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Monday, August 21, 2006

The Isle of Fucking Creepy Toys, Plus Mangling!

So, I'm moving.

I am continuing with the getting rid of everything. It's freeing! It's wonderful! It's...back-breaking labor! Hooray!

Now, I wouldn't want to be the bearer of bad news (ha!) or anything, but I must tell y'all: if you run up and down the stairs 900 times in 3 hours, carrying heavy stuff? You get really tired. Like, really tired. Like, Hmm-This-Concrete-Sidewalk-Looks-Mighty-Comfortable-Right-About-Now, Think-I'll-Just-Have-a-Bit-of-a-Lie-Down tired.

But, I am pleased to report, I have not succumbed to sleeping on the sidewalk between my deck and my garage like a crazy homeless person or perhaps a drunkard that couldn't quite make it up the steps.

No! I have resolutely tromped to and fro, lugging boxes of junk to go to the dump and/or Salvation Army.

I have also mangled myself in the process. Because, really, I wouldn't be me if I didn't manage to hurt myself in some stupid way, would I? As we all know, I am Very Graceful.

Dig it:

My Band-Aid is SO metal. Oh yeah.


That there is a giant Band-Aid covering up my sliced-all-to-hell finger. Isn't it gruesome? No? Whatever.

See, it turns out that the inside lips of Diet Coke cans? Are all sharp and shit? And I didn't realize that? And when I craftily stuck all of my fingers into the mouths of some Diet Coke cans to craftily and efficiently carry them up the stairs while also lugging a box of junk in the other arm, I cut the hell out of my finger.

But I didn't actually realize that until I was upstairs in the kitchen and I looked down to see spatters of blood all over the floor. Which I stared at stupidly, like, "Durrrr. Wha? Wha that?"

Yeah, I'm awesome.

ANYWAY.

To the point of today's missive:

My kids have a lot of creepy toys.

A few years ago, the creepy toy problem started with my son and a Banana in Pajamas.

See, I had this Banana in Pajamas that I acquired in the 8th grade. It looked like this:

Banana of LOVE


Cute, no? It sang the song, too. The "Bananas. In Pajamas. Are coming down the stairs! Bananas. In Pajamas. Are coming down in pairs! Bananas. In Pajamas. Are chasing teddy bears! 'Cause on Tuesdays, they all try to catch them unawares!" song in Australian accents and it was all very adorable.

The Bananas in Pajamas hung out with some rat in a hat, who was cleverly named Rat in a Hat. Such wit! I laugh! Ha ha!

Anyhoo, so when I had my son, and he got old enough to have such a wonder in his life, I presented this Banana to him to play with.

And he screamed bloody murder. And only stopped screaming when I stuffed the Banana (in his Pajamas) into the closet.

Well. Hmm.

So periodically, after that, I would bring out poor ol' B 2, thinking that Asher would've gotten over whatever it was that made him scream bloody murder. I mean, honestly, it's just a damned Banana. In Pajamas.

And each time, he'd scream bloody murder.

This continued until he was about 2 years old, and could talk. If ever we opened the closet where we kept the Banana, Asher would begin wailing and flailing his arms around, "No, 'nana! NO! NO!" He'd sink to the floor in a little ball of terror, palm out to ward off the Banana of Death.

This was, of course, very funny. So sometimes we'd say, "If you don't pick up your toys, we'll get the Banana."

"NOOOO! NO, 'NANA! NOOOO!"

I've finally figured out why he was so deathly terrified of that Banana in Pajamas. It's because whenever my tiny son set eyes on it, he didn't see what you and I see. He saw this:

BANANA OF DOOOOOOOOM!


Poor kid.

While sorting through which toys to keep and which to pitch, I was reminded of that Banana in Pajamas, because I noticed that my kids have a lot of creepy toys and it's a wonder they don't run around the house, screaming in terror, constantly.

Though now that I've collected some of these things all into one spot, I might start running around the house, screaming in terror.

Behold:

1.) Deranged Barbie

My mother sent this to Meredith for Nondenominational Gift Giving Day (that's "Christmas," for all you heathens out there). It is called Barbie & Me. And it is scary.

It's No Bones Barbie! Now With 100% Less Joints!


What's wrong with its feet? Why is it so bendy? Why are all of its fingers all sewn together like that? For god's sake, where are the KNEES?

This doll is supposed to be easy for small people to dress and such, but from experience, this is not so. Anything that says it's "EASY FOR SMALL PEOPLE TO DO" on the box is fucking lying. Nothing is easy for small people to do, especially a doll with clothes and shoes that tie. The small person will not be able to do it and will constantly hound you to please put the jacket on, please put the shoes on, now tie the shoes, now please take the shoes off, now please take the jacket off, now put it all back on, no, nevermind, Momma, let's put on the ballerina dress!

And then your head falls off.

So, if the deranged appearance of this doll does not render you insane, the EASY FOR SMALL PEOPLE features it also possesses will surely drive you mad.

Thanks, Mattel.

2.) Tarantula of Horror

Imagine this, if you will: You are walking through your darkened kitchen when a blobby something on the linoleum catches your eye. DEAR SWEET BLEEDING JESUS, WHAT IS THAT?

Theoretically Not Poisonous


Oh. It's a wind-up purple plastic tarantula with red eyes that your son has left on the floor.

Great!

