real talkin’ bubba stole two hours of my life
there are productive ways to spend an evening.
this was not one of them.
the crime scene
Real Talkin’ Bubba — mid-90s Tyco plush, motor mouth, overalls… and a southern foghorn-leghorn-esque smart-aleck voice that will not shut up. not a gentle bedtime bear. this was the toy mom and dad would yoink the batteries out of when we weren’t looking.
he says a lot of things… over 200, in fact. most of them are sass. some of them are demands. a few of them are the kind of line that lodges in your brain like a splinter and waits twenty plus years to demand a soundboard.
the two hours
i did not “sample” Bubba in some elegant archival way (but if you can actually extract raw files from one of these little beasts, let’s talk –> xyz@ohnoai.dev)
i clipped.
notification-length takes. start clean. end clean. no dead air if i could help it. the kind of files you can drop on a phone alert and immediately regret when your bank app opens with are ya gunna let me talk??.
filenames, because bureaucracy is how we prove suffering happened:
heygo onlet me talkwiggle my headfluff the whole thing(the long one. of course there is a long one.)
the board
so of course there is a board now.
Real Talkin’ Bubba soundboard →
five pads, a stop button, and a bear who still thinks he’s runnin’ shit.
footnote or whatever
this is a fan clip toy of a commercial toy. Bubba belongs to whoever owns the Tyco/Mattel chain of custody these days. the board is a personal shrine with headphones optional and volume advice mandatory if you live with other humans.
if you came here for a spreadsheet: wrong blog.
if you came here because a plush said something mean in 1996 and you never recovered: welcome. tap go on.