#0116: Toby

A cursory glance through the INAKA archives would reveal that I have only successfully celebrated this blog's birthday a grand total of three times. I could trot out a myriad of excuses, were I so inclined, but the simple truth of the matter is that I don't particularly care enough to try.

So now in 2023, as I juggle workplace duties across multiple websites, combatting my rapidly diminishing health, and a daily celebration of Nintendo music that I have inexplicably deemed as important, I remind Toy Eulogy that it's lucky I even bothered at all.

You're twelve now, blog, old enough to start earning your keep and looking after your beleaguered father in his advanced years. Have a happy birthday, you little asshole, here's a Toby toy that I'll fling in your vague direction before grabbing myself another glass of scotch.

Thomas the Tank Engine was a staple of my formative years, and not coincidentally, the formative years of the blog itself. The great and powerful Montague was one of the first items I had listed in 2011, while the majority of the Thomas cast would later make an appearance two years later.

I had opined at the time that Toby's absence was curious, and in today's sojourn to the garage, I finally located his tattered ass, relegated to a box of unrelated curios. My only assumption is that the trains had a falling out at some point over the last three decades, forcing him to seek lonely refuge amongst a crowd of strangers.

But now, Toby has the last laugh. He's gonna put some dirt in your eye.

For one thing, other than notable paint chipping on his roof and minor wear and tear around his chassis, he is a damn side better off than most of his departed colleagues. His unusual square-shaped head — no doubt the cause of much antagonism back in his days in the cutthroat world of Sodor — actually protects the sticker that makes up his face quite well. While Thomas was a-peelin', Toby remains steadfast; I guess seven was his lucky number, after all.

Speaking of faces, one of the fucked up things about Toby is that his passenger coach, Henrietta, was one of the few characters who originally didn't have one at all. As unnerving as it is to have a sentient train grinning at you, a sentient train with no face at all is arguably much worse. Is it the fucking Mugen Train? Am I going to have to fight for my life against Enmu, Lower One of the Twelve Kizuki?

Also, why were the original trains male and the passenger cars female? What kind of fucked up patriarchy was Reverend Awdry building here?! Little does he know, in the eighty years since his vehicular brainchild first left the station, gender roles have made quite the shift.

Here, Toby discusses politics with a respectable young gentleman who calls himself Marth. The tram engine is impressed not only by the youth's worldly, measured viewpoint, but the fiery manner in which he conveys it.

But what is this? It was a ruse all along, and the amiable lad was in actual fact Lucina in disguise. The rattled locomotive's whole perspective has been changed, and if nothing else, he is now really very interested in the concept of cross-dressing. It's a start, Toby. It's a start!

That gag was probably not worth unboxing my $200 Figma for. Alas.

There is a certain melancholy that goes into passing this charming little toy off into its next stage of life. Without getting too bleak (though in fairness, the Railway Series was originally quite bleak in nature), when last I covered a Thomas toy on this blog in 2014, my spirits were much higher. By revisiting it some nine years later, I pine for that era of Anthony once again.

And besides that, if I can't track down Percy out there in the garage, this could be the final time I ever hold one of my Thomas toys in my hand; rendering Toby the veritable Last Train Home. Unless I suddenly decide to buy new ones, of course, which is both an unusual and yet not entirely unrealistic proposition.

In any event, I am thankful to Toby for giving me one more memento from my youth. The world of Sodor is all glitzy and CGI nowadays, scarcely resembling those handsome little trains who captured my fancy all those years ago. Perhaps if that's not his cup of tea, he might instead like to take residence on the island of Aranearum? I hear trains have all kinds of fun out there.

Welcome to the garage, we've got fun and games

Occasionally (and by occasionally, I mean once every six years), I venture into the garage to do a ruthless clean out. It chiefly consists of old clothing items and schoolbooks from the early 90s, so there's not really much worth crying over, unless you're into tiny little onesies and poorly written acrostics.

However, there are a few knick knacks that surface for one last gasp that might catch your collective fancy, albeit not so much that they warrant their own individual posts. As such, their final sendoff comes in the form of a content dump loaded with (blurry) photos and (shitty) witticisms.

And what do you know; here they come now!