3.) Demented giggling things

I don't know what it is about toymakers these days, but it appears that everything that has sound must include amongst its sounds the high-pitched demonic giggling of children.

Look, we all know kids are creepy. (See: Children of the Damned, The and Omen, The) My own children have, on occasion, frightened the life out of me.

We don't need toys that advertise this attribute. And I certainly don't need to be walking past the toybox, minding my own business, only to be scared to death by my kids' Fisher Price Ferris Wheel from Hell.

Welcome to the Carnival of Hades! How about a little brimstone with your cotton candy? No? That doesn't do it for you? Well, then just ride this crazy plastic ferris wheel with its weird (but politically correct!) plastic people while it emits annoying music and occasionally spews out strings of demonic giggling, often for no reason at all!

Yes, you too can offer your children hours of entertainment with this piece of manufactured evil! They will play with it and drive you crazy with the singing and then put it away. THEN, later, in the silence of the night, it will, for no reason at all, start the giggling. Because that is what battery-operated toys do. They lie in wait so they can randomly make their noises and wreak their vengeance.

4.) This Wretched Thing

Boss gave this to Meredith for her birthday last February.

Let's Not Get Physical. Please. PLEASE.


It's a Care Bear. A robot Care Bear. That "exercises" by bending at its mechanical knees and singing that Olivia Newton John classic "Let's Get Physical" in a strange high-pitched, child-like voice.

It doesn't get much worse than that, folks.

It got left out in the rain one day, though, so it doesn't sing or dance anymore. I have no idea how that happened, really. Must've been a freak accident. I certainly would never do such a thing to a prized possession of my own dear child's on purpose. Oh no. Not me. I would never think, "There is a nasty storm approaching...hey, where's that fucking robot bear?" I would never then proceed to hunt down the robot bear and chuck it out into the driveway where the rain would infiltrate its little mechanical innards and rust them all up and render them useless.

I'm not that sort of mother. Not at all.

Okay, maybe I am that sort of mother. You want to make something of it? HUH? I'll throw your shit out in the rain, too, so don't try me.

5.) Pure evil.

My best friend S's son had a...thing. Given to him as a gift. It was called, of all horrifying things: Tucker, My Talkin' Truckbot.

Apparently, his brother was Chuck, My Talkin' Truck. Or something. I don't know what these people are smoking. And I don't think I want to have any of it, either.

Anyway, Tucker was annoying. He would roll around and its eyes would light up and it would say things, loudly, like, "BEEP BEEP! COMIN' THROUGH!" and "COME ON, BUDDY! LET'S GET TO WORK EARLY!" Yeah, because getting up early for work is such a fun riot. Whatever.

Try not to gaze directly into its eyes.


One night, after all the munchkins were asleep, S and I were lounging on the couch with a couple of beers. We're chattering along about nonsense and then...what was that?

"Did you hear something?"

*rrrroooooaaaarrrooooo*

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?"

*coooommmmmeeee oooooooonnnnn buddddrooooooaaahhhrrr*

"JESUS CHRIST!"

We look around frantically, thinking the Mouth of Hell has somehow just opened up in her living room.

And there, beside the recliner, is Tucker. His eyes are glowing red. His little robotic jaw is slooooowly going up and down. He is emitting the maniac noises we are hearing.

Apparently, if Tucker gets low on batteries, he will spontaneously get possessed by Satan and talk in slow-motion demon-speak.

WOW! That's FUN! TOYS ARE GREAT!

We promptly yanked Tucker's batteries out and threw him in a closet. Fuck all of that, is all I'm saying.

******

So, there you have it. Toys are creepy. People that make toys are creepy. They make up creepy things that do annoying/scary stuff. And kids love it and play, play, play, and meanwhile, us parents are sitting on the couch, wide-eyed with terror, hoping the demon toys do not come to life and suck out our eyeballs.

And after writing this, I think I will throw out all of my kids' toys and replace them with nice playthings like washrags and empty oatmeal cans and lint and air. I will tell them if they squint real hard, they can imagine that the oatmeal can is really a Motorized Toy of Death What Scares Mommy and Makes the Mayhem, and it's just as good. Only without the motorized or the death or the scaring Mommy or the mayhem.

Just as good.


link | posted by Zombie at 5:12 PM |


5 Comments:

Blogger skippystalin commented at 11:02 PM~  

Wait a second, aren't oatmeal can innards sharp, too? Or are you just trying to dispose of the children?

You're an evil genius, I say!

Anonymous cynlee commented at 3:35 AM~  

What? No legos? No legos to step upon in the middle of the night while on the way to the bathroom? Where are the legos?

Blogger Zombie commented at 9:34 AM~  

Well, no Legos because Legos aren't creepy. Legos just hurt. I actually have SCARS on the bottoms of my poor little feets from stepping on Legos in the dark. They ALWAYS break the skin, no matter what.

Sigh.

Anonymous mary commented at 12:03 PM~  

Ash had a sleeping ernie doll. I never ever heard that thing go off on it's own during the day, but at night that evil doll would all of a sudden snore and say "hmmmm. I'm so tired!" or "Time to wake up!"

Now, it didn't sound evil, or menacing... but it sent chills of terror up my spine everytime it did that at 2 am.

Blogger Sigivald commented at 2:52 PM~  

So, it's kind of a Robotic Richard Simmons Care Bear?

Excellent. If only it shot bees out its mouth...

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