Mascotophobia

Yep, I just made up that word.  It means, according to my vocabulary, the fear of mascots.  I've always had one.

It dates back to the time when as a toddler, Goofy insisted on having me sit on his shoulders --much to my utter tear-filled dismay-- as my father took picture upon picture.

It extends to my grade school days when Kirby Koala thought it would be amusing to chase me around the aisles of National Bookstore.

Soon after that, Suzy and Geno hugged me at the same time, crushing my tiny frame in between them that all I could see and smell was the smothering onslaught of polyester, cotton, and spandex.  I thought I would die.

Later, as an adult, my Mascotophobia transformed into something more perverse.  Fear turned into rage.  Triggered at Kenji's 5th birthday party when Jollibee reached over to paw at my son's babysitter.  How unnerving!

Funny, not even then did I ever think that mascots had real, hot-blooded humans manning them from within.  I never thought of mascots as costumes.  But rather... as monsters. 

A few days ago, I had my latest run-in with yet another mascot.  This time, it was Cartoon Network's Chowder during a huge Halloween event.  He didn't run after me, abuse me, or molest me in any way.  Instead he just stood there!  Waving his fat chubby arms in what he had hoped would pass as a dance number.  'Lame' could not begin to describe his stage presence.  I paid for a goddamn performance and now --after all these years of taunting me with his ilk's aggression-- he held back?!  This mascot, as passive as he was, actually conned me!

Mascots.  Evil, unnaturally huge buggers.