We open with a modern tragedy. This Etch A Sketch proclaims itself to be magic, but in actuality its only trick is that it is completely fucking broken. I struggled to even manage the tiny squiggly line on the left of the screen, which when combined with the dust and grime, resembles a face locked in a scream of agony.

I also found this shitty Ninja Turtles backpack. Not shitty in the sense of its quality, because it packs backs with the best of them, but because I think there is literal shit encrusted on Michaelangelo's nose. It has made him so mad, he's taking his fury out on a trapped and rather defenceless Rocksteady.

Do you really care that I have found the box for a Mighty Morphin Power Rangers crayon by numbers kit? If not, you may be more excited to know that...

I at least made the effort to colour in Rita Repulsa's collar. She looks drunk as fuck. I think the Power Rangers are dancing. I like all of these things.

Here is a dinosaur Halloween costume I wore one year. Unfortunately, it is now extinct, and I will resist the urge to force myself into it like I did with the Sonic the Hedgehog outfit. My nads still haven't forgiven me for that debacle, which is a shame since they so rarely talk to me in the first place.

A handsome collectors case for all of my Ninja Turtles toys, it would later become a collectors case for little more than filth and misery. I can't help but question the art on this one. This doesn't seem stealthy at all, the Turtles look more like they've been caught with their dicks out. Leonardo has recovered well, but Donny and Mikey are obviously struggling. Raphael, meanwhile, is simply fucked. Why would you have him at the front of your formation? He is probably going to die.

With Raphael most likely dead, we may have to make use of My Turtle Maker. The poses here are much more laid-back, I think they're throwing a surprise party and you just arrived. Leo got hammered too early and snapped his katana blade in half. Who will you choose as your fifth Turtle? Slash? Venus de Milo? Motherfucking Kirby?

So you've finished assembling your five Turtles. In the end, you decided to make the final one a sexy OC who wields a san-jie-gun because it's the most obscure ninja weapon you could think of. I was going to link a creepy piece of artwork here here, but Google Image search was too grim even for my standards.

Now, it's time to bring the action of the Batman®* movie to life! Or if you'd prefer, pour ranimer les aventures du film de Batman®* with no exclamation mark because apparently French people don't find the concept that exciting. My favourite scene was definitely the one where Batman lassoed the Joker out in the middle of the street, while Commissioner Gordon watched on eagerly.

The reverse of the box is also excellent. One child opines that the Joker®* is such a trouble-maker! That loveable scamp. The other observes how the Batmobile®* canopy lifts up so Batman®* can jump inside. I like to think that they are actually saying registered trademark apostrophe every time.

Most of the parts to my Batman playset are missing aside from some ancient dried up tubs of Play-Doh, and inexplicably, the Joker's avant garde vehicle. Shredder hitches a ride with intentions of causing mischief about Gotham, but soon discovers that it doesn't have a steering wheel.

"This is getting very monotonous!" he snarls, before sheepishly continuing on foot.

Why, it's none other than our old pal, Thomas the Tank Engine! He gives us a warm smile and offers a red string for us to enjoy at our leisure. We gamely tug at the string, keen to explore all of its wonders.

Oh no! We fucking killed Thomas!!

A strange liquid oozes from his carriage, and in his dying breaths, he begs for us to 'blow him'. That's just rude, pal.

This Ninja Turtles-related katana has clearly been very broken for a very long time. The handle is snapped right through, and at some point we just said fuck it and decided to patch it up with packaging tape.

Having worked on-off as a technician over the years, I can confirm that this is actually how 90% of repairs are done.

Oh shit Savage Garden in Paris?? Time is running out, the draw date is on August 27th, guys! If we don't win the big prize, hopefully we'll at least nab the consolation of 1 of 5 Savage Garden denim jackets. I may need a little bit of help identifying Savage Garden's first hit single, though, because everything they put out on that album was solid gold.

...Not even joking on that last bit, it was a fucking amazing album from start to finish.

Why do I still have the packaging for an off-brand Tamagotchi? Probably because its super fun, and claims to perform things I never actually saw it do. Did your Ganbare Ryuuta-kun ever spin plates, tip its hat to passersby, and complete its doctorate? Mine sure as hell didn't, but maybe I just had a dud one.

