Friday, October 26, 2007

Plasmacar. Fuck YEAH.

I'm basically eight: I eat disgusting foods, I don't shave my body hair regularly, and I'm always a little bit dirty. I also love toys.

The thing about being a twentysomething (fuck, did I just refer to myself as that? I apologize for using such a douchebaggy phrase, but I'm not changing it) who loves toys is that toys, sadly yet appropriately, are marketed toward children. Big Wheels are made for stubby little legs, action figure accessories are smaller than my irises and are hard to get a grip on with adult hands, and sometimes things are really innovative but are too dumbed-down to be interesting.

BUT there is hope on the horizon my fellow regressors! It is the Plasmacar and I am fucking obsessed and I need one and once I get one I am never traveling in any other fashion ever again.

Check it:
So you plop your ass on the red part (the car comes in a Crayola-worthy array of colors, but I'm in a purple phase, so deal) and you slap your feet where the little imprints of feet are (love the hints, guys!) and away you go! It's powered by "your energy ... Uses gravity, centrifigul force and friction to move – no batteries needed." You just scoot along and use the ergonomic-looking steering wheel to avoid all the other tots on the mean streets and you're on your way to riding in style.

The best part? It's one size fits all. It is essentially for kids, but it's designed so that an adult's knees won't get bruised and beaten while drag racing, like with that bastard Big Wheel. Plus, it can hold up to 22o pounds!

Apparently they used to cost like, $20, but then the gentrifying hipster parent squad made them all trendy and capitalist and now they're more like $60. Shoppers on the Amazon page are complaining, but I say fuck that. $60 is NOT a lot of money for the greatest invention since TiVo.

I'm asking my mommy and daddy for one for Chanukkah, obvs.

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