Bad Toys: Colored Magnetic Rocks

Nothing says "Rocking" good time like a bunch of colored rocks. And nothing says kicking good time like magnets. Combine the two and you get:

Magnetic Rocks




What the heck? You mean that all this toy does is stick in colorful rocky clumps? Perchance we should next begin marketing the Big 'ol Bucket of Mud playset.



Then again, this may be pure evil genius on the part of the manufacturer. We all know that sometimes playing with a box is all we need. Maybe a pile of magnetic rocks is the secret to pure joy and contentment after all.

Bad Toys: A Sushi Playset?

Somewhere in the world tonight, there is a star quarterback on the brink of a full ride scholarship with the full potential of going pro for millions of dollars. The only problem? Deep down inside, this star quarterback yearns to forgo the cheering fans and become a sushi chef.




Thus, with his bed covers pulled tightly over his head and using a flashlight, he begins to assemble the various rolls that come with the Melissa and Doug Wooden Sushi Set.



What a treat. Instead of pretending to play for the Dallas Cowboys, our young man can now pretend to serve sushi to yuppies chugging Kirin at a boutique sushi bar in the heart of San Francisco.

The dream is alive.

Fun With Bloonies

It's no secret...I love toys. But, like a crotchety old man waiting for his back pain medication, I just don't think they make 'em like they used to. And, unfortunately, the world is full of toys that make me want to hide in a closet until they go away.



One of those toys: Bloonies.

Take a wad of toxic goo. Stuff it to the end of a thin plastic straw. Blow. And watch a magical LSD-inspired bubble appear right before your eyes.



As a kid, you could pick up this product up at any drug/grocery store for about a buck. A novel idea for a parent who just wants to get through their errand without their kid going into a roaring fit.



However, let's take a closer look at Bloonies. The package blatantly states: CAUTION: Flammable. Hmmmm. Won't be making any Bloonies while gathered around the old campfire, will we? And the smell...let's just say it dilates the eyes and rots the brain. It's amazing my generation accomplished anything besides sitting in a corner drooling or managing a Chipotle.




Ahhh, Bloonies. How I miss living on the edge.