Children suck. They're noisy, filthy, disease carrying little monsters that scream through movies and poop in restaurants.
That being said, we know that there are good kids out there, somewhere, and they deserve to have a happy holiday, despite their tantrums and uncontrolled bowel function.
So after eleven months of cursing their existence, at the end of the year Amanda and I embrace the children of Los Angeles as we open our hearts and start filling up the charity bins for...
misinformer.com's
Christmas Toy Drive 2003
By Marcus
The first toy that I picked up for the kids this year were the "Hulk Hands". Ever since the first time I saw these bad boys in some overpriced Universal Studios gift shop this summer, I knew that they'd make some frantic, ADD riddled orphan very happy this year.
If you're not familiar with them, the Hulk Hands are giant green foam fists that you wear on your own hands. When you punch something with them, they make electronic smashing noises, and scream such eloquent Hulkisms as "HULK SMASH!" and "HRRRAAAAAUG!"
This toy wins the award for most insane disclaimer, as the back of the box proclaims: "Do not strike any person, pet or inanimate object with Hulk Hands, as serious injury could result."
So... I'm not supposed to smash anything with my giant, balled foam fists of fury, under penalty of death? Okay, Mr. Legal Man, what do I do with them then?
The disclaimer continues: "Hulk Hands are intended to be used only for dress-up fantasy play."
Great. I try to foster destructive violence, and I end up creating a whole new breed of Marvel fetishists.
Have you ever heard of this person called "Spongebob Squarepants"? Apparently he's an obscure cartoon character from Nickelodeon.
I've watched his show maybe two times, which means that my Spongebob viewing time is comprised of about 44 minutes of television and 6,422 hours of appearances on various consumer products. From cereal boxes, to stationary, to d-CON rat poison, anything that's vaguely yellow and/or square has been branded with Spongebob's absorbent mug.
To help Nickelodeon in their quest to someday turn a profit on this character, I bought an Inflatable Spongebob Krabby Patty Toss. I hope the kids have more fun with Krabby Patty today that I did when I dated her in high school.
Here's a classic from our youth, updated for the millennium. Sit'n Spin isn't just about sitting and spinning anymore. No sir. Now it has flashing lights and "Plays 6 rockin' tunes!"
The kid on the box looks like he's one hit of ex away from his Sit'n Spin becoming a Sit'n Rave.
When did Strawberry Shortcake become a demonic Lilly Tomlin?
She still smells nice though.
Giving a Care Bear to charity is a great way to hold on to your own childhood by forcing it on the unsuspecting youth of today.
This Funshine Bear shows the common courtesy of being packaged with its own Care Bears video, as if to say, "Okay, okay, I know you don't know what a Care Bear is. Here is your mission briefing. This Care Bear Stare will self-destruct in 10 seconds."
This "Kid Powered Roaring Hulk" needs to be seen to be believed. On he surface it looks like a regular, flat-skulled Hulk that was probably hastily re-purposed from an old Frankenstein head mold. But the truly incredible thing about this Hulk is his "roaring" feature.
Unlike most of the toys in the "dolls-that-make-noise-when-you-squeeze-them" genre, this Hulk is not electronic, but instead works on some kind of air bladder and whistle system.
Now here's the awesome part. This Hulk doesn't "roar" so much as "flip his monster head open and scream like a Canadian goose that just caught an abdomen full of searing hot buckshot." The first time you squeeze him in the store, the noise is so loud and jarring that you throw the box across the aisle in shock, as people from Diva Starz to Yu-Gi-Oh tense up and whisper "What the hell was that?!"
But don't take my word for it. Click here to download a 1 second, 540k AVI movie of "Kid Powered Screaming Bloody Murder Hulk" in action!
Sometimes when you're at the toy store, you just need to take a Mighty Dump. The cashier suggested that I was too old to play with my Mighty Dump, but I said, "Oh no, it's not for me. I'm giving a Mighty Dump for others." Honestly, how many of you out there can say that you gave a kid a Mighty Dump for Christmas?
I'm just a bachelor. I'm looking for a partner.
Someone who knows how to ride, without even falling off.
If you're horny, let's do it.
Ride it, My Little Pony...
... the cashier suggested that I was too old to play with my Mighty Crane, but I said, Oh no, it's not for me. I'm giving a Mighty Crane for... oh, nevermind.
Here's one that Amanda spotted. It's not only the coolest toy that we picked up this year, but it could possibly be the coolest toy ever made for 3 year olds.
This is Beach Patrol Hulk, or as I like to call him, David Hasselhulk. It's the same kinder, gentler, Frankenhulk as the screaming version above, but this time he's decked out in a Spiderman life jacket, a beach hat, and Ray-Bans.
As if that isn't cool enough, he also comes with this big bazooka that shoots a huge, candylike life preserver.
Baywatch Hulk is the shit, and he knows it. Just look at the satisfied grin on this guy's face! That's the look of a guy who is saving lives all day, and is up to his flat green head in surfer girl tail every night.
For a movie that sucked so wholeheartedly, the Hulk sure came through with an awesome spread of toys this year.
From the reactions of the little girls in the store, it's pretty obvious that "Bratz" dolls are kicking Barbie's spent white ass in popularity this Christmas. I can just picture the Bratz moving into the Dream House next door to the pink plastic princess...
Ken is out in the yard in his polo shirt and khaki shorts, absently trimming the immaculate hedges, when Sasha Bratz rolls up the block in her phat hooptie, Sir Mix-A-Lot blaring on the Alpines. Ken doesn't even realize that he is unabashedly staring at her lithe teenage form as she slinks out of the car, sassily balancing her enormous head on her gaunt, waify shoulders.
"Hey there, new neighbor! I'm Ken!" he says, flashing that tired old smile that used to woo the ladies back in the day. "That's a pretty neat car you've got there."
Sasha's enormous eyes roll up and down Ken, from his little white plastic shoes to his little brown plastic haircut. She blinks once.
"I like your groovy music too," Ken continues, "I've 'played some funky music' in my day."
He then proceeds to do the "MC Hammer shuffle" back and forth across the driveway, crooning, "Hay-o! Hay-o! Can't touch this!"
Sasha smirks, flashes Ken the hand, and goes into her house. An enticing blast of thumping hip-hop and giggling girl voices swell from the portal, and then is silenced by the slamming door. Ken stands for a moment in the driveway, frozen, his features betraying a sense of deep emptiness and longing. His solitude is broken by the roar of a pink VW New Beetle screeching down the smooth white driveway.
"Goddamn it, Ken!" Barbie yells from the driver's seat, "Finish up those hedges and start cleaning the pool already! Jesus. If I'm going to be the one bringing home all the bacon in this family, the least you could do is keep up on your fucking chores! Now get out of the way, or I'm going to be late for work as a Veterinarian/Gymnast/Astronaut/
McDonald's cashier!"
"Yes, dear. Sorry, dear. It won't happen again, dear."
Eight hours later, Barbie returns home from the Pet Clinic/Olympics/Outer Space/Mickey D's on Crenshaw to find the pool still full of leaves, and Ken hiding in the basement den, surrounded by soiled Kleenex, watching B.E.T., and weeping over a bottle of Colt 45...
