#0113: Spoink & Groink

Nearly a decade ago, I opined on the glory that was Aaahh!!! Real Monsters. The misadventures of Ickis, Oblina and Krumm taught us lessons in peer pressure, the merits of hard work, and how if you have enough faith, you too can regurgitate your own intestines to frighten your enemies.

My opinion on the show remains starry-eyed and largely unchanged, to the point where I had to delete the original opener to this article as it closely paralleled exactly what I said in the preceding post. Dick move, 2012 Tony, you totally stole my bit.

Incidentally, I was talking about Ickis in that post, a pillar of the main squad, and it got me to thinking that ARM (horrible acronym) is a fairly top-heavy affair. Beyond them, you've got The Gromble, Simon the Monster Hunter, Zimbo and The Snorch... and that's about it, really. There's that duo of wonderfully camp monsters that Krumm hangs out with briefly, and the dude who enjoys himself some rice, and after that, I'm tapped out for recurring characters.

And that's fine, of course. As long as your foundation of core characters is strong, you don't need to bloat the roster with excess. That is, until you score yourself a toy deal and have to pluck some marketable characters out of thin air.

Because truth be told, as much as Blib, Snav and Don exist in the super distant periphery, they're not exactly going to shift many units. And that's how you end up with the Aaahh!!! Real Monsters Dare to Scare line, and the arbitrary introduction of Spoink & Groink.

According to the flavour text on the back of the box, and yes that flavour is spit: "these two really know how to project themselves! But it's Groink who always shoots off his mouth, especially when Sproink is in it! For maximum velocity and ferocity, shove Spoink down Groink's throat, punch Groink, and watch the terror fly!"

Wow, that sure is a lot of exclamation marks! It's also very revealing! At first I assumed that Groink was the dominant one in this relationship, but now I can see that he is actually the uke! I'll have to adjust my headcanon accordingly!

Anyone familiar with Gabor Csupo's distinct style may see some vague resemblance in Spoink's design, however Groink is entirely unlike anything you'd find in the series itself. Indeed, only four of the twelve monsters in this line were ever seen onscreen, in a manner not dissimilar to the bevy of auxiliary mutants Playmates would push out at TMNT's peak.

My curiosity was piqued by this contrast, and I was delighted to find that several of the final Dare to Scare products were actually repurposed models that a toy designer, Mel Birnkrant, had been trying to get onto the market for quite some time. He goes into great detail on his website, and it's really worth a read for a fascinating insight into the bumpy road of toy manufacturing.

But I digress. We're here for Tony's toys, Tony's opinions and Tony's reliance on the rule of three, so let's return to those, shall we?

Bastardised facsimiles of the original vision though they may have been, Spoink and Groink have some nice little details to them. The former's expression is perpetually locked into the kind of terror that can only be experienced after having some dude suck up your asshole repeatedly, while Groink actually has long, slender legs that match up with his spindly arms. It's a neat touch, considering how easy it would have been to just have him lack shins a la Cotton Hill.

My Groink has seen a little too much rough and tumble, or has been suffering a tragic bout of leprosy as one of his arms tends to fall off with little provocation. Considering that he were never intended to have movable joints in the first place, it's beyond me how I've managed to still loosen up this one arm so badly, like a poor chiropractor. It pops right back in there, but either way, I'm losing my license.

Also, I keep wanting to call him Gronk. I have no reason to believe the Bucs' tight end would suck up small creatures into his mouth before shooting them across the room, but you know what? He's a party dude, I wouldn't put it past him.

At last, let's put these spooky bastards through their paces by showcasing their vaunted creature feature. By my estimate, Spoink should shoot clean through the wall and straight into the brain of the nearest fascist.

"Eat the rich", he shrieks, his final moments on earth a deeply satisfying assault on the oppressive bourgeoisie.

#0101: Nickelodeon Magazine

Once upon a chipmunk I alluded to my storied history in magazines. Back in 2012, I was still amassing Sports Illustrated to the best of my ability, but alas, it has slowed basically to a halt in modern times. In Australia you can choose from five different magazines about mining, while my own interests are pushed into the ether. I do buy SLAM issues when I can afford them (newsagents charge a premium for those bad boys), as well as Game Informer — particularly when they run compelling pieces of prose by talented, handsome and lovable journalists who also happen to be me.

