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Pinkie Pie Must Die

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Cabo San Lucas Airport, Mexico. My family and I have been sequestered to a holding area after our luggage is determined "suspicious." The customs agent searches our bags. Before she gets to the last one, a loud belching sound comes from one of the bags belonging to my two-year-old daughter. Immediately, 400 of Mexico's finest descend upon us with bomb sniffing dogs in tow.

The bag burps again. The customs agents step back as if anticipating an explosion. My daughter smiles, points to the suitcase and says, "Pinkie!" then makes the same burping noise.

From the bag, the customs agent pulls out a furry hard plastic pink pony, Pinkie Pie from the My Little Pony show. Again, it burps giggles, then sings, "Lalalalala!" My daughter sings along with her doll. The agents relax, hand Pinkie Pie to my daughter and leave us to re-pack our suitcases and start our vacation. But since Pinkie Pie nearly got me arrested, I'm holding a grudge. Pinkie Pie must die. That's all there is to it.

I spend the rest of my vacation thinking of ways to kill Pinkie Pie starting with drowning (turns out hard plastic toys float), ending with "losing" her. Turns out my two-year-old is some sort of CIA agent and finds the damned thing immediately.

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When my friend Rebecca, gave Pinkie to my daughter, she told me I'd want to kill her, Pinkie and every toy maker in the world. "This toy will make you crazy. It makes the grossest slurping sound when you put your finger in its mouth, and then it burps and sings," she tells me, "but your daughter will love it."

Sadly, Rebecca was right. My kid loves that toy so much so that sometimes on a long car ride or in the middle of the night, I’ll hear a very loud BURP, GIGGLE, then, “LALALALA” from my kid. I won't lie, the sound scares the crap out of me and I can no longer tell who is making the sound, Pinkie Pie or my daughter. Sometimes, I've gone to turn off the toy only to realize my daughter is not far away, like some sort of toy ventriloquist, belching to her heart's content.

I have fears of her wedding vows being interrupted by her own Pinkie Pie impression.

I begin to worry about how this horrible toy might affect my daughter in the future. I have images of my daughter's first day of school being burp-filled, making her playdate roadkill. Or, her first school play being interrupted by her imitation of Pinkie Pie's slurping sound. Or her school calling in a specialist who will assume my daughter's belching and giggling is some sort of indication of pathological behavior. The specialist will recommend early intervention and my daughter will spend the rest of her formative years in a school for poorly behaved children who have been under the influence of a very annoying toy. I have fears of her wedding vows being interrupted by her own Pinkie Pie impression.

But my kid loves the damned thing and I can't throw it out. I've tried to kill it. All I can do is replace it.

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So I buy her a box of Magna—Tiles hoping her love of belching will be replaced by a gift for architecture and city planning. This turns out to be a terrible idea when my daughter and her older brother realize Magna—Tiles are just ice skates without shoes. My kids now spend their playtime seeing how fast they can projectile themselves into the nearest wall or piece of furniture with a slippery Magna—Tile under foot while burping. My house is now, "Pinkie Pie On Ice."

I then get her a Hello Kitty coloring book hoping her love of burping will be replaced by a love of art. But instead of coloring, she puts the crayons in her mouth while making Pinkie Pie's totally disgusting sucking noise that could make a corpse's stomach turn.

So, I bring in the big guns of kid toys: a Barbie doll and Barbie remote control convertible. Sure, my Barbie may teach my daughter to have a horrible body image and my kids have used the remote control car to take out more than one of my toenails, but the house is quiet and I haven't heard from Pinkie Pie in days.

Now, when will that damned remote control car run out of batteries?

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