Hahaha this popup card is fun. I daresay it's even more fun than murdering Thomas. Tweet, tweet, tweet!

This Ninja Turtles placemat is actually pretty cool, and in surprisingly good condition, all things considered. I wish they used these alternate colour schemes more often, Donatello looks really cool in brown. The only thing I can't quite work out, however, is why...

The placemat cost thirty fucking dollars. What are you trying to pull with that shit, that is more than a fucking action figure, you maniacs. No wonder Toys R Us went under, we must have grown sick of them scalping us on the small stuff.

Last but not least is the coolest toy I found. I don't remember where or when I bought it, but it looks pretty scary. Unfortunately, it's a bit fragile, as I accidentally pulled one of the legs off when I tried to put it into the Joker's car. Trying to work out how to fix it as we speak, but I think a small bird flew off with the missing appendage. Real shame.

#0079: Thomas the Tank Engine miniature playsets

When I was a wee sprat, I went apeshit for playsets. For as much fun as it was to have my toys galavanting about the house and leap from couch to couch, or for them to wander the unknown territory of the backyard (I lost a Bebop figurine out there for a solid year), playsets allowed us to put them right in their element. Fuck you, creativity! For I have the Technodrome.

Rare were the times when you got a full-sized playset, however, because they were overpriced and, at least in my recollection, hard to find. Fortunately however, miniature figurines allowed for compact little locales that you could literally take with you on the go. In retrospect, there was a definite emphasis on the portability of these self-contained little societies. I don't think I ever really looked at a small village and said to myself, 'Man, I wish I could take this with me everywhere'. But to each their own.

Thomas and all his chums made for excellent playset fare (I'm getting sick of using that word...), because years of rich storytelling made for lots of familiar locations like the Tidmouth Sheds that children would love to have for their very own. Also, it was a show about trains - their very purpose is to travel places, so you could literally just stick a railroad track in any random location and it would seem appropriate. One does not simply walk into Mordor, but Thomas would be more than happy to take you there.

Toot-toot! Let's observe the Thomas the Tank Engine miniature p-words...

Well, shit. That's a glum-looking landscape, isn't it? Bare and vacant, like the aftermath of the bomb in Sarah Connor's nightmare. Those flowers held up pretty well, if that was the case. However, fear not! For deep within the bowels of this unassuming little burgh lurks a collection of fantastic autonomous vehicles, just ready to take you home! ...Though honestly, the fare from London to Manchester is absolutely batshit crazy expensive. I'm not even kidding you.

All it takes is a little bit of common sense, working out where to put each little feature - for example, the tree isn't supposed to go right in the middle of the railroad track, you malicious fuck - and voila! Your masterpiece is complete, and you're now a true engineer! I'm half-convinced this is the actual qualification required to drive a train in some third-world countries.

Fear me, for I am a fucking God. I have invented England.

This is, of course, the aforementioned Tidmouth Sheds. It's well-known for housing all of Sodor's colourfully quirky trains, and subsequently, the place where peer pressure and bullying runs most rampant. It's seriously bad news whenever a scene takes place here, because either someone's ass is getting teased, or someone is talking shit, and his comeuppance is imminent. The only thing for sure in this strange, sad little world is, as I've often stressed, Gordon is always the resident asshole. Always.

This particular set came with everyone's pal Thomas, as well as his passenger cars, Annie and Clarabel. You'd have to be particularly ballsy to ride in one of these coaches, considering how frequently the trains crash. To borrow an actual quote, Annie and Clarabel at one point say of Thomas: 'He's dreadfully rude, I feel quite ashamed. I feel quite ashamed, he's dreadfully rude. You mustn't be rude, you make us ashamed'.

Which is no doubt a respectable thing to say. But imagine if you were inside them at the time? You'd freak out like nobody's business.

'Daddy?' says little Wendy, of no more than four, 'Why is our carriage ashamed of the train?'

Her father holds her close, tears in his eyes. 'I'm unsure, Wendy. But you'd best hold tight - we're about to fucking crash.'

Tragic. Still better than Melbourne's public transport system, at least.

