A/N: The last and first South Park fan fiction I have ever done was more of a drabble and had a terrible plot. I decided to use the 'some what okay' pieces from the drabble and put it into this. I might later make a separate story for the background of the 'Barbies' fad and that'd be a one shot.

So, technically, this is my first one, ever.

Enough about that..

The Barbies were sitting in their assigned desks inside the confidential room, a room where only girls, well now limited to the 'single-faced' popular girls, were aloud in for their meetings. This hide out was much like the room for the guys, the home of were the craziest shenanigans had begun, otherwise known as Cartman's basement. Except with walls coated in a miraculous amount of pastel lilac, and a thick, 20cm long, purple stripe painted on top of it, placed 3cm below the ceiling's corners.

"Yes, Wendy, you're going to have to break up with Stan as he's not the Ken to your Barbie," Bebe ordered, her aquamarine eyes piercing themselves through Wendy's skull.

"Mhmm, Bebe's right, you guys have been on and off since 3rd grade, it's only logical to end it now before it's too late," Red added, Heidi and Annie nodded along side with her, applying their bubblegum flavoured lip gloss to their very own thin and brutally abused lips.

Wendy sat there, in the centre of all this bashing and a glistening drop of liquid ran down her foundation caked face, ruining her smoky copper eye shadow in the process.

She was beginning to get sick and tired of posing as if she really wanted to become a Barbie. She truly missed the days she could express her opinions without getting frowned upon for being a 'pussy'.

Cheerleading was her only way of getting socially accepted in this degrading, disappointing town called South Park.

Of course, this led to a path which she didn't necessarily want to go through. Working in Raisins was incredibly emotionally dampening, a hoard of girls flirting immensely with horny, male adolescents for what cause exactly? Money, that's what.

"Wendy, don't cry or your mascara is going to run!" Nichole whispered loudly in her ear, as she tried to suppress the anger in her voice; she was forced to spend majority of her weekly pay to buy her 'friends' some identical make up to complete their plastic appearance.

"Sorry," as the back of her hand dabbed the tears dry, cautiously so there is no more damage to the already melted make up.

"It's okay," Nichole sympathized as she took out her pack of Kleenex tissues which was laid right in the bottom of her expensive fuchsia, leather bag, among the rest of her unnecessary abundance of female products, "Here, use this."

Forcing a petite smile, Wendy took 3 tissues from the pack and continued dabbing the tears away and drawing her eyes towards her outfit which consisted of a turquoise tank top, cream daisy dukes and silver sandals embedded with silver rhinestones.

The climate in South Park has been increasingly heating up, probably due to global warming. It felt as if they were in Spain or maybe Egypt, no one wore their usual set of clothing anymore. This unfortunately gave the 'Barbies' an excuse to their over-protective parents to wear something skimpy.

Once Wendy's tears stopped descending from her tear ducts, she coughed to clear her dry throat, drinking some water which was passed to her by Nichole to help moisten it further.

"I think," Wendy decided, trying to fight back another avalanche of tears, "I'll dump S-Stan."

The atmosphere in the room silenced until Bebe began clapping, "Well done, Wendy."

Suddenly a wave of claps eroded the room's awkward tension and everyone began cheering for Wendy.

A genuine smile came across Wendy's face, maybe this was the right thing to do.

_ 8:45pm inside Wendy's Bedroom_

"What's wrong, Wendy?"

Bebe suggested to Wendy that she should break up with Stan alone and the only place which was not swarmed with teenagers was her own house. Seeing Bebe was inviting Clyde over for some time alone and she couldn't possibly do it through text as that defeats morality, her house was the only suitable option.

"Uh, Stan, sit down here."

Wendy patted the space next to her with her left hand, nails painted with bright blue, matching her plain t-shirt, navy leggings and the nails of her bare feet.

"We need to talk."

Not even snow could compare to the sudden paleness of Stan's face, guilt and regret became the only known feelings to Wendy right now but she had to carry on. 'The girls will be proud, Bebe will be proud.'

"It's being going on too... Stan please, don't make this harder for me than it already is."

"FUCK YOU, WENDY!"

From sadness to veins popping outside the tan curtains of skin, eyebrows furrowed and hands clenched into fists, ready to fight and defend the owner of it.

"Stan..."

And with that, Stan sighed. His previous expression faded and he gave her a twisted, sympathetic look.

"Wendy, it's okay, I know this is one of your little bitchy games," he chided, resting his arms to his side and smiling like a mental patient, head cocked to hover above his right shoulder-blade, "Tomorrow you're going to come back to me again, and everything will be perfect."

Only then did Wendy realise that Stan had not moved an inch since he entered the room, he stood perfectly in the centre of her rug that rested beside her bed. Guilt and regret left her solemn body and fear arose.

"Stan, I'm tired of this relationship. We keep breaking up and going back together only to repeat the previous actions, it's not healthy."

It felt like hours has passed until what Wendy just said sunk in to not only Stan but Wendy herself.

She felt tired of this relationship? Well that was understandable. Who would want to stay in an unstable relationship with someone who is boring?

Stan was a typical American guy. He loved football; he even did well in it, being a quarterback and all. A jock, that's what he was.

Sure, he was animal loving, even going to the extreme and hoarding cattle to keep them safe. Sticking to a vegetarian diet and unfortunately turning into a 'pussy', contracting vagina-itis in the process, just like she was.

He was never interesting and he was never genuinely interested into the things she seriously was. The Stan Marsh was pretending to be interested in politics was flattering to Wendy but low, even for a him.

They were the golden couple, shining vividly in the sunlight called popularity like authentic diamonds, but dying inside, together. All personal interests in life had now shriveled away, only putting a positive plastic face for the sake of others. They were the plastic couple, like Barbie and Ken.

Plastic, fake and unhappy.

How can you go on in life without being happy? You can't, that's the answer.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to finally break the chain, Stan, it's all for the best."

Stan finally changed his focus from Wendy's face to Wendy's cocoa bean pupils and kept it there, never moving, just staring.

"I'm sorry for being with you, Wendy, I'm sorry for ever loving you," he seethed through his grated teeth, eyes still never leaving Wendy's as he backed away towards her door.

Wendy stared back until Stan turned his torso to open the door, moving his focus towards the doorknob, and exited the room with a long bang.

'What have I done?'

A/N: There you go,

I honestly really hope that was better than the other one, this one has a much more interesting plot and a few twists not even I think the characters would go through, but that's later.