Alright, now I think it's safe to say
that every decade has had their share of iconic toys.
Like if you were a kid in the 1970s,
you had, like, the Pet Rock,
and the ol' Speak & Spell that talks like the Devil.
"Hello, I am the devil. Spell the word murder."
"Uh, wait a minute, what?"
"I command you to kill the family dog."
And if you were a kid in the 1930s,
all you had was like a... hoop on a stick.
(Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh!)
"Uh, is this fun? I can't tell."
"I don't know, I haven't eaten in three days,
anything's fun at this point."
But fortunately for me, I grew up in the 1990s,
which I have to admit, had some pretty cool toys.
So for all of you young 'uns out there
that grew up playing Flappy Frog
or whatever the fuck it was that you did on your iPad,
I'm gonna go through three iconic toys from the 90s,
and I'm gonna give them a letter grade
that corresponds to how cool I thought they were.
First up, Tamagotchis.
Now, Tamagotchis took my second grade classroom by storm back in the day.
And for those of you that are unaware,
Tamagotchis were little digital pets that you take care of
and you feed
and if you're the weird kid in class, you'll probably fucking talk to it.
"You're my best friend in the whole world, Tamagotchi!
I don't care if my dad says you're just a stupid keychain."
They were a huge hit back then, every kid had one.
And why wouldn't you?
I mean, who wants to clean shit from a big-ass dog,
When you could clean up fake shit from a fake-ass dog?
It makes sense.
And it wasn't just dogs that they had to choose from,
they had all sorts of animals.
They had cats,
turtles,
goddamn water buffalo, you name it.
Now, for me personally, I didn't have a Tamagotchi.
But I did have a generic off-brand one, that I won from a gumball machine.
And my little fake animal was a dinosaur,
or at least that's what it said it was.
But that generic shit just looked like a fucking blob with a face on it.
But regardless, I took care of that little blob with a face on it for weeks,
and over time it grew a tail,
and then some legs and a fucking goatee and shit.
It was growing up right in front of my stupid little face.
That is, until one weekend I rented the game Star Fox 64 from Blockbuster,
and well, I played that shit for, like, 40 hours straight.
Which meant that my fake-ass dinosaur was left neglected the entire time.
"Hey, I took a shit over here.
Can you... can you come wipe me now?
Anybody? No? Okay, then."
And it didn't dawn on me, until I showed up to school the following Monday,
and seen all my classmates with their Tamagotchis.
"Dude, check it out, my water buffalo grew a mustache!
What's your dinosaur look like now?"
"My... what?
Oh, shit! Whoopsie!"
Sure as hell I got home that day,
my fucking Tamagotchi looked like a crime scene in an episode of Law & Order.
It's face-down, dead as hell, surrounded by piles of its own shit.
And that was pretty much the end of it.
So I guess we'll give Tamagotchis a B,
and we'll give it an A+
for the emotional trauma that it caused an entire generation of children.
Next up, the Bop It!
Now, the Bop It was a fun game.
It was basically an electronic version of Simon Says.
The game tells you what to do and then you do it.
"Bop it!"
"Uh, okay."
(BOP!)
And it'd just keep going,
until your stupid little fourth grader brain gets overloaded and you screw up.
"BAAAAAH! Game over, you lose."
Now, the only problem that I had with the Bop It was...
well, I don't really know how else to say this, but...
Well, the thing looked like a fucking sex toy, didn't it?
I can't be the only one that thought that, right?
Now, the first time my next door neighbor Michael got one,
we didn't know what the hell to make of the thing.
"Uh, I don't get it, do I play with this thing
or do I just shove it up my asshole?"
"Whoa, what the hell, where did you kids get that thing?!
God damn it, what did I tell you
about messing around in your mother's dresser drawer?!
Get over here, you're gonna get 10 across the ass!"
Regardless, I still think the Bop It was a cool toy,
even if it had some sexual overtones.
"Bop it!"
(BOP!)
"Pull it!"
(Whew!)
"Suck it!"
"Wait, what?"
"BAAAAH! Game over, you lose."
So I'm gonna go ahead and give the Bop It a B- as a toy,
and a B+ for a sex toy.
Alright, moving on.
Last but not least, we got the Furby.
Now, the Furby was basically
a three-dimensional version of the Tamagotchi,
just a fucking stuffed animal that you're supposed to take care of.
But Furby has had two main differences:
one, they were annoying as hell,
and two, they didn't fucking die.
Now, these things were ugly as hell.
I have no idea who the hell came up with the Furby,
but I imagine it was some meth'd out guy in a board meeting, like,
"Alright, so what if we took like a Pokemon,
and then gave it Steve Buscemi's eyeballs,
and then we make it fart, would you buy that?"
"Oh well, hell yeah I'd buy that!
I think I'd buy several!"
Now, personally, I didn't want anything to do with the Furbies when I was a kid.
I mean, for one,
I just didn't understand, why anybody would want one in the first place.
"Uh, the thing just farts and talks bullshit to itself?
My uncle Rick already does that, what the hell do I need a Furby for?"
And for two, I thought they were creepy as hell.
I mean, when they would talk,
they would talk in their own bullshit Furbish language all the time.
"Beep-bop, boop-boop!"
But eventually, they start to learn English,
and then they just pepper it in here and there.
"Chit-chit-bee-boo!
Fucking... Chicken paprikash!"
"What the hell, did that thing just say 'chicken paprikash'?
Oh my God, it's learning!
Burn it, we have to burn it and bury the ashes!"
And the most horrific experience I ever had with a Furby
was when I was staying over my friend Tommy's house one night,
and all of a sudden, his Furby just starts yelling at us in the middle of the night.
"Party, party! Woop-woop!"
"What the hell?!
Tommy, go shut your Furby up, it's trying to party with us!
What does it think, we're in the fucking frat house for Christ's sake?!"
I look over
and Tommy is staring at this thing like it's a goddamn poltergeist,
terrified as hell.
Meanwhile, this goddamn thing keeps yelling,
"Party, party!" over and over again,
like it's on spring break in the Bahamas.
So now I'm starting to freak out myself.
I have to approach this Furby like a fucking hostage negotiator,
because I don't know what the hell is going on with this thing.
I don't know if it's broken or if it's possessed by a fucking Speak & Spell.
"I am the Devil, I command you to party with the Furby."
"Tommy, quick, how do I turn this thing off?!"
"I don't know, dude, let's just ignore it and go back to sleep."
So since I can't find an off switch
or take the batteries out without a screwdriver,
I decide to shake the shit out of it and hope for the best.
But of course, there's no such thing as shaken Furby syndrome,
so we're back to square one.
"Party, party!" (Farts)
So now, in a panic, I Huck this goddamn thing into Tommy's closet,
And for the rest of the night
we listen to this fucking Furby babble on and on and on.
"Party, party! Woop-woop! Chicken paprikash!"
Now, what that Furby was doing in Tommy's closet,
I have no idea.
But I imagine it was partying all night long,
doing shots of tequila with G.I. Joe and a fucking Etch A Sketch.
So I think it's safe to say
that we're going have to give the old Furby a big, fat F.
Actually, let's give it two Fs, and those can stand for...
Fuck Furbies, how about that?
The end.
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