I don’t know what it is about this story that’s capturing the hearts of social media denizens everywhere. Some toddler is obsessed with a personal injury lawyer and had a themed Morris Bart birthday. It’s some of the best viral marketing I’ve ever seen. I can’t stop guffawing at my computer right now. The thought of a little 2 year old being so transfixed by something that is so far out of his world-frame just doesn’t cease to be funny. What use does he of a personal injury lawyer? Kids heal quickly, they’re like mini Wolverines (character, not the small weasel beasts). Plus, on that child’s salary he’d be hard pressed to hire even an affordably priced lawyer such aa Morris Bart. This is ridiculous, I already like this Morris Bart dude and I’ve never even seen the ad (lies. I took a couple of minute and watched some on Youtube). It’s lunacy, but loveable lunacy for sure. I get it though, when you’re that age nothing’s wrapped up in a tight little bow of accessible logic. You like what you like because you do. Simple.
When I was that age I apparently had a favourite toy. It was this little soldier thing. Maybe the height of a bic clic pen (dumbest link I’ve posted?), some officer dude garbed in all black. He had a red hat and a skull and crossbones emblem on his breast. I still think it looks like a tiny SS officer. I’ve got no idea why I would’ve been drawn to it, but my parents said that as a toddler I played with it all the time. We were inseparable. So tight, in fact, that I ended up almost chewing the thing’s head off like a randy praying mantis. That’s adoration. I think my parents hid it away at that point. Or I moved on. Unsure, I wasn’t exactly cognisant then. It wasn’t until age 5 or so that my parents re-introduced me to it.
I treated it like a stranger. I had (and to this day have) no knowledge of playing with it whatsoever. It was just some weird little object that I was informed I liked. I felt affection for it because I’d been told that was a pre-existing condition, but I had no evidence in my head that spoke to the little toy’s relevance. For all I know, my parents were just fucking with me and wanted to play some bizarre social experiment. I’m not saying they were (but I’m not not saying that either, dig?), there’s still suspicion. It’s like this urban tale that goes around within a close group of my brothers, best friend and his brothers. According to the older boys (back when we were much younger. The more that I type it out it’s becoming apparent this story came from the mouths of 10 year olds), when I was a kid on some farm we all visited (?) I ate cow poop. It was something they’d all laugh about, the older boys would tease, etc. I stopped caring and I think it got old for them not getting a reaction, so it was dropped. Between my friend and I though, it was taken as gospel. As a baby, did I really chomp down on some fine cow pat? It’s all too easy to call bullshit now, but at the time their conviction gave it some verisimilitude. That previous sentence was brought to you by pretentiousness and a strong desire to drop the word “verisimilitude” in wherever I can so people will like me. DO YOU LIKE ME YET? I NEEEED YOOOUR APPROOOVAAAAL. Man, I must’ve eaten shit at some stage, cause I’m a master of talking it now.
How much of your culture do you think is founded on dumb white lies and stories people have fed you? Did you parents actually tell you anything true about their upbringing? Or did they instead tell you the synopsis of Jingle all the Way with a few names changed? Man, if it wasn’t for the prevalence of social media and digital record keeping, you could just make up shit to your kids and have them believe anything. I want a 5 year old who believes they once jumped 2 metres vertically, just to see them repeatedly try.
For the millionth time, maybe it’s socially irresponsible for me to consider having kids.