Here’s a toy somebody donated to the thrift store today. Made of rock-hard plastic, it’s about twelve inches high. I was going to make a joke about how unsurprising it was that it looks brand new, since no one could have ever played with it … but now I feel kind of sorry for ol’ … Horno. Or Zeetmo. Or Splacko. Or whatever in the world the poor thing’s name is.
(Oh—for the record, nothing on little … YowTao moves, or anything. And that weird slanty circle thing on his stomach isn’t a button, or anything you can turn or anything. It’s just … that.)
I don’t know what kid this toy used to belong to, but I sure do feel sorry for him. Or her. Or it.