Yo, Tech Answer Guy,
When I was growing up, people had some strange ideas about parenting. Remember the Three in the Morning Movement, where parents blared The Smiths in the middle of the night to show their infant children how it felt to be woken up by loud, petulant whining? That lasted long enough for an entire generation to grow up sleep deprived and cranky! And, of course, the less said about The Gluterberg Cavebaby Diet, the better.
Not to be outdone, when I was four, my parents got me a Shelf ElfTM.
It’s a bland looking plush doll, with long, loose limbs, a soft, expressionless face, pointy ears and a red cap. You wouldn’t think, to look at it as an adult, that it was all that scary, but bland contains its own special kind of menace, don’t you think? I certainly think. That, I mean. About the menace.
My parents told me that it would watch me and relay my behaviour back to Santa Claus; the Shelf ElfTM‘s reports would determine if I would get on the Naughty or Nice list. Big Elf was watching my every move! Room 101 was the corner I was sent to when I acted up! My god, I was taught good and evil before I could even pronounce Nietche! I mean, Nitsche! I mean – oh, you know who I mean!
Of course, when I was old enough to know the difference between good watching over and evil surveillance (some time in the first semester of my second year of university), I decided to put the Shelf ElfTM away. I graduated, got a job, married and had a couple of kids of my own – all that boring adult stuff. I thought that part of my life was over. More fool me.
After a particularly nasty argument with Deirdtree – that’s my wife – about who should be responsible for filling the garbage vaporizer, I noticed that the Shelf ElfTM appeared on the dresser across from our bed. Not a problem – I put it back in its box in the back of my wife’s moderately naughty lingerie closet and didn’t give it a second thought. Then, it appeared after we fought about who should tell our eldest daughter, Wilhelmina, that she couldn’t go to the Saidye Bronfman’s dance wearing that outfit!
The more we fought, the more the Shelf ElfTM appeared. Seeing the demon doll in such emotionally trying circumstances brought back the old fear; it got so bad that I started agreeing with whatever Deirdtree wanted just to keep from having to see it again!
I’ve done everything I could to make the Shelf ElfTM go away. I stabbed it. I shot it. I took it a mile outside the city limits and left it by the side of the road. I pulled it apart and buried the parts in various backyards around the nieghbourhood. I pureed it and sprinkled it on my morning eggs. (Don’t do that – it makes breakfast taste funny.) Yet, no matter what I did to the Shelf ElfTM, it always turned up the next time I had a fight with Deirdtree.
What’s happening to me?
Sincerely,
Igor from Innisfil
Yo, Iggy,
Man up! It’s just a lifeless doll! What? You think you’re Karen Black in some cheap 1970s horror movie? If so, you’re beyond my help – get an exorcist. Or, a film critic. Roger Ebert is the best, but he does so many Blackorcisms that you have to book him years in advance. A. O. Scott is a bit of a Karen Black heretic, but his demon doll removal technique is impeccable, so he will do in a pinch.
Are you all manly and shit now? Good. Then, follow the asterisk at the end of this paragraph. Yo, guys – the asterisk is just for Iggy, okay? Everybody else can take a powder (which does not mean have a donut, although, now that you mention it, that’s not a bad idea, especially if it will get us some privacy). Capisce? (Which does mean put a cap on your isce, good advice in these times of antibiotic- and rational argument-resistant STDs.) Good.*
The Tech Answer Guy
* Heeeey! What’d I say? Following the asterisk is just for Iggy! Yeah, I’m looking at you, Ignatowski! Think you can get in on this passage on a technicality? Gimme a break! Seriously. I’ll see you next time. This is just for one reader.
Are we alone? Good. I had a Shelf ElfTM when I was a kid, Iggy, and I don’t mind admitting to just you that it scared the bejesus out of me! (Bejesus, as you may know, is a form of ectoplasm that exists west of the Mason-Dixon line). To this day, I cannot watch The Santa Clause without breaking into a sweat!
You say the Shelf ElfTM appears every time you have a fight with your wife? And, its presence makes you afraid to fight with her? What’s going on is obvious: your wife’s lover comes into your home in the middle of the night and places a new Shelf ElfTM in your bedroom! I guess he figures that if he drives you mad, it will give your wife an excuse to divorce you, allowing her to be with him.
Bastard.
The solution is to figure out which of your neighbours is cuckolding (literally: making you an old cuck) you, find his weakness and then steal into his house and plant a representation of said weakness there for him to find. (When in doubt, a horse’s head has been shown to work in 19 out of 20 screenings of The Godfather). You will find that taking action to end your torment will stem the fear that eats away at your soul (leeching it of vital Omega 3s).
Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served cold-cocked!
If you are a dude with a question about the latest technology, ask The Tech Answer Guy by sending it to questions@lespagesauxfolles.ca. Just remember: what doesn’t kill you makes your need for a lifetime of therapy stronger!