>The Cruddy Professor

>

When I was young, I had an evil doll.

Handmade by a supposed “friend” of my mom’s, he was a cross between Humpty Dumpty and a psychopathic clown. His handstitched smile oozed menace. His misshapen lump of a body made for particularly demented shadows on the walls at night. His arms and legs were just the right length to wrap around a small child’s neck after she had gone to sleep…

I spent a lot of sleepless nights worrying about that doll.

And because of my experience, I’ve been particularly vigilant about which toys make it into my toddler’s room. She will never own a toy monkey with cymbals or anything with sharp little teeth that look like they could take a chunk out of your arm the moment you close your eyes.

But despite my watchfulness, an enemy has somehow made it past the border. And he must be stopped.

I found Professor Owl at a garage sale for two dollars. Practically new, he seemed like an incredible bargain. Push Professor Owl’s question mark and he would prompt you to find a letter. Push the corresponding letter and he’d congratulate you on getting it right. After a quick once-over, I snatched him up and handed over the cash.

At home, I gave him to Baby, who was delighted by her talking owl. But after she started punching his buttons, I noticed some major design flaws.

For one thing, Professor Owl’s voice was jarringly loud. For another, he had an irritating New Joisey accent.

“Hoy. Oym Professuh Owl. Can you foind da lettuh A?”

Baby giggled and pressed D.

“Troy again. Can you foind da lettuh A?”

She tried T.

“C’mon! You can do bettah dan dat!”

“What did he say?” I asked Baby. She looked at me blankly. Did he just tell a 1-1/2-year-old that she could do better than that?!

“Don’t play with him anymore, Baby. He’s an asshole.”

Of course, when I say ‘don’t’, all my baby hears these days is ‘do.’ Defiantly, she studied Professor Owl’s Alphabet-tattooed chest and punched the letter A.

“No! Dat’s not it! Can you foind da lettuh A?”

“He’s a liar!” I grabbed Professor Owl from Baby’s hands. “No more. Professor Owl is a liar, Baby! Don’t you believe anything he says.”

She looked up at me wonderingly. Once I had distracted her with Zoboomafoo on TV, Professor Owl was quickly exiled to the back of a pile of stuffed animals.

Until yesterday. On a major toy expedition to the deepest corners of her room, Baby found Professor Owl hidden beneath the friendly teddy bears and Sesame Street castoffs and dragged him off to her daddy. Silently, she held him up for Hub’s approval.

“Oh! What’s this?”

“It’s Professor Owl. Don’t let her play with him. He’s an asshole and a liar.”

“Lucinda! Really.”

“Okay,” I said, going back to my In Touch. “Find out for yourself.”

“Hoy! Oym Professuh Owl! Can you foind da lettuh Q?”

After hesitating for a moment, Baby hit Q.

“That’s great, Ba-” Hubs started.

“No, dat’s not it. Can you foind da lettuh Q?”

“What?!” Hubs said, outraged. “Don’t you listen to Professor Owl, Baby. You got it right.”

Baby looked confused. Hubs pressed Professor Owl’s Q button harder.

“Come on. You can do bettah dan dat.” Unbelievably, my 200-pound husband was being taunted by a stuffed animal.

“Let’s throw him away, Lucinda,” Hubs glowered. “He’s a liar and an asshole.”

I stopped Hubs from throwing Professor Owl away, simply because merely chucking him in the trashcan wasn’t good enough.

Professor Owl must pay for his crimes.

If I could, I’d drop a huge anvil on him from the top of a nine-story building. Or a grand piano. Unfortunately, I don’t have access to that kind of thing.

So I’ll leave it to you. If you can come up with a richly satisfying yet do-able way to pay Professor Owl back for the anguish he’s caused me and my family. I’ll take care of it. And I’ll take pictures. And I’ll post the results.

Any ideas?

Get a load of the smug look on this bastard’s face.