Child's Play?

Just when I thought we'd hit our household per capita of crap, my daughter was given some toys with a peculiar and disturbing theme. While many people receive gifts of fancy schmancy electronics, ripsticks and fine jewelry, our holidays and birthdays seem to be fraught with faux feces.


The potty parade commenced with "Baby Alive." Santa wisely vetoed this disturbing doll because her Bride of Chuckie eyes and marionette mouth gave him the willies. But Grandma, undoubtedly seeking revenge, presented pooping Penelope to my 4 year old for her birthday.

This little treasure blinks, giggles and speaks multiple annoying phrases. And her restroom resume goes well beyond the traditional wetting Betty. If you're feeling masochistic just shovel in some of her complimentary baby food. The disemboweled blonde bombshell almost immediately eeks out substances found only in state fair porta potties and sample jars at the gastroenterologist's office.

Sure you can aim Baby Alive at her tiny pink training toilet as instructed. But my little clan of crotch watchers found it much more educational to peer shamelessly up her not quite anatomically correct posterior as the nearly 5 lb rubber toddler did her business right down the front of their shirts...twice. Seriously, I haven't had this much fun since both of my one year old twins contracted the rota virus and I changed 45 eye burning diapers and tackled 6 loads of biohazardous laundry every day for a week.

To add insult to injury another in-law thoughtfully bestowed Bowel Movement Barbie on my daughter. Okay, it's not really the doll, but her blasted dog. The instructions for feeding old Fido (in English and 9 other languages) read as follows:

1) Lift tail to open mouth and raise ears.(Apparently that speeds digestion)
2) Place biscuit in dog's mouth. Release tail.
3) Push down the tail. Oh-Oh!!!

Yep, you guessed it. Just like the few minutes immediately following my last Macho Nacho platter from El Matador, el perrito shoots the just consumed "biscuits" right out his rear at lightening speed. Environmentally conscious and fashionably trashy Barbie, donning a pooper scooper, mini skirt and lace leggins, races in to capture the magnetic excrement and dispose of it in the trashcan.

Only then does the magical circle of digestion begin. My animal loving daughter was then instructed to unload the trashcan of dung right back into the now empty box of doggie "biscuits", just in time for poochie's next meal. What?!

Isn't this taking recycling a tad too far? Before PETA and the Humane Society could incite a riot, the hypocritical manufacturer tried to redeem themselves by saying "Make sure your pets always have fresh food and water." (I'm guessing they didn't mean out of the toilet, even though they didn't include a water bowl).


When our chocolate labrador puppy tried recycling her food, we called the vet, dialed up the zap collar, and sent her to canine counseling. But surprisingly, Mattel views this aberrant behavior more as children's entertainment than a medical diagnosis mandating shock therapy and antipsychotic meds. And apparently they were right since my in-laws weren't the only ones who bought it. The entire Barbie line grossed (and I mean gross) over $3 Billion in worldwide retail sales last year. That's a lot of poop eating puppies!

And why is it that only girls' toys are plagued with realistic bodily functions? (I realize there are plenty of Barbie totin' boys out there, but I'll reserve that tidbit for another post entirely.) Anyway, you gotta know G.I. Joe had a raging case of foot fungus from wearing combat boots in the swamp without socks. And, it would only be fair if Spiderman's crime fighting was postponed occasionally to battle the inevitable bouts of jock itch from wearing excessively snug spandex.

Yes, I understand the product pipeline runs a little dry after 50 years but couldn't Mattel come up with something a little less unsettling for a child's toy? What's next, "Menopause Barbie" sporting a Fu Manchu mustache and estrogen patch who sweats, sobs and swears when you push the button on her back? Or, her yapping puppy with the yeast infection, that drags her itchy hoo hoo all over the living room rug just as Barbie appears with her can of Resolve? Don't you think some things are better left OUT of a kid's imagination?