Another round of cruel gifts has gone out to my friends' kids. Somewhere in Maine, toy poo is splatting as I type.
Frequent victim Katrina often suggests annoying gifts for others' kids, which is a transparent attempt to shift my focus elsewhere but is appreciated nonetheless. She made just such a suggestion this morning, and as I often do, I thought "Oh! That's perfect for Dorkass's daughter!"
But there's a fatal flaw in buying said child annoying gifts: her parents will enjoy playing with them, too. WTF would the point of that? There's no satisfaction in trying to irritate immature parents with fart bombs; more likely, the child will seldom get a chance to play with them herself.
Perhaps a membership to a Book-of-the-Month club would annoy them.