Let’s Cook: How To Make Sure Your Kids Don’t Sell Drugs
Warning: looking directly at this photo could turn you into a meth addict.
I’m a bona fide TV nerd. Not the regular sort of TV: primetime cop show after cop show after cop show, special victims units and stalker patrol and homicide and missing persons and lost hamsters. None of that shit. You can have your Horatio and your Bones and all that and shove it up your ass. It’s crap. No, I’m talking about the HBO, AMC and Netflix shows that have taken television and turned it into, in my opinion, a more valued medium than the big screen. Shows like The Wire and Treme and True Detective that are written by goddamned geniuses, no holy. I can barely even get through a movie anymore because I find myself thinking how much I would rather be watching Nucky and Chalky talk smack about Lucky Luciano. Good Jesus with a Lick m’ Stick, that shit is great.
I suppose it should come as no surprise to you geniuses, that Mommy loves her some Breaking Bad. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s in my top 5 all time favourite TV shows. It was absolutely brilliantly written, amazingly acted and it made my whole world exist entirely on the edge of my seat for nearly the complete series run. I really can’t say anything bad about it. It was fucking scintillating… bitch.
So, when I heard they were making Breaking Bad action figures, I was not entirely shocked or surprised. It’s a show that inspires passionate fandom and makes it kinda difficult to let go after it ends. The character building is so profound, you actually miss the fuckers after the series finale. So, why not go buy a little plastic Jesse Pinkman? If it’s okay to buy action figures of our favourite sports stars, then why not a character in a show as brilliantly done as this? I mean, personally, I’d never; there are far better things for me to spend my money on, like Krauss books and Dawkins books and Boghossian books, etc. However, I totally understand why a grieving fan would find solace in a Hazmat-suited Heisenberg sitting on their mantle.
I never had another thought about it until yesterday, when I read in several news articles that a Florida mom is boycotting Toys R Us for carrying the dolls. She says that even though she likes the show herself (who the fuck doesn’t?), the toys would more appropriately be sold online or in adult novelty shops where kids do not visit often.
Let’s set the scene, shall we? Mama Dumbass wanders, unsuspectingly into an offending Toys R’ Us, surely looking for something 110% wholesome for her kids. Up until this point, “110% wholesome” is the only way to describe every toy sold at Toys R’ Us. The automatic doors open for her with a whirr and she bops over the threshold completely oblivious to the horrors she’s about to be subject to. Wandering through the “everything is soft and round” toddler section, she finds herself approaching the Lego aisle, filled with building blocks to create fighter jets and tanks and pirate ships equipped with canons and planks used to execute people. She trudges, still totally unaware of what lurks around the corner, past the Halloween costumes that come complete with swords, fake blood and guns. She peers down the aisle stocked with video games: Call of Duty, Grand Theft Auto and God of War are the first titles she sees.
And then it happens…. a couple steps further and she’s in the action figure aisle. Her eyes scan the shelves filled with armed vigilantes and talented fighters and weapon wielding heroes. She stops as she glimpses something yellow… a step closer reveals a bald head and goatee. A feeling of familiarity wells up inside of her as she tries to place what she’s seeing. Finally, it dawns on her: Breaking Bad! These are Breaking Bad figurines!
After the weight of what she’s just seen sinks in, Top Mom raises a finger to the sky and declares, in her Floridian twang, “Not on my watch!” and storms home to login to Change.org and save her children from what can only be described as a certain and unavoidable future in the cookery and sale of exceptionally blue crystal meth.
Fair enough. Except fuck her and here’s why:
If you’re of the slow variety of human, you may have missed my sarcastic jabs at the other less-than-wholesome toys that have been sold at Toys R Us since before I can remember. Ain’t no thang for her babies to see methods of execution and warfare. Sure as shit isn’t a big deal that the little girl’s section is almost entirely made up of princesses and plastic-the-fuck kitchens. The extremely realistic war and crime video games that get praised based on the vividness of the blood and gore? Easy, breezy, baby. But Heisenberg? Heisenberg is where she draws the line? You know, they have two words for people like Mama-anal : fucking hysterical.
Mommy Outrage, if your fucking kid wanders Toys R Us and sees a figurine of a meth cook and that somehow spoils their previously exemplary childhood and hurdles them unwittingly into a career with the drug cartels, then honey, ya done something wrong. You missed a step somewhere. You’re the reason your kid is fucked up, trust me, doll. It’s not the fault of a toy that they briefly glimpsed on the shelves at a toy store. That, hun, is what we like to call a scapegoat.
Here are several ways to prevent your child from spontaneously turning to a life of crime after one brush with a Heisenberg doll:
This book is not real.
1. Explain the difference between real and make believe. Yes. You can actually do this. You can tell your kids that the Bible is in fact, just stories and help them to develop strong minds that can see the difference between something that is happening in the real world, and something that is totally, the fuck, made up. Teaching your kids that the Bible is true – yes, honey, there used to be talking snakes and men did indeed live to be 950 years old – is setting them up to fall for just about anything. Their critical thought should be developed. That way, when they walk into Toys R Us and a 6 inch tall Jesse Pinkman accosts them with the glamourous lure of drug dealing, they can say, “no Jesse, you’re not real and there ain’t no glamour in crime.”
2. Talk to your children about the real world, because for fuck’s sake, they are living in it. Protecting your children from reality is about as useful as a prayer for the Cleveland Browns: not fucking useful at all. Instead, equip them with the tools and knowledge to deal with the real world.
3. Talk to them about everything they see and watch, including the fucking planks in their Lego pirate ship set. Explain to them what they were used for and that our history has some extremely bleak moments. This will help them to value progress and human life.
4. Don’t let young children explore a toy store without you, and you won’t run the risk of them being sucked into the drug trade by a tiny plastic tray of blue meth.
5. Give your children something wholesome to do, based in reality and good for them to focus on, that they actually enjoy. Sports, dance, drama, art, and science, are just a few ideas off the top of my head. When you give your child the opportunity to feel passion about something and grow good at it, they develop a sense of accomplishment, a sense of self worth and a deep respect for themselves. These things all make it that much more difficult for a child to jeopardize their health, well-being, criminal record and freedom for something with so little depth and return as drugs.
6. Don’t fucking buy them a Heisenberg doll.
I know, it’s very shocking to learn that it is, in fact, you who is responsible for making sure your children are immune to falling for shit. It’s hard to accept that Toys R Us holds no power over your children or how they turn out. It just seems too easy to stick the blame somewhere outside your own home, but with a little logic, and a touch of fucking reason, you can clearly see that a tiny toy on one shelf in one aisle in a store is not actually a threat, in any way, to your child’s well being.
If you want your kids to turn out alright, then get off fucking change.org, get out from in front of the news cameras, stop giving interviews, and be a fucking mom, for christ’s sake (no holy)!