The most exciting thing about this playset is of course the fully functional turntable, which meant you could park within the sheds at your delight. Unfortunately, I've actually positioned Thomas in the wrong direction to get inside the shed, plus, all sorts of mayhem would ensue if I planted him on the turntable with Annie and Clarabel in tow. Little Wendy, she deserves better than that, doesn't she?

...Oh screw it, let's give it a try.

And let's never speak of it again.

Next, we turn our attention away from the foulmouthed locomotive, and escape to the peaceful countryside (the first photo in this entry. Damned if I'm going to recycle it and bloat my upload limit), a place where Bertie the bus is known to frequent. His best buddy good friend vaguely known acquaintance Percy often makes his rounds here, and as you'll note, this particular playset is sadly lacking in functional turntables. For this reason, it is infinitely inferior to the previous set. In its defence though, it features a bush which is abnormally large.

You might note, there is in fact a piece missing. I'm fairly certain it was a boom gate or something of that nature, because otherwise, that's a pretty deadly little stretch of road, isn't it?

There really isn't much more to say about this section of the set, unless you want eight paragraphs professing my love for the large bush. There are hinges on the side that suggest that there were four different parts to create your own perfect vision of Sodor. My world is therefore tragically incomplete, but it still has everything I would ever want.

...Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to playing.

#0072: Thomas and Friends

My fiancé asked me a question recently: it was, plain and simply, why our spare room is being cluttered with a bag of old Thomas the Tank Engine toys. Though I tried to state the honest truth; that once I had blogged about them, they were going to go off to charity, she countered with an argument that proved most damning to my cause. These trains are dirty, worn, and in some cases, chewed on by my dog, or possibly a small infant in the garage I was unaware of.

I had nothing. So sadly, I sit here today, a veritable executioner about to give the last rites before sending my dear old friend Thomas off to the train graveyard. There, he will hopefully take solace in the fact that he can collect 3 hi-potions and an echo screen. ...Mildly obscure reference.

Once upon a time, I lavished upon you a tale about Duck the Great Western Engine. In all truth, Duck was actually perched right atop the pile whereupon his compatriots were resting, but somehow he came out of the whole thing a little bit less worse for wear. After a bit of a wash, he was good to go, as long as your standards weren't lofty. Today's guests weren't so lucky. Let's take a squiz at the worst of the lot...

Dear God... why do you hate my trains? The titular Thomas and perennial asshole Gordon are truly on the threshold of death, their once shining blue hulls now encrusted with filth, and years of abuse at the hands of a ruthless Jack Russell rendering their chassises warped and useless. Frankly, Gordon had it coming, but poor Thomas? He deserved better than this. He's one of my oldest, dearest friends, he should have aged with dignity. But alas, we can't have everything. I at least pray they proved tasty?

Elsewhere at the station, my pair of Henry twins are, by comparison, not too bad. Why I owned two Henrys is a mystery to us all (in the hopes of increasing productivity, perhaps), but more curiously, these Henrys, 3 years apart in their creation, feature two similar yet different shades of green. True Thomas historians may declare this to have been a by-product of some sort of 'green paint scandal' running rampant at the time, but to me, it's a riddle. I like the lighter shade, personally. It's more festive. I like my trains to be festive, after all.

Donald and Douglas, trains who appeared in the second season, therefore I don't give a shit about, are dirty, but otherwise in great nick. Strangely enough, the troublesome truck is in absolutely perfect condition, not even a little bit dusty, and James is a little bit banged around, but still has that million dollar smile, and

- AAAHHH WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT

I don't even know who this is, but he looks fucking evil. Familiar faces Percy and Toby are nowhere to be seen, and instead I'm left with this sinister prick. I think he was a diesel engine. I should probably Google it, but it's actually kind of fun just assigning him whatever identity I choose. So henceforth, his name is Howard Bachman, he's the local drug peddler, and his passengers are 300 illegal eastern European prostitutes. ...I must confess, I now like him even better than James (who only carries a modest 75).

I have to say, I'm a bit disappointed with how little care I've given my Thomas toys over the years. I mean, had they not stayed in the garage, they would have been fine, but I had about sixteen years to retrieve them, so the fault is mine and mine alone. Could Thomas live on in some fashion, long after his haggard body has been tossed away like (Superted narrator voice) a piece of rubbish?

