False Advertising: I Call BS, Teddy Ruxpin!

Do you remember “Teddy Ruxpin” — that talking teddy bear who kept hounding you to be his friend like some creepy little stalker? Even though I was a bit too old for him when he originally came out, I’m distressed to see that little bastard is back.

Yeah. And have you seen the commercial for him? I most likely saw it between nail-biting, pivotal episodes of Paw Patrol. Yeah. I really need to address our family’s TV watching habits. But I digress. In case you haven’t seen it, here it is:

There are just so many things wrong with this commercial, I think I got a cramp. Where do I even begin?! Well, here I go:

The Setting:

A cozy living room which children have never stepped foot in. EVER. Notice the WHITE carpeting, the WHITE couch with perfectly fluffed throw pillows, the jauntily draped throw blanket. Nope. NOT REAL.

REAL would be white carpeting that looks like a crime scene, complete with juice box spills, ground-in goldfish crackers, random illegible graffiti (God help me that better not be Sharpie!) and random brown stains of dubious origin. REAL would be throw pillows all on the floor, some with feathers coming out, fringe shredded. REAL would be a couch that looks like someone had a food fight on it. And that throw? Nope. Destroyed, stuffed under a couch cushion, or hidden in someone’s room so another sibling couldn’t call dibs on it. And not that you’d be able to tell from a TV commercial, but I guarantee you it had an unsettling smell that you just can’t quite place.

And where are the other toys? Don’t these kids every PLAY fer crissake? Where are the 80,000 foot-crippling Legos, half-naked dolls, 20 lightsabers, random game pieces, leaking sippy cups and goddamnit! THAT’S what those jerks did with my nail polish!!!

So no. That home has never been stepped foot in by anyone under the age of 27.

The Kids:

Don’t you think for one second that those children are not heavily sedated. And you know their moms are behind the camera giving them withering, one eyebrow raised glares that say, “Don’t even THINK about misbehaving or so help me GOD you will never see an electronic device as long as I’m alive!”

Really. And a group of five perfectly groomed children all smiling and sitting crisscross applesauce at the same time, patiently waiting their turn to press Teddy’s paw? No. Never. Try five crying, screaming nightmares, demanding, “NO! I get to go first!” or “Teddy’s Ruxpin is stupid and so are you!” Or how about, “Hey Sam, where does your dad keep the chainsaws? Let’s play chainsaws!” That damned bear wouldn’t be in one piece for for more than 2 minutes in the hands of those kids, much less chainsaw wielding ones.

And I’ve saved the best for last.

The Mom:

Totally not real. I bet she’s never even had a kid! Look at her: freshly showered, straightened hair, flawless makeup, WHITE pants (White pants? Are you INSANE lady? What is your freaky obsession with white?!) And she sits there primly enjoying a cup of herbal tea, overjoyed to see this over-medicated playdate happily playing for hours with a toy she shelled $100 for.

No. No. Real would be: Shower? *sniff* nah. I’m good for another day or two. Hair? Oh yeah. I suppose I better make an appointment for my annual root touch-up and trim. Make-up? Unless I’ve splurged on a sitter so I can go on a date night with my husband, odds are it’s not happening — maybe some mascara if I’m feeling particularly fancy that day, like if I get to go to Target or something. The WHITE pants? *sigh* When’s the last time I owned a pair of white pants that even made it out of the bag without some stain on them? Black yoga pants it is!

And what is she even doing being in the same ROOM with these monsters??!! If I’m going to fork over $100, that better buy me at LEAST 1 hour where I can flop on the couch by myself and screw around on Facebook while I chow down on food that I have hidden from my kids. That mug? Oh yeah. There better damned well be hot, freshly-brewed coffee in it at a minimum. Liquor if we’re truly getting real here.

No. I don’t think I could be friends with this woman. God knows she’d never speak to the hot sexy mess that I am either.

So Teddy Ruxpin. Not happening for me. I guarantee you it would be shoved in the bottom of a toy bin, quietly plotting on ways to come to life in the middle of the night, “Will you be my friend?????”

No. Just. No.


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