But of course, it all started back in the mid-90s when I received my very first copy of Nickelodeon Magazine. What would follow was a thriving literary relationship that would carry on through the turn of the millennium. How obsessed was I with this mag? From what I was able to find, I collected at least 36 issues. People always told me I had a lot of issues as a kid, and I guess this is why.

Though the articles on those wacky Nicktoons were the major draw card, Nick Mag was jam packed full of fun and informative content. Some of it was factual, much of it was irreverent, and all of it was a lot more healthy than simply sitting in front of the boob tube all day.

...A quick Google image search confirms that literally nobody uses that phrase to refer to television anymore. Still, it wasn't the most unpleasant image search I've ventured on.

One of my favourite features were occasional awesome problem solving brainteasers like the one above. If you're keen on taking a crack at it yourself, here are the rules...

1. Stink refuses to play in a band with females, because he's a misogynistic pig (editorial license).
2. Charlie Warts thinks his band should have two boys and two girls.
3. Ringo Starch insist on playing with either Stink or Paul McFartney.
4. Lards Ulrich won't play for Green Dog.
5. Flu and Ai-yi-yi-ah refuse to be in the same band. Flu's the queasy-looking bassist, but his name got cut off in the scanning process. He's also a boy, if you couldn't tell. I wasn't sure until I met him privately in a bathroom stall.
6. The Hedge and Janet Traction always play together.
7. Sheryl Pigeon plays for Fleetwood Splat.
8. Mumbajumba has a female singer.

God's speed, braniacs. Hopefully you'll have enough cocaine to appease them all.

Flipping through the pages, I'm awash with feelings of nostalgia. Whether it's comics starring the Southern Fried Fugitives or a sneaky cameo by the roving reporter Zelda Van Gutters, it really takes me back. Goddamn, I was such a Nick Kid, and it probably explains why to this day, every time I watch a Falcons game, I giggle when I hear Alex Mack's name called out.

It's also fascinating to see references made to celebrities and films that nobody remembers anymore. So far, I've come across Vincent Kartheiser, Air Bud: Golden Receiver and the hip hop artist Mase. The latter of whom you may recall from that one song Feel So Good, and has perhaps the saddest Wikipedia entry in the history of mankind. Seriously, it's mostly just quotes about people he would like to work with. Kramer's Peterman autobiography had more substance, for crying out loud.

Anyhow, there's not really a lot more that I can opine on the subject. Writing about writing is a practice in redundancy (writeception?), so as I had with N64 Gamer, I leave you now with some highlights on this wonderfully orange trip down memory lane. Don't worry, I'll spare you the many, many ads for Mary-Kate and Ashley video cassettes.

Back when Jake Lloyd was just a shitty actor, instead of a shitty human being.

We all remember our first time on MDMA.

Observation: TLC were nominated for a Kids Choice Award in 1992, for a song that was explicitly about sex. In 2000, they earned a second nomination as they came off FanMail, an album with tracks titled Silly Ho and Don't Pull Out On Me Yet.

I'm fucking hilarious.

But I pale in comparison to Ashley M. of Fairhope, Alabama, who appears to have written an entry that explored homosexuality.

This ad had me convinced that I really needed a Time Machine Toothbrush. Especially the version that was big enough to ride on.

I told you that I had the Mini Mutants Technodrome playset. I also told you that I would find a way to awkwardly shoehorn it into an irrelevant post.

I love everything about this comic. I would like to know more about Bad Dog, and what he's doing now. My assumption is that he's spent the last twenty years in prison.

Man, Goldberg didn't job for anyone in the 90s, did he?

TURTLE BALLS.

Hello INAKA, my old friend.

If anyone's wondering, yes, I do have machinations to someday get back into the swing of things and update this blog at least semi-regularly. The problem I've had lies within the title itself: I'm not a kid anymore.

So this means working full-time and trying to make enough to get by. I work, I come home, I eat, some days I go to Japanese class, I drink, I pass out. Weeks just whiz on by in this year of 2014, a year I would declare as ultimately one of the most disappointing of my life. I hold years ending with the number 4 to a lofty standard, and whereas 1994 and 2004 hover near the top in ranking my life, 2014 just sits in the lower third, an unfortunate victim of unrealistic expectations.

The second issue with blogging about toys is, as you may recall, I moved out of home two years ago. And unfortunately for my dad, I've left all of my junk there. It becomes more than a little odd when I visit him and devote time to frittering through tubs of toys, or bringing them back here to my apartment solely so that I can get rid of them.

