The Perfect Lego Toilet

When I was a kid, we used imagination along with our toys, they didn't suck us in like mindless zombies. I have two younger brothers, and we spent at least ninety percent of our childhood building a universe of toys. Picture the perfect Lego toilet. For years, my brothers and I worked on the perfect Lego toilet. Not to use, silly, but to be better than the last one we built. The Lego toilet tradition started in a Lego house building competition between the three of us. My mother recalls hearing things like, 'Oh yeah, my toilet has a T.V.!' and 'Well, my toilet has a T.V. and a record player, so I can watch Superfriends, and hear music!"

That was it. Houses no longer had toilets, toilets had houses. Our little Lego guys could get in their toilet car and drive to the toilet store to buy more things for his toilet. G.I. Joe guys started wars and shot Lite Brites out of straws at the Lego men to steal their toilets. My little ponies were hired to guard the toilets, which were under construction all the time. Ninja Turtles and He-Man stole toilet parts in the middle of the night. I hired Darth Vader and Han Solo to work together on a mission to destroy the toilet Luke Skywalker and the Ewoks were building, because inside of it was a bomb big enough to destroy the universe with one flush. The problem with the bomb was that it was disguised as a Rubix Cube. Thankfully, Strawberry Shortcake and the Thunder Cats eradicated the storm troopers in charge of the construction. Barbie defeated the Battle Star Galactica Warriors, who invaded the space shuttle toilet that was on a mission to discover strange new Cabbage Patch Kids. Luckily the Dukes of Hazard saved the day every week, the Fraggles never escaped from Teddy Ruxpin's grip, and My Buddy made an alliance with the Transformers to defeat the Gremlins for good. The toys I loved almost as much as my toilets were little orange collectable wrestlers called M.U.S.C.L.E. (Millions of Unusual Small Creatures Lurking Everywhere) Men. No one remembers them, but they lived in many of my indoor plummery.

Thanks to companies like Hasbro and Mattel (the distributors of M.U.S.C.L.E. men), the universe inside our home had the perfect balance of good and evil. No side won more than the other, E.T. made it home safely every time, and Stretch Armstrong never survived long before his goo was revealed. I can still see my Radio Flyer filled with the most pristine Lego toilet in history, the Millennium Toilet. Our toys were our world, and we not only played with them, but we connected with each other. That's what we're lacking today with our children. They're unconnected zombies. I wish they had toys like we did as kids