God Tink Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

Move over Charlt, there's
a new Tink in town.

Aye, the consumerist juggernaut carries on driving then reversing then driving then reversing over Christmas in this particular kraken's cave. Hauling Kraken Junior to school this morning she was warbling some God-based tune or other that she'd learned there. Course, the conversation turned to praying (I was praying for peace and frigging quiet which shows exactly the power of prayer). Here's how it went:
Me: "People pray to lots of different gods you know, not just the guy with the beard."
Kraken Junior: "Like Jesus?"
Me: "Kind of. And like Buddha or Shiva. Depends on what you believe in."
Kraken Junior: "And Tinkerbell?"
Me: "Eh?"
Kraken Junior: "And Hello Kitty?"
Me (under my breath): "Oh for fuck's sake..."
Kraken Junior: "Whoooaaa, you said a naughty word!"
Too fucking right I did, my lovely back-seat beast. Problem is that as far as little krakens are concerned the slinky Tinkerbell and the soulless Hello Kitty are gods aren't they? They may not wage wars against infidels or plunge pitchforks into gays and lesbians but they wreak frigging havoc amongst the toddler masses. It's like an infant form of Catholicism, where God is everywhere even when you're beating one off. That's because the likes of Tink and Kitty are similarly omnipresent. Yeah, they're on toys but they're also plastered all over magazines, tins of food, yoghurts, shoes, clothes...I've even seen Tink and her fairy dust mantra on cars, for fuck's sake. No wonder Kraken Junior reckons Hello Kitty wants her for a sunbeam.
It's not that I want her to believe in God, mind you. Every time she bounds out of school with some new prayer under her belt I pep talk her about how she doesn't need to ask God for strength or power or whatever because she embodies all of those things herself. Sod getting on your knees and asking for a better life. Get on your feet and make it for yourself instead, that's the gospel in our cave.
But the idea of putting Tink and Kitty up there with other spouting deities withers what's left of my belief in mankind. By the time she's 16 she'll be praying to the Benson and Hedges bible and crossing herself at the altar of Diamond White. I think another one of my pep talks is in order. She'd better start rubbing her Tink beads and muttering her Hail Kitties, by Christ on a bike (and even he's pedalling as far from here as he can get).