You heard it here… last folks. One of the popular “Zhu Zhu Pets” that are the biggest craze this year may be super-fuck-deadly. Alright, not really, but it was a concern for roughly twenty-three minutes.
Apparently, one of the lil’ toy hamsters contained something called antimony (yeah, I had no idea what the fuck that was either) and a possible recall was talked about. Of course, no one gives a shit since you can still make about 40 bucks a pop selling one of these on eBay. Why can you make that much money? Well, because people are fucking stupid, that’s why.
I say let the lil’ shitlings eat some Antimony. It’s good for ‘em, helps build up a strong immune system. I’m tired of us babying babies. Kids are protected from way too much these days, and it’s going to make a generation of soft, pansy-ass lil’ fucktards that can’t handle the pressure of adult life.
Allow me to dig deep into my own past for a moment. “Danger” used to be a source of fun growing up. And the generation before that had fuckin’ LAWN DARTS. Giant spears you threw at each other for craps and chuckles. Giant sharp objects given to kids with an emphatic “go on out into the backyard and chuck these at each other”. And guess what: They’re all just fuckin’ fine. A little flinchy, but fine nonetheless.
Our generation was no different. We had NERF. For those of you who don’t know what NERF is, it’s basically the same thing they make the inside of car seats out of. Instead, they turned it into footballs. Footballs you couldn’t throw more than six feet because they were total shit, but football SHAPED means it must be a football, right? What could you possibly do with NERF? Throw them at people. And hard. They were like lil’ joy missles. And the best part is: They never left a mark! They were hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to leave a bruise on your little brothers face. Fantastic! Thanks Mom!
But a problem came from this: One hit and done. Now you’re on the defense because your target has your weapon. Why do you think my generation is so into the whole “Hit and Run” and “Drive By Shooting” fad? NERF is to blame. And bless them for it. But they knew this was a problem, so the geniuses (and I don’t use that term lightly!) decided they should add little tails to the balls. Yes, they added tails. Now they’re war hammers! AWESOME! Now you can wail away on the weakest of your friends (usually me) all day and never worry about a retaliatory hit. How could things possibly get any better?
Don’t count NERF out yet! Next up, they added WHISTLES. Hard, plastic whistles that stuck out of the sides and hurt your hands. GREAT now it’s a spiked mace! NERF is really on a roll. Clearly the fact your football sounds like a Russian nuke when it is flying at you wasn’t the main reason they made these whistles, they made it so that we could draw blood. Because NERF loves us!
Not only did we have toys to hurt us, we managed just fine using what we could find lying around the house. One time, and I love to admit this, we crushed Altoids and snorted them. Why? ’cause we fuckin’ felt like that! And the only thing that was “Curiously Strong” was the stinging pain in our sinus cavities. Guess what it did? NOTHING. We didn’t get high, unless you count the euphoric feeling that follows a heavy sneezing fit.
Kids these days are protected way too much. Look at their playground equipment. It’s all this padded plastic bullshit. Slides are made of plastic that teaches us one thing: Friction is a motherfucker. Ever seen a kid go down a plastic tube slide? They get about three inches then just stick like the fuckin’ thing is made of fly paper. It’s sad to see. Then they have to spend the rest of the “ride” butt-scooting the way down while a fat kid leaps in and kicks them square in the back. WEEE fun times.
Our slides? Metal. And we would go out at noon, just as the sun was hitting it’s peak, and watch as kids got second degree burns from the heated metal. This was, of course, after whizzing down the slide at 45 MPH. Fun shit. The burns were nothing compared to actually managing to reach the fucking GROUND!
And the platforms holding this shit up, not plastic, but wood. 30 year old planks made of splintering drift wood pulled out of rivers and picked up from torn-down South American Rainforests. Wood that was too shitty to make into firewood. Nothing makes burns feel better than four-inch splinters. But fuck if we didn’t have a blast!
I’ve played on playgrounds in recent years (as research, AS FUCKING RESEARCH) and I’ve come to this conclusion: They aren’t fun. I don’t care how many crazy-ass weird contraptions you invent, they just aren’t fun. Granted, a few of those crazy playground pieces are pretty sweet. But a lot of them look like medieval torture devices.
What the fuck is THAT?! It looks like something you keep monkeys in at the zoo.
