Pete's Expert Summary
So, the Human has presented me with this... object. It's a chunky, plastic thing in a rather loud shade of purple, shaped like some archaic communication device from their past. They call it "Moe's Prank Phone," which seems to be a tribute to some crudely drawn television show they watch. Its primary function is to make noise – specifically, the recorded voices of those yellow cartoon people. I am told it can be activated by pushing its buttons or, more curiously, it can erupt with sound all on its own. While the random noise might offer a brief, startling interruption to the day's monotony (which could be amusing if it startles the Human), I fail to see the appeal. It has no feathers, no tantalizing scent of catnip, and its plastic form offers a wholly unsatisfying mouthfeel. Ultimately, it seems like another piece of human-centric clutter destined to gather dust, though the coiled cord connecting its two parts does show a modicum of promise for batting practice.
Key Features
- OFFICIALLY LICENSED: The Simpsons Moe’s Prank Phone captures the look of the iconic telephone seen in Moe’s Tavern. Features prank phone calls and phrases from multiple characters seen and heard throughout the animated series
- PRANK CALLS: The Prank Phone features two modes of play and has over 10+ prank calls and phrases showcasing the classic Simpsons humor in an interactive and entertaining manner
- TWO MODES: Pick up the phone’s receiver and dial any 7 digits to hear funny prank calls made to Moe’s Tavern over the years. Switch modes to have the phone randomly call you with the prank calls. Requires 3 AAA batteries (included)
- MOE’S PHONE: Perfect for any Simpsons fan or collector, the Moe’s Prank Phone is a fun addition to any Simpsons collection. Collect the full range of toys and collectibles inspired by The Simpsons with this Moe’s Prank Phone from JAKKS Pacific
- Suggested for kids, fans and collectors ages 14 years and up
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The case landed on my desk—well, on the living room rug where I was attempting a deep-tissue nap—with a dull thud. The Human, my primary and often most baffling client, placed the evidence before me: a grotesque purple telephone. It reeked of factory plastic and desperation. "Look, Pete! It's from that show!" they chirped, their voice full of the usual unwarranted enthusiasm. They jabbed at the numbered buttons, and the device squawked to life, a gravelly voice complaining about a "Mr. Freely, first initial I., last initial P." I flattened my ears, not out of fear, but out of sheer aesthetic offense. This was not the delicate, crinkling sound of a worthy adversary; it was auditory garbage. I closed my eyes, dismissing the case as another one of the Human's fleeting, foolish whims. Later, the house fell into that deep, humming silence of the late afternoon, the time when sunbeams are at their most perfect for basking. I was positioned in a prime slice of golden light, drifting in that perfect space between worlds, when a shrill, piercing ring shattered the peace. My eyes snapped open. The purple informant was calling out from the coffee table, a lone cry in the stillness. This changed the nature of the investigation. This wasn't a passive piece of junk; it was an active agent, an infiltrator that chose its own moments to strike. My tail began a slow, metronomic sweep across the floorboards. The game, as they say, was afoot. I rose with a silent, deliberate grace, my paws making no sound on the hardwood. I leaped onto the sofa, then to the coffee table, circling the noisy contraption like a shark. It fell silent, as if sensing the presence of a true predator. I extended a single, careful claw and hooked the coiled black wire that tethered its handset to the base. I gave it a tug. The wire stretched, then sprang back with a satisfying *boing*. This was a feature of some merit. I nudged the handset with my nose, testing its weight and balance. With a firm, decisive shove, I sent it tumbling over the edge. It clattered loudly against the floor, a sound far more interesting than any of its programmed prattling. The informant was silenced, its two parts now disconnected and undignified. I hopped down, gave the fallen receiver a cursory sniff, and walked away. The verdict was in. As a source of interactive amusement, the purple phone was a dismal failure, a waste of good plastic. But as an object to be systematically dismantled and knocked off a high surface, it possessed a certain, fleeting charm. The Human could have their noisy toy. I had discovered its true purpose. Case closed.
