Sometimes in life, I feel like I’m doing okay. Well, even. Riding the crest of the remarkable wave that seems to only come ashore a few instances in any given lifetime, and one of those times is now. But then it all comes crashing down, breaking along the coast for all the little kids to fall down in while trying to skimboard, when Nacho phones me up and tells me I need to write a review. Fucking Kill Pretty.
So I’m doing that old Goodwill routine, heading up Vine into Hollywood, wandering around drunk and pissed off at the world, wondering what the fuck I’m doing here. Is this what it’s all about? This is my purpose in life?
I’m browsing the shelves of stock that gets passed around more times than the Asian chick in that bukkake film, thinking what fucking “gem” I might find this time. I’m getting real sick of spending my precious pennies on these useless, broken hunks of shit from yester-century, Nacho. Can I write these off in my taxes?
Anyway, during my mass span of wasting time, I spotted a Tiger Electronics Deluxe Talkboy. Yes, that’s right—the tape recorder in Home Alone, sported by Kevin McCallister. A nostalgic toy and a pop-culture icon. What are the odds? My eyes lit up as bright as the first time I saw April O’Neil’s tits. Which is pretty fucking bright. And since I’m in Hollywood, I instantly think it is the one that was once owned by Macaulay Culkin. I race home and immediately list it on Craigslist as “Home Alone Deluxe Talkboy Movie Prop,” hoping that the bids would instantly come flooding through, thinking Kill Pretty might’ve paid off after all. But no bites. Not a one bid. You’d think the hipsters in Silver Lake would be clawing at each other’s throats over it. But I guess it’s even too “ironic” for them.
ADDENDUM: This thing is pretty sweet. I remember having one as a child. It was the equivalent to my sister’s My Little Pony. Now, I’m recording my farts with it and playing it back in the dead of night while my roommate is sleeping. She’s not that into it.