I've already established in many previous posts that I suck the fun out of life. I hate Halloween, heights, scary movies, basically anything that causes undue anxiety is just not for me. I know you're thinking, er, what in the name of la-di-dah is remotely anxiety-provoking about the Elf on a Shelf? It's his wee beady little eyes! (YES! A "So I Married An Axe Murderer" reference! My life is complete!)
Seriously though, I can't STAND things that appear to look at you. My aunt is an amazing seamstress, and has eleventy billion dolls in her house in order to make doll clothes which she then sells. At least she has a reason for having those fucking dolls whose eyes open when they sit up and close when they lay down. *shudder* Anyway, when I would go to visit her, THE DOLL ROOM was MY ROOM, and those fucking DOLLS WATCHED ME SLEEP. I wish I were kidding. Granted, none of them looked like they'd been attacked with a weed whacker like Chucky, but STILL. I don't know how I ever slept in there, since I just knew I'd be grabbed by little plastic hands in the middle of the night. Even now, as an adult, I would love to sleep with a foot sticking out of the covers when I get hot, but YOU CAN'T LEAVE THE SANCTUARY OF THE EDGE OF THE BED. If you want to live, that is.
In my old office, there were pictures of, well, let's just call them community VIPs. They were the type of photos where they looked directly into the camera, so no matter where you were in the office, the PICTURES WERE WATCHING YOU. Made you think twice about taking a ream of paper home. I get the same feeling with the Elf on the Shelf (a shelf? The shelf? Whatever the fuck. I don't know.) I do understand that I would be the one moving the thing around the house, but what if I wasn't?!?!?? (Don't give the Hubs that much credit, he wouldn't move it, he'd totally forget. Love him, but it's true.) My luck I'd wake up to that thing sitting on my bed shrieking, "I'M A REAL BOY!!!" Fuck. That.
I know people are using this instead of "Santa is watching you." Seriously people, get your kids to listen to YOU. YOU are their parents and authority figures, not this little plastic creeper who looks like he'll grow up to be on the sex offender registry. And not for peeing in a park in the dark. (If you haven't seen Horrible Bosses, you go watch it. You go watch it right now.)
That is all.