#0115: Technodrome

When you are an innocent child, toys will generally come and go into your life with regularity. They're provided by your loving carers so often, you see, that their individual value is diminished (unless you're a poverty-stricken Icelandic kid hopeful to merely avoid being eaten by the Yule Cat).

Some of them, however, are acquisitions so momentous, they stand out in your mind. My exact recollection of the day I landed the Technodrome is a little fuzzy, but I just remember seeing it, wanting it, and knowing that it was a big ask — its sheer size no doubt inflating its price tag by quite a bit.

Despite this, mom and dad relented, and I grappled with the idea that I was about to receive the single biggest, baddest playset short of Castle Grayskull. I peered over at my mother, a look of shock crossing my face.

"Reiner," I gasped. "Are we doing it?! Now?! Right here?!"

"Yeah," she muttered in response, a stoic look crossing her face. "We settle this... right here, right now!"

Mikasa Ackerman then emerged, seemingly from nowhere, burying her blade deep in the side of mom's throat. A bloody battle would ensue.

I'm pretty sure that's how it happened, anyway. So let's take a closer look at the home base for nefarious baddies like Shredder, Krang, and Short Stack when he wants to feel popular.

Sensing this is a place where turtles come to die, the passing Dry Bones feels a chill up its spine. Or perhaps its greater concern was the enormous thumb that was holding the apparatus in place.

Foreboding though the Technodrome may seem at first glance, my version is decidedly lacking. Practically every knick and knack once contained within has long since gone missing, rendering it less into an impregnable stronghold and more like a ransacked supermarket in a zombie movie.

In its completed form, this dastardly hideout was a sight to behold, riddled with traps and torture devices that made it the perfect training ground for consolidating homicidal maniacs. Do you think Jeffrey Dahmer would have gotten a kick out of subjecting the heroes to every manner of abuse? Or Ted Bundy? Or Ed Gein? Or Donald Trump?

Without any of these, it is literally and functionally an empty shell, tragically adorned with only one blue platform that inexplicably remained intact, and a series of haphazardly planted stickers that make it resemble the Springfield police station radio.

Indeed, my miniature Tokka Technodrome actually comes out looking more like the real thing. It at least has the iconic eyeball still available — perhaps the reason the full-size version is so barren is as simple as them having lost their only lookout system.

As you can see, Toon Raph has since taken up residence, using this as a means of forcibly wresting leadership duties from his brother. Rest In Peace Leonardo, you were a real one, for sure. 

The ravages of age have stained the plastic casing, but curiously this is isolated only to certain locations. The left and middle sections, which have been inside the house for all these decades, are yellowing as if they took up smoking at some point in the early 2000s. Meanwhile the right section, left to rot in the garage and thereby exposed to the nastiest of elements, is encrusted with dirt but otherwise untarnished.

It truly begs the question: what in the fuck am I breathing in this house and how am I not dead yet?

Most disappointing than anything else, is the guilty realisation that beyond its initial purchase, I don't necessarily have any vivid memories attached to this thing. I've exhaustively described my affinity for childhood protagonists over the many years of this blog, so ownership of a playset that operates like a wicked sex dungeon doesn't really align with my values.

In actuality, I probably spent most of my time having Raphael ninja kick things while spouting pithy one liners. Rob Paulsen would have been proud of little Anthony, though probably ashamed of big Anthony who is somehow still playing with his Ninja Turtles toys.

Odds are, after this entry is complete, I will inadvertently track down some of its remaining accessories, from its crucial wheels to its home and contents insurance. For now, at least, I hope you enjoyed this reflection upon its battered state. Like the very children who adored it over thirty years ago, in 2022 it finds itself somewhat incomplete... but who knows what next year shall bring?

#0114: Moby Lick

Sometimes, very strange, very specific things lodge themselves in your memory — ingrained and inseparable as a flesh bud from the man named DIO.

For me, one of those is an exchange between my parents on my ninth birthday in February 1997. My dad took note of how nearly all of the gifts I received were Space Jam toys, and how the theme shifted so radically over the span of twelve months.

"Yep, this year it's Space Jam," my mom replied. "Last year it was Street Sharks, this year it's Space Jam."

I don't profess to know whether children's trends are as ephemeral nowadays, but as far as fads go, Street Sharks was pretty fucking epic. Also, I have told a version of that story on this blog at least twice before, with the details varying somewhat from telling to telling.

