There are those who say that leaving ironic product reviews on Amazon is proof that we have ultimately failed in our haphazard pursuit of a higher purpose, but those people would be wrong. What was Jonathan Swift's famous op-ed about eating dead Irish babies if not a proto-Amazon review done in irony? Is the Book of Revelation anything more than a parody of Roman imperial politics and luxury obsession? Anyway, here's a Playmobil playset that Amazon doesn't even sell, and the Freedom Writers are leaving some very biting fake reviews that are probably really more about their unhappiness with the U.S. Transportation Security Administration.
"My daughter had no idea what they were, she just knew it was a toy she liked. They're fuzzy, supersoft, and have that squishy Beanie Baby feel, so they're fun to play with." -Toymaker Emil Vicale discusses his newest product, "a pink, plushy pair of 'cojones' topped with coarse black hair," that Vicale was inspired to create after hearing Sarah Palin questioning President Obama's "cojones." This article is a festival of testicle-related punnery, but I'll pull out two more for ya: "I almost died when I heard Palin say that. After that, I knew I had to give Palin the cojones she wanted." AND. "I can just see [...]
"For the first time in Barbie’s more than 50-year history, Mattel is introducing a Barbie construction set that underscores a huge shift in the marketplace. Fathers are doing more of the family shopping just as girls are being encouraged more than ever by hypervigilant parents to play with toys (as boys already do) that develop math and science skills early on."
Here's the perfect gift for the neurotic in your life: "A German toymaker has unveiled a controversial new range of animals which all have psychiatric illnesses…. 'Patients' from the Paraplush toy company include Dub the turtle with severe depression, Sly the snake who suffers from terrifying hallucinations, Dolly the sheep with a multiple personality disorder and a crocodile with an irrational fear of water."
When I was 5 years old I got a toy shooting gallery for Christmas. It was a contraption with a line of metal balls and a bright blue gun with a magnet in it; you'd lift up the balls and fire them at different targets. (I'm pretty sure this was it; I vividly remember that gun.) I played with it for a night and then the next day I did something "bad"—I've asked around, and no one remembers quite what, because it was FOREVER AGO—and my parents took it away to punish me. They kept it around on the top of the fridge for about a week or [...]