What is an "Instant Christmas?" Well, remember those little pills that turned into dinosaur-shaped sponges when you added warm water? Same deal here, just dolled up for the holidays. I picked this beauty up at Toys 'R' Us for two bucks; it was placed alongside all of the other crappy generic "stocking stuffers," like marbles with Santa heads painted on and eraser tops shaped like wreaths. "Instant Christmas" was the only thing there interesting enough to warrant a shameful trek to the checkout line. I always try to play it off like I'm buying this stuff as a gift, but this time, I think the cashier was on to me. Especially after she saw the Pokemon keychain attached to my car keys.
There's the capsules -- a legion of red and green pills just waiting to explode into a holiday sponge party. Though the package gives a list of the eventual sponges, I chose not to read it for the surprise factor. Okay I'm lying. I read it, but by the time these pills actually hit water, I totally forgot what it said. Promise.
Throughout my experiences with these capsules, the question most frequently brought up regards what would happen if someone swallowed one of the pills. There seems to be this great sense of mystery about it, though I could never get past the more grounded, non-magical idea that the swallower would just...you know...eventually shit out a small sponge. Nothing to call the papers about. Instead of focusing on the scatological puzzles surrounding sponge capsules, let's stick with the key issue: pills that morph into sponges.
In a frying pan half-filled with water, I warmed the capsules over medium heat. Within seconds, they began losing their original shape, seemingly dissolving into hideous puddles of Christmas bile. The transformation fortunately continued, with the sponges ultimately taking on more palatable and decidedly festive shapes. A great race was contested by the groups of red and green pills, with each color squad gunning to be the firstborn sponges. I think green won. Just thought you should know.
After about a minute, all of the pills fully metamorphosed. All sorts of Christmas sponges filled my frying pan with the holiday spirit -- we've got a snowman, angel, Christmas star, the tree, Santa, a candy cane -- it's X-Mas madness.
Sadly, the sponges won't last forever. Their diminutive stature and dubious birth lends them exceedingly poor quality, so within a day, they'll be shriveled up pieces of red and green gunk. I was tempted to make the most of their short life by spending a full day playing with and admiring the sponges, but at heart, they're pretty boring. I removed them from the frying pan, tossed 'em in the sink, and sentenced them to a slow death amidst particles of last night's salad and forks so dirty they look like spoons. Instant Christmas my ass.
Here's one of Milton Bradley's Christmas commercials, promoting their extensive line of "Travel Games," which was there special code word for "miniature." Though available year round in most toy stores, they seem to fetch much more attractive spots on the shelves during December. Yep, they're some of the classic stocking stuffers -- much like the 64-box of Crayola Crayons mentioned yesterday, none of the Christmas mornings during my childhood felt complete until I received some stupid tiny "Yahtzee" or "Battleship" game. I can't remember if I ever even played with the things, but I still had to have them. They were like the ugly ornament you keep putting on the tree year after year sheerly out of tradition. A mini-version of "Connect Four" was never going to hold up to my action figures, but screw Santa if he didn't throw one down the chimney anyway.
Virtually every Milton Bradley game got the "Travel" treatment, 'cept for the ones that had trillions of pieces. You had "Trouble," "Memory," "Hangman" -- wait a second. They had "Trouble?" Fuck, I never got that one. I long for mini-sized versions of the infamous Pop-O-Matic bubble. I hope Santa heard that.
The commercial features of a bunch of Santa's reindeer putting off their responsibilities for spirited rounds of board games. I'd tell you that the reindeers' noses look like erect dog dicks, but that'd be awfully crass of me.
The gifts from Playmobil's Advent Calendar always seemed the most special when they were alive, and today is no exception. Meet the contents of December 9th's special box -- it's Pauly Pooch! Mare immediately claims the dog as her own, not giving so much of a chance for Mista Snowman to vie for ownership. For a dog, Pauly is fairly noncommittal and offers no opinion on who should keep him.
The pooch, apparently a purebred, comes with a removable saddle in case anyone's in the mood to torture animals. Mare doesn't attempt a ride during this formulative stage of their relationship, but I see her eyeing that saddle. It's only a matter of time before Pauly Pooch becomes Pauly Pooch the Dog-Bike. Mista Snowman, still without his hat or broom, asked Mare if he could pet the new pup. The request went ignored, no matter how many times he asked or how many different ways he worded the question. With Bird and Pauly firmly on her side of the snowy fence, Mare's army of animals grows steadily. Soon, yellow spots would be seen on the ass end of Mista Snowman. The future looks bleak, and we're in desperate need of a Christmas miracle.