Such is the risk you run when you have hardly changed over the span of eleven years of blogging.

Also also, in case you were wondering, I had challenged myself to force a JoJo reference into this piece as early as possible, but even I'm impressed that I managed to land it in para 1. That's some next level meme-ing, y'all.

Anyway, enough preamble. It's time to Moby Lick.

As alluded to in my shitty Jab post, my memory of the Street Sharks lore itself is rather spotty. As one may suspect, he is apparently an ally of the eponymous fishy fellas, though his impact on the franchise was likely greater for toy manufacturing than progressing the narrative.

Indeed, the wiki even goes so far as to declare that "it's seen as somewhat of a sad loss then that at the end of Road Shark, that he takes off for a while."

That's a little opinionated for what should be a factual biography, considering someone removed my valuable thoughts on Stray within twenty minutes. Double fucking standards, I reckon.

The action figure version of Mr. Lick possesses a writhing pink tongue that could be flexed through the use of a dial on his back, and a blowhole upon his noggin that squirts fluids in a pinch.

I shan't be applying either of these features for the purpose of this piece, as the dial has long gone missing, and as you may recall, Street Sharks retain water like a motherfucker.

Get out of the sink, dude, I'm not falling for it.

Much like Big Slammu (and no, I will not ease up on dumping as many links as possible, that's just how clickbait works!!) Moby's paint job is beginning to see some wear and tear. It's not nearly as noticeable, as he is fortunate that it doesn't proceed up to his face like poor old Coop.

Back in the ancient era known as the 90s, Moby Lick apparently came equipped with a superfluous red hat. I have found no evidence that this ever appeared in the cartoon, though I am a bit miffed that I have misplaced it, because the notion that it would perhaps fly from his head with enough pressure is rather enticing.

Due to his tongue lashing talents, pressing on his fin does not result in a vaunted biting action. It's up to you whether this is a worthy trade off, particularly now that his tongue must remain forever stationery.

...No, that's not a spelling mistake, I like to use it as a pen sometimes. Don't judge me, and don't judge my muscular whale action figure.

Tragically, now that I've already gone through so many of these Street Shark items, there's not really much more to opine on that I haven't already said multiple times in the past.

What I will mention, however, is that a brief glance at his neon orange pants reveals the copyright patent for "Street Wise Designs" and a hitherto long forgotten extension of the anthropomorphic craze.

You may recall the Extreme Dinosaurs, but what about the Muscle Mutts? If you've got one of these garish canines somewhere in the closet, you'd best hope they're still in good condition, considering they could fetch you anywhere up to $15,000 on eBay.

That's assuming anyone is stupid enough to fork out the bones for such a ludicrous investment. I'll just stick with my broken lingua sea mammal, thank you very much. Him and me are getting along just fine.

Well, shit

Sometimes in life, your sense of duty outweighs your desire to actually undertake said duty.

To wit, on this day I had no particular desire to update this blog, as I'm not currently in possession of any toys upon which to opine. I happened to be stumbling through (mostly to check my SEO in an effort to figure out why Clifford the Rock Climber is the sixth most viewed entry) when it occurred to me what day it was.

Figured it out yet? It's eleven miserable, neglected years of INAKA.

What started as an earnest attempt to clear out some unused toys escalated into a very unproductive and yet methodical opportunity for exposition. Life would have its ups and downs over this time, and if you're curious, you may note that the amount of posting I was doing here was the inverse of how much I had going on in my life.

Long story short, 2018 was not a good year for me.

But hey, we're on the up and up in 2022. I'm constantly working, and even expanded my writing repertoire to Funimation's official blog, where I wax lyrical on all kinds of wonderful things.

This would of course suggest that this will be another slow year on Toy Eulogy, and as much as I'd like to dissuade these concerns, I must be transparent and confess that blogging is a lot more motivating when you're getting paid for it.

But hey, there will be toys at some point. I have to appease fans of Stone Protectors, after all, and look! There was a photo sitting in my camera roll that I have inserted as the header for this piece. It may be a little bit on the fringes of relevant content for the purposes of this blog, but if Toy Story 4 taught us one thing — besides the fact that Toy Story 3 did not need a sequel — it's that anything can be a toy if you dream hard enough.

Especially boxes, if my kittens are to be believed.