“The Most Wonderful Time of the Year” is Latin for “here we fucking go again.” We ask the kids what they want for Christmas, and then we scramble to find ways to politely say, “There’s no way in hell I’m buying you that shit.” Eventually we arrive to a happy medium with our children that leaves us unfortunately still in the horrors of WTF City.
On Christmas Day we rejoice when we don’t end up lifeless underneath a pile of batteries, assembly instructions, aspirin, and bourbon. Oh, and of course the joy of our children delights us as well. Of all the toys on your kids’ list to Santa, there are a variety of them that may take a few years off your life. To protect you from that merry pile of Christmas shit, I strongly urge you to avoid buying these specific gifts for your kids at all costs:
1) Power Wheels: The commercials are captivating. Miniature versions of Jeeps, SUVs, etc. sitting on 20 inch rims. Kids see the
opportunity to push a whip more awesome than mom and dad’s, and their drool floods the basement.
What the commercials don’t show are parents explaining to their kids that they can go fuck themselves if they think they’re going outside in the freezing cold to drive a car 2mph. The commercials don’t show any parents with dead eyes tailing these mini-mobiles to make sure their kids don’t crash. The commercials don’t show the car battery dying after 6 minutes. The commercials don’t show parents pushing the car and child home after the car battery dies after 6 minutes.
And the commercials definitely don’t show parents saying “that’s why I didn’t want to, nor should I have gotten you this shit in the first place.”
2) Easy Bake Oven: Let’s call a spade a spade and officially declare the Easy-Bake Oven one of the most fucked up toys in the history of man. The concept makes no sense, the target market is a joke, and despite advances in modern technology, the product itself is a big piece of trash.
Think my take is a bit over-the-top? Well, perhaps we should try to recreate a scene inside the think tank during the Easy-Bake conception:
Okay, so kids love to watch adults cook, why don’t we make a small oven for kids?
Yeah! Great idea, Bob! How should we go about making an oven that’s safe for kids?
Safe? I was thinking we should totally make it just as dangerous as a real oven. Better still, we should make it three times more likely to expose children to burning and fire hazards! We would then be forced to warn parents that their children shouldn’t use the oven without parental supervision thus totally defeating the point of making an oven for kids!
Awesome! And we’ll manufacture and market delicious food, right?
No! It makes sense to make terrible snacks that burn easily and taste like coffee stains.
Okay. So we’ll market it to boys and girls?
Are you kidding? This is totally a girl item. The ovens will be pink and all marketing materials will feature youth female models exclusively.
Isn’t. that. A. little. sexist?
No, it’s extremely sexist! Let’s do this!
Great! What do we call it?
I’ve got it: Let’s call it the dangerous pretend oven that really burns, is pretty dangerous, requires a ton of explicit instructions, specific foods, and isn’t really fun.
Or we could just call it the Easy-Bake Oven since there isn’t anything remotely easy about it.
Now you’re using that noggin Charlie.
3) Anything from IKEA: If you don’t believe the devil exists, you’ve never opened a box for an IKEA product to discover a trillion pieces and directions printed in hieroglyphics. Whenever questioning how long it takes to assemble anything from IKEA, the answer is always “as fuck.”
Some of the products at IKEA are far too irresistible at their respective price points, but do not plan on having a merry Christmas if assembling one is on your Christmas Eve to-do list. Wait for their birthdays.
4) The Barbie Dreamhouse: Holy fucking shit. Are you kidding me?
First off, I know I just went off on IKEA for packaging their products in a trillion separate pieces, but the Barbie Dreamhouse is different. It’s taller than small toddlers fully assembled. It has two elevators. There are enough stickers to wallpaper your bedroom. If you miss a step during the assembly process, backtracking will require psychotherapy.
It took me 8+ hours to put this shit together for my daughter, the meltdown machine. I can’t remember whether or not I took a break for lunch, because thinking about the experience gives me migraines and nosebleeds. All I know is that the game changed when I realized I needed batteries to make the blender, doorbell, oven light, and flushing toilet sounds to function. It was a grand slam mess, as my grandmother would say.
Whatever Santa brings, ask him for a gift receipt. If you allow any of these under your tree, you may develop a drinking problem, and/or and addiction to pain killers. Not that I have experience with that or anything.
(These are the toys that give me nightmares, but I know there are more you may know of. Please add them to the comments section for your fellow man).