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The Evolution of Toys

With the holidays right around the corner, I’ve been thinking about Christmas past. Back in the dark ages, when I was a kid, toys were much simpler. Rarely were batteries ever needed, all that was required was an imagination. Tiny Tears, Thumbalina, Eazy-Bake Oven, even that stalwart, Barbie, didn’t require anything extra. Chatty Cathy (I still have mine!) was the most high-tech toy around. One year my father bought my sister and I a tank; unusual gift for girls, plus it required batteries, which were a luxury. We had the best time with that thing! But slowly this changed…one day you’re buying Park Place, a few decades later you’re blowing up a planet on a screen. So what does the future hold for toys? Let’s take a look, shall we?

“Uppity Ursula” – she lives on the UES, wears a fur coat over her tennis togs, and has the prerequisite yappy little dog. Ursula comes with three outfits: a St John suit for daytime, a Badgley Mischka gown for the Met Gala, and your choice of a tennis outfit or a Lulu Lemon yoga outfit. Buying this automatically registers you as a Democrat, regardless of your political leanings.

Operation 2.0 – if you are of a certain age, you remember “Operation” where you had to remove organs without setting off the buzzer. In the updated version, you perform a sex change! Available in two versions – M to F and F to M…what a great way to introduce the kids to the wonderful world of transitioning!

Mr Green Jeans – comes with seeds and instructions on how to grow hydroponic hemp. A great way for kids to learn gardening, as well as harvesting and processing their products.

Barbie’s Funeral – a delightful way to teach your children about death and traditions. Comes in a variety of offerings; a casket, urn, or Viking ship. Black armband and tiny lace veil included; mortician makeup kit sold separately. (oh come on, she’s how old? Late 70s? Early 80s? It’s time.)

Chinese checkers – sorry, no longer available. Sanctions in place.

Venezuelan Supermarket Sweep – fun board game where you roll the dice to see how many minutes you have to hunt down items in an almost empty store!

The DNC Little Women Dolls –  AOC, Pressley, Tlaib, and Omar are the new version of the old classic. Learn how to wear a $3,000 designer outfit while preaching socialism, or espouse Islam while cheating on your husband! Great fun for girls of all ages!

Tiny Tots Chemistry Set –  comes with beakers, test tubes, and a full range of chemicals and elements; including plutonium and uranium (what little Hillary Clinton didn’t sell) to make whatever the kids decide to “cook” up. Comes with mini-Hazmat suits and a real Geiger counter!

Make the holidays fun and educational at the same time! Happy shopping!

#Barbie #Hemp #Chemistry #Tanks



The Uselessness Of Celebrities

I got rid of my television set thirteen years ago. I stopped going to movies about that same time, and never regretted the decision.

I realized that most movies had an agenda they were trying to “artfully” push. I realized that the television was vomiting a never-ending bile of commercials and propaganda. Very soon after unplugging the boob tube, telling the cable company to piss off, and vowing never to go to the movies again, my brain cleared, rational thought returned, and I was able not only to see the world as it really is, but engage the world with my new vision.  In doing so, I found I had an advantage over people who were still passively absorbing the sugar-coated crap shoveled into the minds and the living rooms of the people around me.

Unplugging from the mass media also allowed me to recognize the concepts of celebrity and celebrity worship for what they are: useless. Celebrities are the most useless people on the face of the earth. Some are famous because they can hit a mark and say lines written for them by someone else. They are professional pretenders (and if you have ever seen or heard outtakes from these people, most of them can’t do their jobs all that well). Some sing garbage, usually with the assistance of auto-tune, or if they can’t sing, rap. The males have to be sexy and predatory, the females have to be essentially singing strippers. Some people are celebrities because they filmed themselves having sex on a “leaked” video, and some are famous for going to the right parties.

These are people who, on the whole, jump from bed to bed, can’t keep their skirts down and their zippers up. The vast majority of them have no marketable skills and couldn’t do an honest days labor if their lives depended on it. Interestingly, a large percentage of them feel like their fame offers them a “platform” to speak to the rest of the unwashed masses about some charity that in reality is only a PR stunt and a photo op, or “educate” us about a imperative to change the way we think about certain societal issues, or to offer their insight into how we should live our lives, what we should eat, and who we should vote for.

In Shakespeare’s time, that which passes for “celebrities” today were regarded as among the lowest of the low. In particular, those in the acting profession were considered “Professional Liars”, and one of the reasons boys played the girls’ parts was that women actors were considered akin to prostitutes.

