The Menace of Talking Toys
By Nil Hagen



 
     My grandchildren's bedroom is right across the hallway from ours, and next to the bedroom that we have turned into an office.


 
     They don't live here seven days a week but their toys do. Now I don't know what's going on in the room while the kids are gone, and frankly I don't think I want to know. Even if I did find out what's going on, who could I tell? Aside from my grandkids... well the five year old would be a skeptic, but his sister would believe me I guess.


 
      Of course talking toys should remain a secret even to the kids if I want them to continue sleeping in the room.
 
      It's just down right creepy though, especially when in a state of insomnia, I am on the internet at three A.M. filling in scrabble boards, or reading gossip about the latest celebrity, and I hear Elmo laughing.


 
     I don't even want to go down that road of finding out whose tickling him and where. When I hear elmo laugh then a toy guitar emits a guitar riff that sounds like a wolf call... I can't help but wonder if I am failing to protect my grandchildren from moral corruption. Not to mention Jerry Falwel and that flap over the gay telltubby.
 

        The fire truck has the PA speaker on for the emergency frequency which assures me that there is some semblance of civil order and control in the toy community, so I am reasured that they are at least self-policed.
 
      I do however, keep them in line once in awhile by passing by the door and yelling in "Now don't make me come in there!" at the least I hope to keep a fear of god in the toy world, after all, I am the battery master.
 



 


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