Maybe the answer is yes. Maybe the answer is no. I'm not sure at this point, but hopefully... someday... we'll find a way.

Oh wait fuck that, the answer is a resounding YES.

A portrait: one through ten

As a special celebration of all things ten, I have seen fit to take one last group shot of the premiere ten toys of INAKA. I love that acronym, by the way. Makes this blog sound important and Japanese.

Does the picture need explanation? I assumed it to be pretty obvious, but I want my intentions to be made clear to all. After all, my dad walked in on me positioning and photographing this eclectic set of toys like a freaky man-child, so I don’t want this to be for naught.

At the rear, Oogie Boogie has established himself a throne of the equally creepy Fi-Do from which he does his bidding, but not his glowing. Alternatively, they have eked out a relationship and are going steady. It’s up to interpretation.

Just ahead of them, Wildwing and Lowly Worm are engaging in road rage. Though Lowly continues to beg that they ‘just be friends’, Wildwing has gone mad with hockey fury. Unfortunately for Wildwing however, he has left the goal completely unguarded, causing his Ducks to lose in a record 94-0 slaughter. As a result, Wildwing is transferred to Thailand’s national team, where he becomes an instant star.

You might have noticed Robin Hood fleeing with his coveted sack of gold, having discovered the Turtlecycle to be history’s first getaway vehicle. Tragically, Robin Hood does not know how to operate a motorbike, and furthermore, it lacks handlebars and a reversible trashcan sidecar. He will be missed.

Feeling emotionally distressed by the chaos around him, Scar tucks his tail between his legs and slinks away from the scene. He finds solace only in bubble baths and Enya’s Shepherd Moons album. Needless to say, he’s never the same again.

This is indeed a spectacular day for the hapless Ugly Laser Man, who has finally found a head he can point his gun at, after years of pointless shooting at toes. The luckless fellow in this position is the smug Snoopy, who chose the worst place to take a nap. If only he truly were a magician, he would have been able to get out of this mess. His only hope is that Lowly Worm chooses to park nearby, so that Snoopy may run Ugly Laser Man down in his apple car.

Duck has no fucking idea how he got this far away from the railroad tracks. But he’s a malicious son of a bitch, so he simply watches the bloody mayhem with glee. It only comes to a halt when Snoopy asks the horrifying question:

“Is that train fucking smiling?!”

#0008: Duck

Kids are notorious for becoming obsessive about the latest craze and surrounding themselves with it, at the expense of their parents’ funds. These days, it’s crap like Ben 10 and Bakugan, things that I wouldn’t understand if I was given a complete thesaurus on it, but they make perfect sense to kids.

I was no different. I was on the Pokémon and Dragon Ball Z bandwagons a decade ago, and they came and went just like all the others. The price of admission to an Anthony birthday in 1995 was Street Sharx. One year later, everyone was going nuts about Space Jam toys. Or maybe I was the only one. Point is; I had legions of those damn things.

If you delve earlier though, past Sonic the Hedgehog and the Ninja Turtles, you’ll find my simplest, earliest fascinations. It was basically things that roll when you push them. First off, it was generic cars. And who didn’t love cars as a kid? You’d give your stationary toys a shove, and they’d tumble over and crumple like wusses. But cars? Man, you push them around, and they roll with it. They were like us. They understood us.

Then, it came to branded products. Hot Wheels didn’t quite catch on with me for some reason, even though it would have been the natural progression. Instead, I aspired to collect the things I saw on the television; I wanted myself an assload of Thomas the Tank Engine goods.

Today, we shall premiere this beloved series, with help from my good friend, Duck the Great Western Engine.


Ahh, Thomas. Just hearing the opening tune makes me feel giddy and nostalgic.

For a kids show, it certainly had an odd way of teaching us morals. In every episode, one engine would be our protagonist, and one of two things happened; either he was an arrogant prick who would get taught a lesson, or he was being picked on by other trains and had to show them who’s boss.

And seriously, there was very little in the way of character consistency. It didn’t matter who it was, every train was a dick at one point. Even the titular character was known to tease that little tosser Percy every now and then.