Would that our society could see our celebrities with those eyes now.

Most of these people are morons. Want to know how to tell?

If they have their mouths open and are speaking about their views on practically anything except their job, if they bitch about how hard it is to go into public without being recognized, if they make the media rounds on an apology tour because they got caught doing something they shouldn’t and their PR people think that they can spin saying “sorry” for their bad behavior as being heroic, if they feel like they need to use their “position” to take a “stand” on some issue, they are flaming morons.

If they were really concerned, they would shut the hell up and put their money and time into a cause they believed in as anonymously as possible. They would check their arrogance and recognize that they do not have a position superior to anyone else and therefore, while they have the right to speak about whatever they choose, others have the right to ignore them right up to the point where they refuse to spend time or money helping to finance these deluded, self-absorbed idiots.

Remember before the Presidential election of 2016 when  a bunch of celebrities promised to leave the United States of America if Trump got elected? Why didn’t they leave? Why stay and lead the whining and the foot-stomping and the shaking of their fists because they didn’t get what they want? Why did they wait then? Why not leave now?

In fact, why don’t we do this: Let’s drag them kicking and screaming to an Army cargo plane in the middle of the night, give them parachutes and a bag of granola each, and kick their asses out of the tail end of the plane over someplace nice like, say, Venezuela, or Syria, or Iran.

I hear North Korea is lovely this time of year.

My 50th High School Reunion

I think I’ll go to my 50th high school reunion. I’m only about 35 years old inside of me. So…I’m a few years older on the outside, but….so what! I’m pretty sure everyone will recognize me. I’m still one of the tallest girls in our class. About 5’8”. The 3rd from the left in the back row of every class picture taken throughout our 12 years of school. I always looked like my chin was resting on the top of Barbara’s head. She was the girl in the row in front of me.

I’ve only shrunk 2” since then. One of my classmates and best friends is Joy, and she has shrunken 3 ½”. She was kind of short to begin with. I can now look down onto the top of her head. She has a big ole cowlick up there. As her hair has thinned, it’s more like a circle of sparse hair with a big bald spot in the center. I feel sorry for her. Don’t tell.

I have one, too. But I’m taller. Also, I know how to tease my hair over my cowlick and then spray the heck out of it with my volumizing spray. My mother had 4 girls. She didn’t have time to coddle us so we learned how to beautify ourselves. My friend’s parents hovered over her all 12 years of our primary education! Helicopter parents, I think they call them now. So Joy never had to do her own hair. My hair stays over my cowlick just fine. The only time I have trouble is in a stiff wind. I may end up where I didn’t intend to go.

I’ve never ridden in a helicopter. I’ve always wondered how short a person has to be to avoid getting their heads cut off in those whirling blades. I’ve also wondered why they even have the engines running and the blades whirling? Why don’t they wait ‘till they have the ‘copter loaded? I wonder about a lot of things. Especially now days. Being a child of the ‘50’s is a special treat but we don’t know quite everything.

I know someone who flew in a helicopter. My husband, Jack, who is now deceased, was 8 years old when he was beaten up by his next door neighbor, Johnny. Johnny, the bully. Every neighborhood has one or two. So, Jack ran home crying to his mother. The only problem was, his dad was home, too. (Let’s just say in those days, kids weren’t taken into a room with a miniature pony to play with to sooth their little psyches.) So his dad told Jack that if Jack would go back to Johnny’s and sock him a good one….his dad would take Jack to the airfield for a helicopter ride. Jack went next door, knocked on the door, Johnny’s mom let him in, and Jack went over to Johnny, who was watching TV, and gave him an impressive black eye, then ran home really fast. Jack got his helicopter ride. Trouble in the neighborhood.

Did you notice how old people can fit 6 or 7 topics into one conversation…just about without taking a breath. Old people can. Especially women. It’s like a smorgasbord.

Now, about the reunion. I’ve run out of time. I’ll have to tell you later. My son-in-law, who knows everything (he’s from Kentucky) saw a couple of bore holes in my new fence. I’m told I have to spray insect spray into the holes, let it dry, then fill them in with wood filler. I can do that! Those bees must be huge because the holes are nothing to sneeze at. Which reminds me, I pulled into the garage last night and a black spider the size of my fist ran across the garage floor. I let him run. But I’m going to have to try to find him eventually. I’ll put it off until tomorrow. (See, I told you we could put a bunch of topics into one conversation!)