This campaign started in 1974, the year I was born. I remember that my mom had a big roll of Mr. Yuk stickers that were supposed to go on detergent bottles and things, but she never used them. (And, miraculously, even absent the lifesaving powers of Mr. Yuk, neither my sister nor I never drank them.) When I was about 12 or so, I asked my mom if I could have the stickers, to which she consented with the sort of perplexed "wev" look of a mother who can't even believe her kid is inquiring about something so random. In short order, all the things I loathed were graced with Mr. Yuk stickers: my science book (because of the teacher, not the subject), my folder for confirmation class, every entry in my journal about a neighbor I couldn't stand, and the yearbook photos of two nasty lads who bullied the disabled kids.
Mr. Yuk
This campaign started in 1974, the year I was born. I remember that my mom had a big roll of Mr. Yuk stickers that were supposed to go on detergent bottles and things, but she never used them. (And, miraculously, even absent the lifesaving powers of Mr. Yuk, neither my sister nor I never drank them.) When I was about 12 or so, I asked my mom if I could have the stickers, to which she consented with the sort of perplexed "wev" look of a mother who can't even believe her kid is inquiring about something so random. In short order, all the things I loathed were graced with Mr. Yuk stickers: my science book (because of the teacher, not the subject), my folder for confirmation class, every entry in my journal about a neighbor I couldn't stand, and the yearbook photos of two nasty lads who bullied the disabled kids.
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