But we'll see. The blog is never dead, in my mind. Sometimes, it's just a little bit like a sloth. It's covered in moss and lacking in ambition, but eventually, it will end up going somewhere. Also, sometimes I end up with things like this.

Yes indeed, TURTLE BALLS. I saw these a short while ago and thought they were too awesome (radical, even) to pass up. I don't know what I'm going to do with them. Chances are solid they will simply sit in the closet, only occasionally appearing in an effort to frighten intruders with the visage of a grinning, decapitated Leonardo.

Part of me wants to give one to each of my four children (children who don't currently exist beyond Cynthia and Morgan on Fire Emblem Awakening), passed down through the years as the line divides, a reminder of the bonds of family and the eccentric consumerism of their demented ancestor.

...But that takes too much effort, I think. Enjoy the closet, boys.

#0075: Pogs/Tazos/Dizks

I don't claim to be an educator of any sort, but I don't think I'm out of line when I make the assumption that teachers worldwide hate collectible toys with a passion. Because it's so fucking important for kids to gather as many as possible, and if anyone fucks with your collection, there will be hell to pay.

I remember when I was in year 7, and a bunch of year 10s looked through my Pokemon cards. When I came home that day, I realised that several were missing. My mom had sent over some of the new Jungle series cards that hadn't yet reached Australia; Jigglypuff, Meowth and the like, and those motherfuckers stole them. What a bunch of heinous ball sacks! They had no interest in the cards, they probably just wanted to sell them for a couple of bucks. I hope they've since died of botulism. Seriously, fuck those assholes.

It's no wonder the various collectible series are soon banned from the schoolyard. We feel slighted as kids, because we weren't doing any harm, and true enough, we weren't; it was those soulless little shitballs that ruined it for everyone. Fortunately, I didn't go through that kind of distress back in my early collecting days. Because back then, I didn't go to school in the shitty western suburbs of Melbourne. I had a most delightful time gathering Pogs. Then Tazos. Then Dizks. Then spores, moulds and fungus.

Oh, Pogs, you crazy little pieces of cardboard. They were veritable schoolyard currency twenty-some years ago, and I remember that no Pog was to be left behind. At a school event with various games and activities, one of the stands gave out Pogs as a prize. So long were the lines, they eventually had to implement a three-game limit. We were being told we'd had enough Pogs, man.

Here's the family. As you can see, I had a whole bunch of Lion King Pogs. The lion's share, if you will. One of my less proud moments was when someone threw away their Power Rangers Pog, and I frantically chased it down. Who in the flying fuck is Aisha? Who cares, she was a Pog - she was a GOD. And I know you're all super jealous of my slammers and my limited edition 'secret weapon' Pog. Although I'm fairly sure they just put the limited edition line on there for shits and giggles, and it held no actual bearing on the rarity of the Pog.

In case you're wondering, no, I never played the actual game of Pogs. Especially not for keepsies - are you crazy? They were far too important for such frivolity!! From my Nickelodeon Gak Pog to my magic 8-ball hatching from an egg Pog, from my Ren & Stimpy Pog to my piece of styrofoam Pog depicting some kind of robotic foot.

Nowadays, Pogs are a relic of a time long gone. Most kids would have no idea what you were talking about, and anyone brave enough to explore pogs.com.au are led to the disappointment that is the Perth Obstetrics Gynaecology Specialists. That's no fun. I want to study Pogs, not vaginas.

Much bigger in Australia was the Pog equivalent, Tazos. As you can see, I entered the game far too late, and didn't really garner much of a collection. I like to think I got the most important ones, though, representing Space Jam and the significance of Duff beer.

Eventually however, they grew wise to the morning viewing habits of kids around the country. What happened next would boost the sales of chip packets by some astronomical percent. Possibly over 9,000...!

Meet the Dragon Ball Z Dizks. These sons of bitches were (figuratively) huge, and kids bought snacks in bulk not for their daily intake of potato, but for the chance to increase their collection of Dizks. As you can see, they were separated into three categories: the red good guys, the black villains, and the yellow 'super characters'. Unveiling a mighty Super Saiyan Goku or Super Namek Piccolo was cause for celebration, as you triumphantly thrust that silly little yellow circle into the air. You were cooler than cool! You were the hip happenin' thing, baby. Do a boogaloo shuffle!

In case you were wondering, yes, I collected all 40 of them. It has led to a better life for me and my children. But sadly, even the most complete collection is waiting to be dwarfed. While we thought the yellow Dizks were top of the pops, we later discovered glorious Dizks with bright orange backgrounds. We knew these were irregular, and hence, more important. As you can see, I only had three. And beyond that, there were even rarer gold ones that I only once ever saw in person - walking through a forest in the rocky mountains one day. I tried to snap a photo, but alas, it was gone.

