Review of: Crap That I Won in a Claw Machine

…I am only good at three things in life.  One is folding origami cranes, one is winning toys from arcade-style claw machines, and I forget what the third one is.  And I’m not joking about the claw machines, either.  Back when my family used to go on vacation down at the Jersey shore, my step-brothers and I would go to the arcades, and other kids would actually pay me money to win toys from the claw machines.  It’s one of those great talents that has no possible practical application in real life, like being the world’s greatest swallower of pills without drinking any water, which is actually another talent that I have which I was too modest to mention before.

Anyway, these days I live in New Orleans, which has the best claw machines in the entire nation.  Here’s the one at my local bar:

The claw machines down here are ancient…  from the 1950s, at the latest.  Not only are they ancient, but they have an entirely different system of play:  instead of pressing buttons with arrows, you turn a metal crank, which is connected to a pointer at the back, which indicates which section of the “prize area” your claw will end up in.  …That’s assuming that the arrow ever ever worked, which it never does.  In fact, as I was saying to these two dudes the other day, who were trying to win at “my” claw machine — “Dudes.  Ignore the arrow.  The arrow is nothing.  Pretend it’s not even there.  Rotate your claw all the way to the left or right, and then ‘feel’ your distance out from there, like using the Force.”  I think that they were pleased to get this info.

Plus, whereas claw machines up north seem to only feature toys that represent the trend o’ the month — or, more accurately, the trend o’ five to ten years ago, e.g., Pokemon!  Garfield!  Bratz! — New Orleans claw machines feature awesome unbranded toys that are unchanged from the original date of the machine’s inception.

Below are couple pictures of locals from my local bar, the best bar in the world, even though, these days, I am only allowed to drink fake non-alcoholic beers it in.  But it’s Irish, has lesbian barmaids, looks as though it’s about to fall down, serves food, has a “Galaga” machine, a terrible jukebox, AND a claw machine.  If I could I would spend my entire life there.

I always forget this bartender’s name.  Is it Jim?  …Tim?

This is Frank.  Frank lives a few blocks away from me, has multiple sclerosis, and sells drugs…  I hear tell.  He looks really drunk in this photo, which is a bad sign because Frank is always really drunk.  If you have to point out that Frank is really drunk, what you actually mean is that he’s about to physically implode into a small puddle of gin.

Anyway.  Here’s your review.

REVIEW OF:  SHIT THAT I WON FROM THE CLAW MACHINE IN THE BAR ACROSS THE STREET (Part One of a Billion)

Squeaky Rat: Ah, Squeaky Rat.  Mere words cannot describe how blah I feel about you.  I’ll be honest:  I was trying to win something else with the claw when I got you. Yes, true, you are a life-sized plastic replica of a rat — and when squeezed, you do squeak — but…  then what?  Whither from there?  Really, rats only make me think of two things:  bubonic plague, and Templeton from “Charlotte’s Web,” which in turn makes me think of Charlotte dying, which makes me sad.  Let’s move on. Grade:  C

Happy Tomato Face Bank Guy: I mean, I assume he’s supposed to be a tomato.  I don’t have a lot to go on here.  He could be, say, a persimmon, or a kumquat, and I would never know.  I didn’t major in Agriculture or nothing like that.  I majored in English Literature, which means that I majored in bullshit.  Grade:  B

Happy Girl Bunny Translucent Bank Thing: Happy Girl Bunny Translucent Bank Thing wants to kill you.  Yeah, she’s holding her poseable arms open like she wants to give you a “hug,” but do not be fooled.  Happy Girl Bunny Translucent Bank Thing will fuck you up.  Given half the chance, she will maul you worse than the Queen Mother in “Aliens.”  In essence, Happy Girl Bunny Translucent Bank Thing scares the fuck out of me.  On the plus side — and much like Tomato Face Guy — Happy Girl Bunny has a coin slot in the back and a removable porthole thing, so she does indeed store loose change.  That’s assuming that your life has reached such a low point that you need to be storing your quarters inside a fucked-up plastic rabbit.  Grade:  B-minus

Albino Alligator: Yes!  I love the Albino Alligator.  Toys like him are the whole reason that I got into the whole crappy-toy-winning-business in the first place.  In fact, I have only good things to say about him.  He’s plastic, albino, and he’s a gator, and there is nothing un-awesome about any of these things.  This ain’t rocket science, people.  Grade:  A-plus

Subtraction Flash Cards: Mere words also cannot express how much I did not want to win the Subtraction Flash Cards.  But combine a cranky, malfunctioning, circa-1950 claw machine with my own desperate compulsion to win useless shitty toys, and we wind up with…  Subtraction Flash Cards.  I was not trying to win them.  I was trying to win the Plastic Football Guy Coin Bank.  No one ever wins the Football Guy Coin Bank, he’s enormous, and he’s wedged tightly into a crevice in the extreme corner of the machine.  He’ll probably be there till the day I die.  …Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, I am about to open the subtraction cards for the first and only time.  (Short pause while I open the package.)  …Huh.  According to this first card, 10 minus 1 equals Square.  I don’t think that I have a joke here.  Grade:  F

Stuffed Racist Caricature Cannibal Doll: This guy is likewise awesome.  And he looks so sweet and befuddled, almost like he doesn’t want to be a cannibal at all, but he can’t help it, ’cause he loves the taste of human meat.  Also, he seems to have a cataract or glaucoma, as his eyes are staring off into two wildly different directions.  …I spent almost two dollars worth of quarters to win Cannibal Doll, and it was worth every penny.  You simply do not find shit like this outside of the Deep South.  …To help explicate Racist Doll a little bit, he was probably created with reference to the final parade held during Mardi Gras, which is called “Zulu,” and which features black people dressed up much like Mr. Cannibal Doll himself.  During the parade, people throw painted coconuts from the floats into the crowd below.  You’d be right in thinking that five-pound coconuts are a fairly dangerous thing to throw from above into a crowd of drunk people.  In fact, several people get badly injured each year.  Luckily, to prevent any lawsuits, our legislature passed a special injunction specifically permitting the throwing of heavy coconuts from parade floats, and I’m not kidding about this.  New Orleans…  it’s a unique town, you’ve got to admit it.  Grade:  A

Mardi Gras Ruler: Actually, it’s not a ruler.  I thought that it was a ruler, but that was before I won it and was able to look closer at the thing.  It’s a keychain, with a very large ruler-like thing, that is inscribed with all the dates of future Mardi Grai up until the year 2016, but with no inch measurements or anything like that.  I guess you’re going to be so wasted during Mardi Gras that if you had a normal-sized keychain you’d lose it at the bar or drunkenly drop it into the gutter, so this one wins vague points for practicality.  Also, it has a very small cartoon of a moron guy from “Mad Magazine” printed on the ruler.  You can’t see it, but it’s there.  Whenever I win shit like this, I just imagine the poor, underpaid Chinese factory workers who have to put shit like this together, and what they must think of American people who demand a never-ceasing production of bunny banks, tomato banks, and plastic non-ruler rulers.  My firm conclusion:  Chinese people hate us.  Grade:  D