Dolls! Dolls Everywhere!

Chucky
So I never saw the Chucky movies. I know, take my geek card away. But at a very early age I discovered that I was very picky about my horror movies. Even now, I almost despise going to a horror movie or renting one on Netflix because I already assume I am going to be disappointed. I’ve yet to see a good horror movie since The Exorcist. But I’ll leave the horror movie talk for another post. This post is about the other probable reason that I never watched Chucky; I freaking hate dolls.

My daughters have a plethora of dolls that attempt to act “real” or make noises or talk to you or multiple other creepy acts. That’s fine. Go ahead, honey. Take your dog into your room and squeeze his body parts. The problem I’ve been having lately is that these dolls have been making their way into places they shouldn’t be.

You know what I mean. You come creeping into the house late at night from work, or from the bar, or from wherever you hang out during the wee hours of night and you want to stay quiet because you are courteous to your family when suddenly… “I LOVE YOU!”

At this point your heart has stopped, your beer has emptied into your boxers and you are groping the wall next to you for one of your samurai swords or your Klingon Bat’leth (I’ll take my geek card back now) to slay the foul intruder.

It’s only then that you realize that your youngest daughter has left her talking dog right in the middle of the living room, obviously a booby trap for you to trip when you come sneaking in. And who is to blame for making all the noise? You are. Not the innocent child who tossed her puppy over her shoulder as she kicked and screamed her way to bed, not the parent who was at home or the older sister who could pick it up. Nope. It is YOUR fault that you soiled yourself, knocked things off the wall, and set off that annoying, screeching voice as you stumbled in.

This has happened far too many times lately (minus the soiling myself… I promise). I have attempted to speak to my 2 year old daughter about her motive, but I’ve yet to crack through her ironclad willpower.

I guess my next step is going to the manufacturers themselves. Perhaps I can start a cause about how these dolls have taken over my life, ruined my underwear supply and caused my wife to chew me out even more often than normal. I’m not sure if that will work, but someone’s gotta start somewhere…

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