Later on, they introduced newer characters in fascinating new shapes, as well as branching on to other shitty animes like Beyblades, but the magic was gone. We had already invested enough time, energy and cholesterol into the fine art of Dizk collecting. In my youth, they told me that I had had enough Pogs. All those years later, I was able to tell the distant Pog relative... 'nah, bro - I've had enough of you.'

A reminder...

Both children's programming and popular music were vastly superior back in my day. I would totally love to break this out at a Halloween party, but I fear that it would be awkward for both of my guests.

#0034: Ickis

Nick-nick-nick-nick, nick-nick-nick-nick, NICKELODEON!

Ask 90s Tony what his favourite channel was, and he’ll emphatically blurt Nickelodeon! Inquire what kind of kid he was, and he’ll reply that he was a Nick kid! Then, for the love of god, please don’t tell him to get into the back of your van, because he’s already said too much. Why is he talking to a time-traveling stranger?

The children’s entertainment channel Nickelodeon has been around for a lot longer than many realise (launching as the Pinwheel network in 1977, the year of the Blue Jay!), but they didn’t really hit their stride until 1990, with the opening of Nickelodeon Studios, and the premiere of their original animated material in 1991.

I say all this as though I knew this factually, but I purloined this info from Wikipedia. The same Wikipedia that once proclaimed Canada to be the ‘national land of goat’. So you’ll have to excuse me if I ever cite slightly inaccurate knowledge.

The fact remains, however, that I was the key demographic targeted when Nick was in its renaissance in the 90s. I was the middle-class North American child, and I was all about slime, the big orange couch, and Stick Stickly. To kids of today, their favourite Nicktoons are most likely Spongebob Squarepants or Danny Phantom. But for me, it was probably Ed Bighead or the Gromble.

Am I really being elitist about watching a network for children’s programming in the 90s? Why yes, I am! Because it was marketed to be inclusive; you were part of their team… you wrote to them, and they’d respond! You told them about your birthday, and they’d display your name in a gigantic machine operated by a green creature. Dammit, we were as much Nick as Nick was Nick!

In 1994, we were introduced to a school of monsters, whose coursework consisted primarily of scaring the bejeezus out of people. I think such classes still exist in Namibia, but they’re scarce and unfocused. My favourite monster out of the main trio was this guy right here, Ickis. My reason for favouritism was simple, and consisted entirely of RED.


Nabbing some Aaahh!!! Real Monsters toys was cause for celebration, because as near as I recall, these suckers were pretty elusive. Either they just sold by the buttload, or Mattel had little faith in the franchise, and thereby under-produced the demand. I’m not particularly fazed by the actual answer, though a collection of four packaged toys is currently fetching $87.96 USD (12% off!), under the venerable old guise of ‘HTF’.

Ickis, arguably the main character, is a neurotic, almost Woody Allen-esque monster whose lacking confidence stems from, among other things, the fact that he resembles a bunny rabbit. As such, he’s often finding ways to cheat his way to success, or ends up being a pussy and leaving Oblina and Krumm to do all the hard work. In retrospect, I’m hoping that I didn’t associate with the character, because that’s a pretty shitty role model for an impressionable six year old to emulate.

Despite his shortcomings, however, Ickis has the power to grow to multiple times his original size, for maximum scare factor. This quality is represented in true form within this toy… STAND BACK, HE’S GOING TO TRY SCIENCE.


Well, yeah. I mean, all things considered, it’s pretty good. You lift his arms (or push on the back of head. I like to do this because it resembles a trash bin lid) and he unveils his sinister red eyes and a row of fearsome teeth. The only growing he does is purely symbolic. It’s an emotional growth, to be sure.

Beyond that, his arms are fairly static, due to being the (possible) instigator of said transformation, and his legs can be turned about and about to your heart’s content. I’m sure you can write that into your playtime experiences somehow.

And that’s about it, really. I open 2012 with a fairly uninspiring toy coupled with a fairly uninspiring entry. But that’s okay, because I’m quite certain that ending 2011 with the unboxing of Krillin wasn’t exactly a riveting thrill ride, either. Truly, the world will end not with a bang, but with a whimper.

As such, 2012 too opens in this fashion. No bang. Simply a large man from Honolulu.