The Horrifying Implications Behind Today’s Toys
Think of the time before you first went to school. Before you got shoved in a room with a bunch of strangers of similar age, and were subsequently brought to the bitter conclusion that indeed you are nothing special. Think of the times when your imagination was still vivid and alive. Look back with nostalgia at the moments when you could escape into an imaginary world towards a new adventure. Got it? Great. Because now we came to seize those sweet memories and turn them into something horrible and sinister.
The key difference between school and toy shops is that while school has remained present in our lives, toy shops have stayed behind somewhere in our idealized past, relatively safe from the sobriety of lost illusions, never to be dug up again and revealed as a rotting corpse, which they are in fact.
In their very concept, those places are nothing more than a depository of some truly uncanny entities that have been a horror movie staple for years. They do not merely provide the material, nor are they the space of grotesque tribute. They are the very embodiment of horror. Everyday horror to which, up until now, we all stood ignorant. Horror, which goes way beyond wheelbarrows worth of money that a kid may force their parents to dish out for worthless piece of plastic of vague purpose.
Pictured: €17,99 plastic piece of vague purpose
Not pictured: sane investment
It all starts upon entering the place. A kid may be startled by the vast array of possibilities, ecstatic with the sheer potential of fun unraveling before their eyes. But those are only children, what do they know, right? And as an intelligent responsible adult, it should be your task to set their childishly wrong opinions right.
So what is it a reasonable person should see? You may ask. The answer, though simple, may come as a bit of a shock. You suddenly put all the jigsaw pieces together, and they spell suicide.
You say, you're not buying any of this bullshit? Well, that's perfectly fine. Try telling Teddy and his friends.
Or better, the lifeless husks they left behind in this physical world. Note especially how the light above their heads mimics all the life force drained from their dead bodies. That, and the awestruck dinosaurs...
...staring up at them half in terror, half in admiration of their brave escape from a world of despair. If you decided to be sorry for the poor fellows, save your pity for what is to come. Those guys at least had the liberty of choice. Nothing can hurt them anymore, they finally found peace up there, with ceiling lights leading their scorched souls to oblivion. They are at a better place now. A luxury poor Benji down here couldn't share.
Shamelessly robbed of his freedom, and confined inside a transparent box, so everyone can see his suffering. As a sort of a cruel jape they placed a rope in his mouth, supposedly to remind him that he will never be able to take his life. He’s being paraded like a criminal in the middle of a market square with a mocking sign begging you to end his life for him (it honestly isn't photoshopped, he is genuinely asking you to pull his rope). All that, and for what? Being cute? Or for being manufactured in one of the Asian countries? Being too expensive to find a home? But who would care for what little Benji wants, as long as he’s wrapped in a Candy-Land. Right?
It's not as if Benji would be the only one depressed beyond measure around here. Say hello to Phil the Drill.
Or rather don't. A false spark of hope is the last thing he needs right now. Phil isn't the only talking toy around. Kids love them, the talking toys. But he surely is the most depressing one. If you pick him up and feign drilling (no guys, he actually isn't a functioning drill). Enthusiastically, he slurs something that could be vaguely translated as „Let's drill something!“ (it isn't the innuendo that we're worried about either). Then, brief silence ensues, followed by an innocent inquiry „Is there anything else to drill?“. If your stone heart remains cold towards his pleas, after another moment of silence he plays his farewell line „Alright, see you some other time.“
This is usually followed by the kid putting him back onto the shelf and never to return. Ever (Mommy has one stashed away under the bathtub anyway). But we assume that even though this concludes the brief acquaintance for the kid, who carries on with its careless life of prospective mediocrity, it leaves Phil the Drill forever scarred. Once the shop closes, and all the lights go out, he cries himself to sleep upon the remnants of yet another failed promising friendship. He thinks about the days to come, how he'll have to fake enthusiasm again, even though he is slowly dying inside. He thinks of all the disappointing days to come, and his inability to hang himself like Teddy, or all the others, who keep taunting him with their lifeless bodies hanging there for everyone to see. It is during those moments when you can hear a faint echo of a record emanating from deep inside his programming: „Kid! Come back! I didn't even get to know your name.“
Depressed enough already? Splendid. Now it's time to finish off with something straight out awful. As we mentioned earlier, Phil the Drill is not the only talking toy. And even though he is the most depressing one, he is not the one you should walk the widest circle around to avoid.
This is My Little Pony. But it's not having a fight over the last specimen with a 30-year old pervert that we are concerned about (but in all seriousness, that scenario is too likely). In all honesty, we actually think you should let the sweaty man keep that toy, since it probably fits his obscure preferences much better.
It is the toy itself that raises unsettling questions. See those arrows pointing towards that cute little button? Now guess what the pony says once you push it.
If you guessed „Mommy, I'm hungry“, you are either psychic, or have one yourself (which is sick). At the first glance, this may seem rather harmless. But if there is anything you learned from this article, it's that you shouldn't believe in first glances.
Let's take a closer look at the statement: A small toy pony addresses the potential future owner, a little girl, as her mommy.
The conclusion it brings us to is horrifying in its simplicity: At some point in the past, a little girl got humped by a midget horse to spawn an abomination that was given the gift of speech, so it can keep reminding everyone of this bestiality. Until its batteries go empty. Or until you put it in the back of a drawer together with Phil the Drill.
After all this we'd still rather take the corpse bear. It's not like he's going to harm anyone's reputation at the most inappropriate time. Imagine a friend of your girl would pick up the horse in an unattended moment. Try and explain that to the police.
No, really, the new evil has become cute. With our minds jaded by thousands of horror movies, a radical shift had to occur to keep us scared and on our toes. It’s not the dark things anymore. Not the vampires that sparkle in the sunlight. It’s like a global Stockholm Syndrome collectively brought to its climax, where the things we feared spawn comfort in our twisted hearts.
Something naturally had to take their place. And that something is a Furby.
“I shall consume your soul while you sleep.”
Evil no longer lurks under the bed. Now it has managed to creep inside and all around, waiting to snatch at that which is so dear. Your child. Consumerism has torn it from the mother’s cradling arms, put it away behind a closed door and surrounded it by vanity. And what is worse, it’s done with your silent consent and for your money. If that’s not evil.