They have all sorts of things to swing from, roll around in, or leap from. Dangerous, maybe, but plastic. With big padded mats at the bottom. You might as well just cover the whole damn place in bubblewrap, dammit!
And if the equipment is protected, rest assured parents will slap helmets, elbow pads, and knee pads, chin straps, eye goggles, protective gloves, and fuckin’ padded underpants (this one I’m ok with) to keep the kids safe.
Listen. I’ve never worn a helmet in my life. And I’m perfectly… saefl;askdhf;lawekhfekwahfklhasfd… fine.
I’m going to make this short and sweet: Stop protecting your kids. Stop it. Sure, don’t let them play in traffic. We don’t need DEAD kids, just kids that get roughed up a bit. AND GET SICK! For shit sake, you know why diseases kick our ass? These super virus’ that appear? ’cause you molest the use of sanitizers. Your kid doesn’t need to take a bath in Purell every fuckin’ evening. It’s unhealthy. I was a filthy fuckin’ kid, and I never got sick. Because my immune system was prepared.
Kids need to get hurt, and they need to get sick. It readies their body and mind for the future. Because guess what? Pain exists in adult life. A lot of pain exists. Disappointment, illness, pain. It’s all there. And when today’s generation of kids reach adulthood, and don’t have their over-protective parents to keep them from harm, they’re not going to know how to deal with this shit.
Imagine a world where you don’t know pain until you reach 16. Then when that first girl slaps you in the face for trying to grab a boob on the schoolbus, you cry. Because it hurt. And you didn’t know hurt existed. Meanwhile, my generation is getting kicked in the balls and pepper sprayed and zapped, and we’re just fuckin’ fine.
Pain is a necessary part of life. So is learning from your mistakes. It’s something you need to learn as a kid so you can utilize it as an adult. It’s important. It really fuckin’ is. I’m not even kidding here. Guess what person knows the stove top is hot when it’s on? The one who fuckin’ stuck a hand on it as a kid. They didn’t lose their hand, they weren’t driven insane, they didn’t die. They just got a little boo-boo, and it healed, and now they’re smarter for the experience. The more you protect your kids, the more likely they’ll grow up to be fuckin’ dumb ass wussies with no backbone. And we have enough of those people on this planet already.
Also, teach your kids about humility and disappointment too. American Idol exists because you tell your kid they can sing. They can’t. They fucking BLOW at it. But you tell them they’re great, and they go out thinking their great. Then some overpaid English guy with hard nipples will tell them they’re total shit, and they’ll make a huge scene and whine. And it’ll be broadcasted on national television so other stupid assholes can laugh at it.
The fact is, you can’t be whatever you want to be when you grow up. It doesn’t matter how hard you try, or if you wish enough, you just can’t achieve EVERYTHING you want to. At least not unless you set your goals at a reasonable level. Your kid cannot be a fuckin’ fireman because your kid can’t lift a fuckin’ lego without throwing out his back. Your kid can’t be a rocket scientist because he still eats Crayons at age 13. Your kid sure as fuck isn’t going to be a model because he just finished eating his thirty fourth Twinkie of the day.
Reality is a fuckin’ bitch. No doubt about it. Teach this to your kids at a young age, and they’ll be ready when the world kicks them square in the kidney. It may make them a little cynical and bitter, but being ready is better than being a niave shithead that everyone takes advantage of.
So, bringing this back to the beginning of the post. Mr. Squiggles was proven not to be that dangerous. It passed all the “safety standards” and “guidelines”. The only reason it SEEMED like a terrible thing was because people who are way too over-protective went ape-shit over it. If I started freaking out over every possible dangerous thing I stumbled upon on a daily basis, I’d have to live in a padded room with constant protection. The world is a dangerous place. You can’t save them from EVERYTHING. How about you work on saving them from the REAL dangerous things in our society: Shitty public schools, getting shot in the face while sitting at a red light, and watching Reality TV.
Maybe if we concentrated on the REAL dangers, and stopped freaking out about EVERYTHING that came up, we’d be able to protect them from real shit. Kids wouldnt get hit by buses if we weren’t so busy concentrating on the sugar content of their breakfast cereal. Kids would know better than to get in a van with a stranger if we weren’t too busy telling them they should make sure to slap on some hand cleanser before taking the candy from them.
Teach your kids reality, and that’ll keep them far more safe than any helmet ever could. I swear that to you.
