Monday, February 7, 2011

Talking Toys Predict the End of Days

Morning Readers,

     We're all going to die....maybe. OK' don't panic. I'd just like to take a little time out of your mornings to bring you a public service announcement that, unfortunately, should've been broadcast to the masses long ago. As it turns out, the Mayans couldn't have been more wrong....and not about those loin clothes and feathered headdresses they were so fond of.. I'm speaking, of course, of the end of the world, and it won't be coming in the form of earth shattering quakes, disastrous tsunamis, or fussy volcanoes. The toys. The toys will bring our downfall.

     When you're done laughing, proceed to absorb the vital information I'm about to send your way. If not, you may find yourself stuck in a dark alley some lonely evening, facing off with evil-plastic-incarnate. Because, well, they watch us...and they're waiting to pick all the unsuspecting off one by one. And just in case you're wondering, the mothers are the first to go. Be still my shuddering, shaking hands.
     I guess it sounds silly (I wouldn't of realized it either), but when you've had as many inanimate objects spring to life, in the dead of night, out of nowhere, as I have... you'd be weary too. Do you know what it's like to stumble downstairs, in the pitch black, simply wanting a glass of water, and be greeted with a child's voice, singing to you from an unseen corner, "Wanna play with me?" The hairs on the back of your neck don't just stand up, they shrivel up and fall off.  That's what you are..hairless and terrified.
     Yes, husband and I are the proud owners of a basket-full of these verbose little beauties: spinning tops that prod you to give them a whirl, a self-propelled rolling ball which tumbles itself across the floor, commanding you to"Roll Me", and the aforementioned stuffed puppies who, not only "know" my little one's names, but like to awaken from the their electronic slumbers, at unanticipated points, and call to my babies to come play with them. Just yesterday, as I was leaving the twin's room, both  clinging to a hip, I heard the rolly ball call after us.."Goodbye". I didn't turn around. Just kept walking.
     Some would claim that various political leaders, money, or the stock market are the Anti-Christ. I adhere to the notion that V-Tech, Leapfrog, and the stores that pedal these wears are the entity that doom mankind. I'm not saying they should be banned altogether, just monitored very closely. They can be a helpful distraction occasionally. But every time my son picks one up and throws it across the room, my heart warms a bit. When husband gets way to creeped out and shoves the talking puppies in the cabinet, oddly, I feel a little safer. Since childhood, I've been a strong proponent against any Poltergeisty, Child's Play, Twilight Zone-type episodes going down in my home, and I aim to keep it that way.

Until Next Time out for that clown doll under the bed!