Man, I really hate to open by dissing a group like the National Multiple Sclerosis Society, but this pink piece of crap was sitting at the front of my shelf, and was among the first trophies I ever received. This, for better or worse (mostly worse), became the standard by which I would judge all other trophies. Look at how goddamned regal that thing is. I would've kicked a genie out of it if I thought that he would get it dirty. My only complaint is that in 2001, I was eight years old and still subscribed to the idea that colors had genders. I would have infinitely preferred a red trophy.
You can tell this one just repels cooties.
In second grade, this lady came to our school to talk about multiple sclerosis and tell us about the Multiple Sclerosis Read-A-Thon, which the National Multiple Sclerosis Society was going to be sponsoring at our school that year. She began to explain that for every book we read, we could get a family member or neighbor or someone to sponsor a small amount of money toward MS research. It was a pretty good cause.
The problem is that I received this trophy for all the wrong reasons.
Why I Hate This Trophy:
I was thrilled out of my skull about this Read-A-Thon. I didn't care all that much about MS at the time, because I was eight years old and it's really kind of difficult to explain devastating medical conditions to, and this is worth repeating, a room full of eight-year-olds. What I did care about was the reward at the end. I grew up about an hour away from SeaWorld Ohio (which totally existed for some reason, I swear to Christ), and the prize for reading enough books was a free trip to SeaWorld. They may not give a flying fishy fuck about orca health or occupational safety, but they were sure as shit ready to help out the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. Good on you for that at least, SeaWorld.
Shamu #376 is dancing in celebration. Because you made him.