Hey parents, can we do each other a solid and not do Elf on the Shelf anymore?
Let’s crank our Delorians up to 88 MPH and drive back to September of 2017 shall we? IT Chapter One was breaking the box office and freaking everyone out. I lost track of how many people I saw on TV, the Internet and in real life lamenting about how much sleep the movie’s Pennywise heavy promotion was stealing from them. Every time they saw a clown, demonic or otherewise, they freaked the hell out. Clowns instilled a bone-chilling cold right down to the depths of their soul. Soccer moms, grown men, teenagers, millennials, sportscasters, special forces, death row inmates-no one was immune and seemingly everyone was throwing a temper tantrum and screaming like an hysterical toddler whenever someone wearing makeup crawled across their TV or computer screen.
I even encountered people who demanded that the promos be yanked because of how disturbing they were, of how it triggered a near universal fear of clowns and it was endangering the fragile mental health of their children.
(All that raises another question-why are so many people so genuinely terrified of clowns? I get the phobic fear of snakes and spiders-those are instinctive fears built into human DNA by millions of years of evolution-but clowns? Why are millions of people so horrified by middle aged guys with beer guts that their fear literally paralyzes them? Probably a question for another day . . . )
And weeks later many of those very same people either went out and purchased a brand new Elf on a Shelf. You know, a little plastic elf wearing an adorable little costume with a cutsie little name wearing a creepy-ass smile on its cheap plastic face. A plastic elf that parents have been using to bribe children into obedience and good behaviour by convincing them the Elf in question was spying on them 24/7 and reporting back to Santa on a regular basis.
And just to cement the illusion, parents make sure to move the goddamn little thing every night, convincing their impressionable little darings (you know, the same ones they feared were going to be emotionally traumatized by commercials of Pennywise the Dancing Clown) that the Elf is moving all by its lonesome, stalking them around the house.
Because that’s healthy.
But by all means, let’s protect the children from the clowns on TV.
Once upon a time you could find plenty of videos on Youtube of family dogs being chastised for tearing the hideous little things apart. The poor animals all wore this confused look as they tried to understand what they did wrong. I killed the little demon that was hunting your children! their bewildered eyes screamed. I should be getting showered with cookies and adoration, not yelled at!
Elf on a Shelf has been around for years and it is still terrifying a helpless generation. I was in a toy store a few weeks ago and witnessed two exasperated parents-within the span of mere minutes-desperately searching for the monstrous little bastard. When both were informed that not only was that location sold out, but that every store across the city had zero elves on their shelves for sale, it was like they the world crumbled beneath their over-consuming feet.
You know what they have now? Elf on the Shelf cereal. That’s right, Elf on the Shelf goddamn cereal. When I shared that little tidbit of knowledge with a co-worker, she wondered aloud if you got an elf with every box. And before I could bar it from my imagination, the visual that stormed my mind was opening a cereal box only to have an elf looking up at me, knife in hand and a homicidal smile carved on its face. A smile that looks remarkable similar to the one carved on its stupid little face now (personally I blame The Simpsons for that haunting image). I haven’t slept in a week and now the prospect of being murdered by a supernatural elf enslaved to the will of an omniscient Santa Claus during breakfast will be stuck in my soul until the day I die. No more Captain Crunch for me.
Oh but my kids love it. Sure, tell yourself that when their precious little elf’s name pops out during their inevitable (and expensive) therapy sessions. Parents will be singing a different tune then, especially after they get the bill. Make no mistake, there’s an entire generation of future psychiatrists just sharpening their bill writing pencils in anticipation of repressed Christmas trauma as a result of the Elves of the world.
Santa’s in for one hell of a PR nightmare in a few years.
And before you write off the creepy factor of these goddamn little things, just imagine waking up for a month and have a creepy smiling face staring at you, a face that’s been glaring at you all night and moves by itself, possibly rooting around in the knife drawer or the power tools while you’re helplessly unconscious.
It’s only a matter of time until there’s a horror movie inspired by these insidious little monsters.
So do me a favour and instead of scaring the diapers off your children next Christmas, can you just stuff the things in the garbage disposal? Or set them on fire? Or drive over them with the lawn mower? Something appropriately horrific.
Don’t worry, they won’t feel it. They’re just lifeless plastic remember. But don’t be surprised if they scream. And when they do, sleep well in the knowledge that you rid the world of one more child hunting demon. You’ll be a poor man’s Christmas Witcher.
Image via www.popcornhorror.com
