Content Warning!!!
Self harm, harm done to children, abandonment, bullying, becoming psychopathic
You probably haven't heard of My Little Poopsie. It's a doll, like cabbage patch kids or something, only sold in the dustiest corners of clearance bins.
There's only one doll and a few accessories. No other characters, no pets, nothing, although the back of the box shows her visiting a graveyard, but none of the graves have visible names.
Some versions come with a truly sickening DVD, in which she abuses her so called “friends”, none of whom have names, and seem to only exist to get mud thrown at them, have their toys stolen, and apparently keep coming back for more.
The last half hour of this abhorrent disk is just her playing alone, with a dump truck, while the music to her heinous theme song plays.
You're probably thinking, what's the big fucken deal, it's just a shitty doll, right?
Well, no. These things are pure, unfiltered evil.
There's a soccer club in my town, which I volunteer at. I never really wanted, or particularly liked kids, but there's literally nothing else to do after school in Arkansas, except this, or the usual garbage I'm sure you're imagining, so I might as well make myself useful.
I hated all but two of the kids there, but I wouldn't wish this on anyone.
One of the more annoying brats was having a birthday party, which I came to out of politeness, although I personally wasn't inclined to celebrate his birth.
His mom had made gift bags for everyone who attended, pink for girls, blue for boys, full of the usual cheap crap.
Everything went fine at the party. The trouble started later that night. The pink bags all had one of those accursed Poopsies in them, and when they opened them, something changed.
The first incident happened around 9PM, just after bedtime. Little Kelly had got it into her head that she was going to teach Poopsie how to do science. She drew a little pair of goggles on her, and and snuck off to the basement to mix some chemicals.
According to her dad, who is still in the hospital, she came running up the stairs saying “Oopsie Poopsie” in a cheerful voice, and mom and dad went down to see what she had done.
I don't know what she mixed, but when they went down to put out the fire, she didn't make it out. They found him unconscious in the front yard, door open, and the cat long since gone to fuck knows where.
They found her in her room, still playing with her hot wheels, at almost midnight, seeming to be in a trance.
The school counselor calls it PTSD, I call it being a little psychopath who belongs in prison, but then again, what do I know.
That very same night, another girl and her brother got in a fight over the wretched thing, and he fell down the stairs and broke several bones.
They found him unconscious too, and they found her at the top of the stairs, telling Poopsie all about how sorry she was that her mean brother grabbed her like that.
The school counselor called it trauma again, I call it a reason to keep my gun loaded. Shame too, she used to be one of the ones I liked.
The next incident happened the next day. The police came around to break the horrid news, and for some reason, which I kind of hope I never find out, Sue was convinced that the cop was there to take Poopsie away.
She ran out into the street to get away, just as the trash truck came by. The cop runs out to pull her back, and winds up with two broken legs.
But you see, it doesn't stop there. The kid keeps on running down the street till she realizes what happened. Her mom starts throwing up from all the stress, retching in between screaming, and suddenly the kid just stops, turns around, and starts talking to Poopsie.
And suddenly something happens to her mom. She stops screaming, and just sits there, looking totally emotionless, saying “My daughter is gone”, over and over.
And eventually the kid calmly walks up to the garbage man, while he's trying to call 911 on his ancient phone, and she asks, “Can Poopsie drive the truck?”.
His phone wasn't working, but the other cops were already checking in after he didn't answer his radio, and they quickly got an ambulance on the way, and took Sue with them back to the station.
They later found her mom lying in the road, apparently hoping to end it all, and took her to the hospital. She eats and drinks when they tell her too, and never fights about her pills, but they don't seem to be working.
She hasn't said one word to anyone since, or maybe any expression except sometimes staring into her doctors eyes with a look of horror.
I wonder what our useless counselor would say about that.
Sue is apparently staying with relatives, and get this: As soon as she got there, she asked for a toy truck, and they fucking bought her on the same day.
I went to see her yesterday. She still has that damned doll, still plays with her little yellow dump truck all by herself, and now she refuses to wear anything that doesn't match Poopsie.
Grandma even knitted Poopsie a tiny little sweater to match the one she knitted Sue, but she just threw a fit and stomped on them both.
I Guess Haowan Zisi Ltd. and their evil little toy are all the family you'll ever need.