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There’s a saying that goes ‘you’re never too old for toys’ but can our toys be too old for us?

We may never know as nowhere in the original saying does it stipulate what should happen in the event that a toy ages in a human-like fashion.

Even I, a regional conservative newspaper columnist, do not have the answer which pretty much puts the notion of ever having an answer to bed.

But by gosh am I going to try.

Let’s start (and finish) by critiquing the drooling recesses of the radical left who think that all classic toys are “triggering” and “unsafe” just because they are old and full of lead.

Admit it, if they had their way we’d all be hooked to a gender-neutral computer game 18 hours a day, pausing only to do a virtue signalling tweet (which is worth points in the game as well). 

They probably will call me a racist just for saying this, for standing up for the old toys of my youth which were made with care, passion and good old Australian wood pried from the claws of a coddled generation of koalas.

Well let me save you some time and tell you I am not a racist as some of my best toys are Golliwogs.

My first Golliwog was given to me at six years old as a reward from my father for the promotion I received at the factory earlier that day (also from father).

Sam and I have been friends ever since.

In recent years however it is clear that a minority of loud, nappy-wearing boohoos do not find Sam kosher and certainly don’t find him vegan friendly, deeming he should stay indoors even on Bring Your Child to Work day.

Just the other day Sam was telling me that he doesn’t even like sitting on the couch because he feels like guests don’t like to see him on the annual chance someone comes around for a visit.

Yet somehow I am labeled the racist one for allowing Sam to be out and proud in the living room with his big red smile and eyes that can see every fear in your soul.

If having a Golliwog is racist then I don’t want to be tolerant. In fact, I never was really keen on that to begin with so there.

So how about you look into my honest eyes, or Sam’s googly ones, and tell me that I am a racist just for holding onto a long-gone relic symbolic of a time where children learnt to discriminate from a young age?

So can you be too old for toys?

As I said in the beginning of the article I don’t really know. All I know is that if Sam could speak he’d do a ripping version of Ave Maria that would put a tear in the eye of even the most soy-hearted leftie.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ANTHONY SOCKET is a 65-year-old reporter who lives between his house in Betoota Grove and his ‘southern base’ in the North Shore of Sydney. Once an up and coming newspaper editor, he rose all the way to the top as editor of the Townsville Bulletin, before he took a job as Head of Comms for the Adani Group. After being exposed to the very real hysteria and sensationalism of woke cancel culture, Socket knows all too well about how the regressive leftists are willing to ruin someone’s career over a simple compliment at a staff Christmas Party. He now occassionally writes an opinion article for the Betoota Advocate, which is located in the centre of the print edition of our newspaper, which means the average bloke who reads from the back page is exposed to his whimsical musings well before they reach the day’s news.

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