So it certainly didn’t instill any feelings of trust amongst our peers. Through avid watching of Thomas, we learnt to fend for ourselves, to pull our heads in or else face the wrath of God, and that trains are mean fucks.

Who is this Duck, then? I remember the episode when he premiered, one of the other trains (typically) made fun of him for being called Duck. Apparently his real name is actually Montague, and he’s called Duck because he… waddles. I don’t know. I don’t know why being called Duck because you act like a duck is any nicer than actually being named Duck, but if that’s what Duck wants then that’s what Duck gets.

(Eight instances of ‘duck’ in that last paragraph. I tried to slip that many in my Turtlecycle review as well, but it didn’t quite pan out)

Duck featured the unfortunate fate of being a later addition to the series (albeit the second season, but later all the same). Kids had already chosen all of their favourites, and about 95% of us had based our favourites on our most beloved colour. I was a James kid, because he was red and red was awesome.

In Duck’s case, he was a pompous little train of green. Oops! Kids had already hitched their wagons on Henry or Percy, and it’s not like Duck was much more endearing than either of those two.

He was an outsider. A misfit. A dog of the house of Montague!

Had it not been for my obsessive collecting tendencies back in the day, I doubt I would have acquired Duck for any merits of his own. I don’t remember him getting any playtime, and even if he did, he would have been getting rescued by James. James would have also had all of the superpowers, the witty one-liners and sex appeal. I projected everything I wished to be on that train, by god.


Forgive the nonconformist’s dirty face; he was a garage acquisition after all. The very first Thomas toys had stickers as faces instead of being modeled into the toy, and they would inevitably peel away after years of play and bath time fun, revealing the horrific truth that, under the façade of a grinning mug, they were indeed mere trains.

In Duck’s case, he was a fancy-schmancy edition with a real live face (well, not real real, of course. That’d be fucking creepy), and as such, other than some faded paint in places, a host of chipped flesh and filth ingrained within his being, he’s fared better than most.

I never understood what ‘GWR’ meant as a child. A quick squiz at Wikipedia reveals it as being an acronym for ‘Great Western Railway’, and in a few brief moments I have solved a mystery that plagued me for years of my youth. It was almost as infuriating as how Knuckles’ name was abbreviated to ‘K.T.E.’ in early Sonic games. Made him sound like a goddamn robot.


I’m sure that that very first episode I mentioned would have told us the origins of GWR, but I was a dumb kid who was probably waiting for something funny to happen, or for James to do something cool, or for Ringo Starr to say ‘toot toot’. Clearly my attention span wasn’t at the level required for a sophisticated program about trains.

There isn’t really much more to be said here, because we all know Thomas. He’s been done before. It’s not like I can form a lore about him, and my fanfic would be very blasé and uneventful (and likely jam-packed with James action).

So instead, let’s ponder on something I never quite fathomed. Why were the trains always looking… somewhere to the side? Were they manufactured with the intention of sitting next to one another, smirking a creepy, knowing smile at each other? Were you indeed supposed to navigate them in that direction, thereby condemning them to an eternity of moving in circles?


I’m looking at Duck and looking at him hard, but he’s not telling me anything. All I know is I feel unsafe about the concept of getting into a train that refuses to watch where he’s going. …But really, would I board a talking, self-conscious train who’s often up to mischief and occasionally crashing into things? I suppose not.

You know what else I’ve only noticed from taking these photos? Those faces are damned scary. How were we not terrified by these trains as kids? The way they’d smile, and their eyes would dart around suspiciously? It’s quite eerie. It’s shit like that that got Mulligrubs canceled.

Unfortunately for Thomas the Tank Engine toys, because of their necessary length, they were smaller than our other usual toys. I always hated height inconsistency, particularly when people were larger than passenger vehicles. If this were Zoolander, I would slam the display to the floor in fury.



“Come on, you lot!” whistled Duck cheekily, roaring into the station hours ahead of time. If the Fat Controller found out about this, he would be very cross.

“Come aboard, come aboard!” shouted Duck to the passengers at the station, “We’ve got a long way to go yet.”

“How am I supposed to get on this train?” pondered Dracula Don aloud, shrugging in dismay, “I paid ninety quid for this ticket. Fuck that shit.”