Dear Otus,
I got burned in 1983 when I "ruined" Christmas for our 4-year-old daughter by not being able to find a Cabbage Patch Kid for Christmas. Seriously, I went to 42 stores.
Disclaimer: Fayetteville-born Otus the Head Cat's award-winning column of 👉 humorous fabrication 👈 appears every Saturday.
Now I have a 5-year-old granddaughter who has her heart set on one of those stupid Hatchimals things that are all the rage and (of course) not to be found.
I ordered a black market Hatchimal online for $249.99, but when it arrived, something scary and alive hatched out early (see photo) and I tossed it in Lake Willastein. What's going on and is there any hope for us between now and Christmas?
-- Michael Brodie,
Maumelle
Dear Michael,
It was wholly a pleasure to hear from you and to have the opportunity to commiserate with you on what has to be an annual scam perpetrated by the heartless international advertising and merchandising cabal.
Indeed, this year's must-have toy, backed fully by the massive global forces that influence the still-developing brains of our malleable youth, is the Hatchimal.
Selling, ostensibly, for the still-outrageous price of about $50, the furry interactive creature targets children ages 5 and over with advertising that states, "Hatchimals live inside of eggs. Who's inside? It's a surprise! Hold them to hear their heartbeats, flip them for fun, tap and they'll tap back! Hatchimals can't hatch without you!"
The child is then supposed to "love and care" for the creature and watch its eyes light up as it makes cute sounds that "tell you how it's feeling."
Then, once the child has played with it enough, rainbow eyes will appear and "that means it's time to hatch!" The child's touch encourages the Hatchimal to peck its way out of the egg.
"It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience," we're told. Then the child gets to "raise" the furry critter through three stages -- baby, toddler, kid.
The Hatchimal can be taught to walk, dance, play games and more. It will even repeat what the child says in its own voice.
Does that sound like a bargain for 50 bucks? Well, that's what two brothers from Albuquerque, N.M., thought when they bet that Hatchimals would be the must-have toy this year.
They spent $5,000 and bought 100 of the things and waited for the stores to run out. On Black Friday, not a single Hatchimal was to be found (back orders are being rushed from Taiwan), but the brothers were selling them on eBay and so far the bidding war has the critters going for more than $200 each.
They stand to make a tidy profit from their investment.
I trust, Michael, that the egg that you bought did not come from New Mexico, but rather from some scurrilous Hatchimal mill in some dank corner of a Third World country.
I'm told that all sorts of eggs are being passed off as Hatchimals, from chicken eggs to assorted reptilian species. Herpetologist Apu Nahasapeemapetilon at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock informs me that the creature in your photo is a Komodo dragon hatchling and that dog walkers around Lake Willastein could be in for a surprise come spring.
I feel your pain over the Cabbage Patch Kid and again over the Hatchimals, but crass Christmas commercialism is nothing new. In fact, it was the subject of 1996's Jingle All the Way, in which Arnold Schwarzenegger is desperately trying to find a (fictitious) Turbo-Man action figure for his son.
More examples?
In 1985, there was Teddy Ruxpin. For a mere $68 you got a teddy bear with a microchip that allowed him to talk. The early models spoke gibberish.
The dearth of the hugely hyped Tickle Me Elmo ruined many a Christmas in 1996. The thing sold for $27.99, but hoarded Elmos went for a 600 percent markup.
It was also 1996 when the Beanie Babies craze hit. Did you ever find a Bongo the Monkey or Tusk the Walrus? Didn't think so.
How about a Furby? That one ruined 1998.
If you can't find a Hatchimal this year, I suggest you go for the Barbie Hello Dreamhouse. For a reasonable $284.97, your granddaughter can "interact with Barbie like never before using this high-tech dream home!"
The house comes with Wi-Fi-enabled speech recognition that allows more than 100 commands. If you say, "Party mode," the entire house comes to life with flashing lights and music.
Until next time, Kalaka reminds you that as a last resort there's always a big brown cardboard box. It costs next to nothing and the kids will love it almost as much as the must-have toy.
Disclaimer
Fayetteville-born Otus the Head Cat's award-winning column of
Z humorous fabrication X
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HomeStyle on 12/03/2016