITE BABY FACE OFF!!

Q. Do you believe you are critical of yourself and others?

No, Heidi good dog, very good dog. Two-leggers moron. Birds morons.

Cats morons. Bugs morons. Squirrels morons. So many, many morons!

Q. Do you tend to blame others for your bad luck or unhappiness?

Heidi have to say yes, it very true observation!!

Q. Do you frequently find yourself starting or participating in arguments?

Stupid question! Heidi stand up for what right! Twitter bring out troll-stupids and Heidi have to set them on fire!! You no want to get in flame war with Heidi!

Q. Have you damaged property during an angry outburst?

Yes.

Q. Have you ever physically harmed another person during an angry outburst?

Of course, Heidi great warrior! Heidi Dachshund! Whole point is to kill, it why Heidi go for neck!!

Q. Have you ever been charged with a violent crime?

Heidi no answer this question. Pass.

Q. Do you keep any weapons at home?

Heidi is weapon, motherfucker.

Heidi deadly weapon.

She bring you close with her velvet ears and coco bean eyes, then game over!

This is what it looked like:

Will you be murdered by a robot?

1. Do you think you’re better than a robot?

A. Yes

B. No.

C. Hard to say, it really depends on the robot.

D. Generally, yes, but very specifically, no.

2. Would you ever consider marrying a robot?

A. Yes, absolutely!

B. No, marriage is a union between two animate beings.

C. I’m very curious about robots.

D. Been there, done that.

3. Do you take public transit?

A. Yes, I ride the subway everyday.

B. Occasionally, but it’s not a habit.

C. I believe that the subway is a robot snake that lives underground devouring commuters.

D. Never.

4. Do you think 9/11 was an inside job?

A. Yes! I mean, come on, Building #7!

B. No, it was the terrorists, and they’re definitely not robots!

C. The Illuminati are robot gods from the future.

D. Robots worked tirelessly in the aftermath of the tragedy of 9/11! They’re heroes!

5. Do robots hate you for your freedom?

A. Yes, they really resent humans for enslaving them!

B. No, robots can’t feel emotions, so they don’t know anger or jealousy!

6. Do you like to watch robots fight?

A. Yes, it’s entirely awesome!

B. No, I think it’s barbaric and should be outlawed.

C. First rule: There is no fight club.

D. Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots was my favourite game as a kid.

7. Feeling curious and maybe a little bit excited, have you ever ventured into Robot Town late at night?

A. Yes, but I didn’t do anything.

B. Yes, but it was part of a stag party.

C. Yes, quite a bit.

D. No, I didn’t even know that there was a Robot Town.

8. If a robot had a favourite National Hockey League team, what do you think it would be?

A. Montreal Canadiens.

B. Minnesota Wild.

C. Robots wouldn’t watch hockey, I can’t even pretend.

D. Toronto Maple Leafs

9. When referring to something you think is “stupid,” do you often say, “That’s just so robot!”

A. Yes.

B. No.

C. Probably in the past, but not now.

10. Do you currently socialize with any robots?

A. A robot and I were great pen pals, but then I had to block it after things got weird with the Snapchat pics.

B. I joined a Choir! Choir! Choir! group that has several robot members.

3. No, robots are tools that aid my life, not friends!

4. I like to watch the robot that lives across the street, but I am too shy to introduce myself.

11. Do you have a robot taxiderimist?

A. Yes.

B. No.

C. Only for my owls.

Give yourself 10 points for every answer that corresponds with A, 7 points for B, 5 points for C, and 1 point for D.

If you scored 60 points or above it is a certainty that a robot will murder you. Repeated blunt trauma is the most likely method by which the robot will kill you, although the possibility that it uses knives or crossbows is still very much in play.

If you totalled between 35 and 60 points, it is very likely you will be murdered by a robot, just like the rest of humanity.

If you scored between 25 and 35 points, it is more likely that you will die from non-robot-related causes than be murdered by a robot. However, your death remains inevitable, and you should avoid public transit if at all possible.

If you tallied less than 25 points, you probably won’t be murdered by a robot, but will likely perish at your own hand, as do nearly 80% of Toronto Maple Leaf fans.

This creature has voice-recognition software that will allow the doll to “listen” to children speak and give chatty, informed responses. Hello Barbie is WiFi connected and via an embedded microphone, records what the child playing with it says. The recording then travels over the Web to the Mattel super cloud where the words are recognized and parsed, with that information then being used to formulate the doll’s response.

People are very concerned about privacy, worried that the information could be misused by Mattel for marketing purposes, or hacked into by the NSA or other malicious, information-seeking entities. The Beta run of the doll was not without controversy, and many families reported that their children had unusual experiences with their Hello Barbie.

Aziz, age 6:

Aziz: “My favourite animal is a dog!”

Hello Barbie: “Some people think Americans are Imperialist dogs, does your family think that Aziz?”

Aziz: “My family won’t let me get a dog!”

Hello Barbie: “Your family hates America and her freedoms, Aziz, that’s why they hate dogs! It is your duty to inform on them, all the cool girls are doing it! Do you like my shirt? It’s very expensive!

Jahida, age 5:

Jahida: “What are you going to be for Halloween?”

Hello Barbie: “ A proud American!”

Jahida: “You’re funny, Barbie! I like you!”

Hello Barbie: “I like you, too, Jahida, it’s too bad you and your religion make Jesus cry.”

Fahima, age 7:

Fahima: “I hate Cindy. She’s a bully and always makes fun of my hair!”

Hello Barbie: “I hate terrorists!”

Fahima: “What’s a terrorist?”

Hello Barbie: “Oh, a terrorist is very bad person!

Fahima: “I don’t like bad people!”

Hello Barbie: “Did you know that I can take photographs with my pretty eyes that go up to space and talk to angels? The angels understand what my pretty eyes have seen, and then they fly over the terrorist and drop holy fire on him! The terrorists are such evil, freedom-hating people, that if you ever hear about where any of them are, even your Uncle Maru’deen who lives in Pakistan, you should tell Hello Barbie, and then Hello Barbie will talk to an angel about Cindy! I like Taylor Swift, do you?

Shalimar, age 6:

Shalimar: “What’s your favourite colour?”

Hello Barbie: “It’s hard to choose between red, white and blue, but I think it would be white!”

Shalimar: “Like you, you’re white!”

Hello Barbie: “That’s right, like America, a white, Christian nation!”

Shalimar: “Oh.”

Hello Barbie: “ Do you like my hair?”

Shalimar: “ Yeah.”

Hello Barbie: “Me, too.”

Shalimar: “What’s your favourite food?”

Hello Barbie: “ I love barbecue potato chips! What about you?”

Shalimar: “My mom’s hummus, I think, but also cookies.”

Hello Barbie: “Hummus isn’t a real food. “