The object of this “toy,” as I understand it, is to convince your children that the doll is watching them to make sure they behave, otherwise, it will tap into your home’s WiFi and let Santa know. If this works in your home, you need to ask yourself if the ends (good behavior) justify the means (your deception and the kid’s gullibility).
I have a great idea: How about instead of a doll talking to an imaginary being, put a fucking WiFi camera in the room? Yes, they make those. Then, show your runt the video feed on your iPhone. The stupid toy costs $30, so the camera is only a few dollars more, and here’s the hook: it’s REAL!
Stop lying to your kids now so they don’t spend their late teens strolling around my neighborhood in black pants and suspenders, interrupting my workday while handing out silly religious propaganda. Stop with the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, and Pedo-Claus.
Imagine if children of today fully embrace this Elf on the Shelf thingie, and begin developing adult prototypes. It would be worse than Mormonism.
- Elf in the Backseat – Making sure you don’t pinch Susie’s boobies until they’re ripe.
- Elf in the Dorm Room – Reporting home to your parents that you spend the book money they send you on pot, cheap beer, and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Oh, and you masturbate too much.
- Elf on a Bar Stool – Telling your wife or girlfriend that you continue tipping over 30% in a futile effort to have sex with the bartender.
- Elf in the Workplace Bathroom – Telling all your coworkers it was you.
- Elf in the Cubicle – Yes, she is shopping and he is looking at celebrity tits.
- Elf in the Shower – Nothing goes down that drain except soap and loose hair, Mister.
- Elf at the Gym – Texting from the elliptical is not a fucking exercise.
- Elf in the Shopping Cart – M&Ms are not vegetables.
- Elf at the Lakers Game – Shoots foul shots as well as Dwight Howard and he costs over $19 million less.
- Elf in Kate’s Womb – “King me, motherfucker!”
I’m going to steal two of these silly dolls, pose them in various sex positions, take pictures, and post them on my blog in an effort to desensitize the Republicans about gay marriage. If Santa’s elves can wear such devilish grins while invading each other’s innards, maybe it ain’t so bad.
If I am invited to any house parties this year (unlikely, since I took an upper-decker last year and drew penises on the mirrors using bar soap), I’ll hunt for the Elf. I’ll kidnap that little creep, torture it, send pictures, and demand ransom. I’ll bury that prick up to his saggy cap in cat litter. I’ll microwave the munchkin. I’ll tie the brat to the bumper of my car and parallel park. I’ll tape it to the fence of Middle School playground, and taunt it. Don’t think I won’t. I have a dark side and low tolerance for magic tricks.
(Don’t buy yours here.)
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