Humor
An Open Letter to the Creator of Slime, the Shittiest “Toy” Ever Made
Dear Sir or Madam,
I hope you are having a terrible day. I hope you woke up this morning with a headache. I hope you stubbed your toe on the nightstand when you got out of bed. I hope you burned your toast.
I hope it rains where you are and your basement floods.
I hope a restaurant gets your order wrong and instead of the manager apologizing, he throws a drink in your face.
I hope these things because I want you to understand the parental anguish you’ve wrought with your idiotic and frankly piss-poorly designed creation.
Did you wake up one day and think to yourself, “Hey, I know kids already have Play-Doh, and Silly Putty, and kinetic sand, and all kinds of other shit that makes an unholy mess everywhere, but what if I ripped all that off and made it infinitely worse?”
I don’t even understand why one single parent has ever purchased this stuff. What kind of Faustian deal did you make to hypnotize suckers into trading hard-earned cash for sparkly, sticky, sloppy goo that instantly becomes a permanent part of your floors, walls, couches, and pets?
When you are lounging around in your ill-gotten infinity pool purchased with slime profits, do you ever think of us? The poor parents filing your filthy legacy out of our kids fingernails, or down on our hands and knees with a chisel, desperately trying to scrape your horrid mess that has inexplicably become hard as concrete off the kitchen linoleum.
There should be a victims' restitution fund for the survivors of slime. Yes, I am saying slime is a crime… because it is. Slime is a malevolent corruption of physical materials with only one purpose in mind: parental pain.
If you are a chemist, someone should break your beakers and make you walk over them barefoot.
If you are an engineer, someone should 3-D print a shoe and throw it at your head.
Seriously, eat shit.
No, I mean it. I hope turds somehow make their way into your food. I hope you’re walking along with an ice cream cone and a bird paints that thing and you don’t notice before taking a huge lick. You deserve this.
Honestly, I also deserve some blame, for making the terrible choice to invite your deranged product into my home. But I couldn’t have made my choice if you hadn’t made yours. And so here we are, with my continued wish for you to endure an awful day, and hopefully, a miserable life.
When you lay your head on your pillow tonight, I hope your ceiling fan falls out and lands on you. But I hope it stays connected to the power and the blades unendingly slap you across the face, neck, and head, each one a righteous blow on behalf of every exasperated parent you’ve left in your wake.
Slime sucks, and so do you.
Sincerely,
Parents everywhere
