Top five creepy mini-things at the Denver Museum of Miniatures, Dolls and Toys
It is way too soon for this crap to be vintage.
The only things more creepy than miniatures, dolls and toys that are supposed to be creepy are ones that are unintentionally disturbing. And the kindly volunteers who worked this weekend were blissfully unaware of the darkly bizarre nature of some of the exhibits. I asked Bill and Sarah West, who bravely manned the museum on Sunday--the first Sunday of the month is free admission day from 1-4 p.m.--if they thought there were any peculiar items on display, Sarah said, "wait until Halloween," and she admitted to displaying several vintage 1980s clown Cabbage Patch dolls that seriously creep Bill out. "I really don't like them," he said, visibly uneasy.
I thought Halloween came early this year at the lovely but un-air-conditioned museum, and here are the top five creepiest mini-things I found.
"Each buries his own."
5. It's that kid from Pet Sematary.
If Victorian-era boys all bore such a striking resemblance to Gage Creed as this doll does, then I feel damn lucky that my refrigerator box time machine doesn't work. I would be in mortal fear of turning the museum lights off at the end of day and worrying that this little doppelganger would come at me from under a piece of furniture with a scalpel.
Herman Munster didn't keep a close enough eye on his Achilles tendon, and then he, Tasha Yarr and that dumb-looking guy from Melrose Place all ended up taking dirt naps, so walk away from the doll and repeat after me: "The ground is SOUR!"
4. No recycle bin?
The elaborate dollhouses on display at the museum have itty-bitty furniture, food, toilets and even this bizarre, tiny trash can, complete with contents. But this is Colorado where our state motto should be "We have mountains, pot and recycle bins, bitches!"
This miniature replica mixes glass, paper and who knows what else at the bottom of the tiny can, and someone from Boulder ought to donate a mini-bin for this mini-house or Ed Begley Jr. will come and put a Birkenstock-clad foot in someone's ass.
3. Spooky suppertime.
This colonial era display has a table set with dishes, a basket of produce and two tiny steaks, but the gals in the bonnets look far from pleased at their repast. The one on the right has an odd look of trepidation, as if to say "We haveth steak, but where art the baked potatoes?" and the doll on the left looks like she's about to squeeze that tomato in her fist, bang her head on the sturdy hardwood table until there is blood, then turn around and set the bed on fire.
The whole scene is a bit too M. Night Shyamalan, and much like 80 percent of his movies, not suitable for viewing by anyone ever.
2. Bum doll.
As if the human panhandler population wasn't well-represented at every major intersection in the downtown area already, this representative doll is holding its own cardboard sign with Sharpie message: "Broke Hungry Anything Helps God Bless." What's next-- Raggedy Ann working over Johns for cross-stitched crack rocks?
1. It's too soon.
I came across a series of displays featuring such vintage toys and figurines as Teddy Ruxpin, Alf, Fisher Price People, She-Ra, Strawberry Shortcake, G.I. Joe and Rainbow Brite. I stood in front of the last case, teary and dejected, unable to understand that the toys I played with as a child were now so old that they were in a fucking museum.
I was creeped out, and worse--I developed such an ominous sense of my own mortality that no vodka-Xanax cocktail was going to lift my self-imposed depression. And, for the record, that Rainbow Brite doll is no less frightening now than it was when I was nine.
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