#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.

#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.

A little too Raph

One of the caveats to clearing out my childhood toys is that there is a sub-category designed for petulant manchildren such as myself, that I somehow feel completely guiltless in acquiring on rare occasions — the deluxe action figures made not for playing, but for exquisite posing.

You know what? I work damn hard. I deserve to blow $100+ on Raphaels every now and then.

In a moment of frivolity, I partook from two of my most beloved Turtles iterations: the 1990 live action movie and the classic beat-em-up, Turtles in Time.

This Raphael is my favourite of all, to the point where I made a video about it that has surprisingly gotten some solid traction on YouTube, and the 7" figurine is about as picture perfect as they come. It nails Raph's sullen grimace, and while taking these photos I couldn't help but stop and admire the wonderful craftsmanship on display.

Here's Turtles in Time Raph about to throw down with Metalhead, offended by the accusation that he is a 'slimball'. He's much more bright and vivid than his toned down film counterpart, and comes complete with a hoverboard from the Sewer Surfin' stage.

You may have noticed that their poses are fairly static, and the latter Raph isn't even equipped with his trademark sai. I'm embarrassed to say, the reason for that is I'm too frightened to try to fiddle around with them very much. They've got alternate hands and more articulation than my actual body, and yet, they feel so important and I really don't want to break them.

So for now, they'll just kind of... stand there, ready for further instruction. Money well spent.

#0112: Short Stack

Ten. Fucking. Years.

Back in January of 2011, a bright eyed, whimsical youth elected to clear out some space in his closet by methodically disposing of his childhood belongings. He began, as one typically does, with a figurine of no particular emotional or fiscal value, before proceeding onto bigger and better (but mostly worse) things.

And though he would miss many birthdays — including this one, ironically — he would often reminisce fondly on the progress he'd made. In fairness, it wasn't much, and it was offset by impulse buys that would inevitably dwarf the departing products in size and volume, but you know what? He was still going to keep at it, one tiny little trinket at a time.

And today, that trinket is absolutely dreadful. Go hard or go home, they say, and in this belated tenth anniversary post, I opted to go home. I've settled on a grotesque, obscure item that I never even recalled owning, and most certainly won't regret severing all ties with.

That's right, boys and girls, Short Stack is coming to breakfast.

Fortunately, Google quickly proved fruitful in identifying this caky customer, identifying him as a member of Mattel's Food Fighters range from the late 80s. Boasting that they were "combat at its kookiest", this line introduced culinary warfare between Burgardier General and his Kitchen Commandos, against the wicked forces of the Refrigerator Rejects.

God, they loved their alliteration and puns back then, didn't they?

Short Stack is a member of the latter faction, and therefore, evil incarnate. Other than the fact that he wears a hat as opposed to a helmet, there isn't really much that differentiates him from the good guys, as every single one of them looks equally unholy.

I can't help but feel as if they all resemble shunned members of Mayor McCheese's extended family, and for the life of me, I am unable to surmise why, exactly, someone at Mattel decided to unleash these garish beasts upon the market.

Our dude Stacker may have wielded a weapon once upon a time, but due in no small part to my trademark carelessness, he now prefers to settle things with his fists or, on a festive day, laser skirmish. Apparently possession of an accessory and vaguely poseable limbs qualify representatives of this line as being 'action figures', and yet, I find myself less than convinced.

Is Short Stack ready for action? Or ready to star in a Jack Stauber video? Either is just as likely, and just as upsetting.

The bodies themselves are actually more akin to a dog's chew toy, and if Peppy were still alive today, I'd feel tempted to ruthlessly rip the plastic limbs off this sucker and subject it to an ephemeral existence with its hairy owner. Alas, with no canine nearby, I'll refrain from channelling my inner Sid Phillips.

Should you be curious about how the theoretical avail of my shitty collection of toys, Food Fighters carry a comparatively high price on the (super)market. A pristine, unboxed Burgerdier General presently has an asking price of $80, while the full set of ten in acrylic cases could net its seller a hefty $2,250. Whether or not anyone will actually bite on this delectable offer is another matter entirely, though you can't really go wrong with this sweet-looking BBQ Bomber for 18 bucks.

Overall, if I were to rate Short Stack and his ilk, I'd surmise that I hate them. The market didn't seem too keen either, with the line being scrapped shortly after their debut. I guess there was no room for soldiers themed around edible goods in the cutthroat world of 80s action figures.

But golly, they got a gold star for trying, and at the very least, these things were quite detailed, if not unnerving. They wouldn't look too out of place facing off against your favourite Ninja Turtle, or perhaps Napoleon Bonafrog, if you'd prefer to employ a B-lister for such an encounter.

Now if you'll excuse me, all this talk has made me hungry.

#0110: Blaster T-1000

Not too long ago, I showed off a pair of Terminator toys that were made to tie-in with the genre-defining summer blockbuster of the same name. Among other things, I claimed that they were among the only figures I owned from that particular line, alongside John Connor and his nifty motorbike.

I have since learnt the error of my ways, as I'm also in possession of what the Internet tells me is the Blaster T-1000. To be frank, I'm not sure how much I believe, as this garish customer looks nothing like my bishi Robert Patrick, and the web is littered with similarly audacious lies about a flat Earth or the benefits of voting republican.

Still, I'll press on unimpeded, as it's the most logical explanation I have for this chonky policeman, short of him being a prototype for Victor Willis of the Village People.

In the above mentioned Terminator entry, I opined that neither figure was quite faithful to the source material (I swear I'll stop referencing it at some point, mostly because I want you to click the damned link so I can get some sweet ad revenue boost my view counter). Be that as it may, they're leaps and bounds further on the authenticity chart than the Blaster T-1000.

When I think of this metamorphosing villain, my mind instantly defaults to svelte efficiency. Part of the reason the T-1000 made for such a compelling antagonist was how he looked and felt different from what we were used to, moving swiftly and methodically. Meanwhile, the Blaster edition scarcely moves at all, as his legs are completely unarticulated.

Just let that sink in for a moment. You're about to portray a gripping scene where the T-1000 is approaching his prey, ready to make the lethal blow that dooms mankind forever, but all he does is waddle along as if he's got his pants around his ankles.

It's not intimidating in the slightest, unless you also consider Al Gore to be a potential threat to humanity.

The reason for this baffling design choice, is that the Blaster T-1000 has got a weaponised booty. You've heard of junk in the trunk? Well this junk is more crunk than you thunk, punk.

Pushing down on the T-1000's head will push his spine forward in an agonising fashion, eventually unleashing a rocket launcher from (his) behind. As I'm too lazy to make accompanying videos nowadays, I'll defer to this handy demonstration, as long as you promise to please return once you're done.

Yep, they decided that of all the things the T-1000 should be capable of, literally being a rocket launcher should be chief among them.

I'm pretty sure there was an exchange of dialogue in Judgment Day where John Connor's concerns that his foe would transform into a bomb were dissuaded due to the fact that "the T-1000 can't form complex machines" due to guns and explosives having chemicals and moving parts in them.

A fucking rocket launcher in your asshole though? Yeah, that shit totally checks out.

As you may have noted from my photo above, it really looks more like someone's just dropped a coconut from above and he's shielding his head from more blows, and as my rockets were decommissioned decades ago, he's out of ammunition anyway.

So alas, there will be no fabulous pants weapon for you, Blaster T-1000. At the very least it does vaguely resemble a denim jetpack, so that's a plus.

Overall, I'd have to say that this is probably my least favourite of all the Terminator toys, doubly so considering I forgot I owned it in the first place. Even with the shoehorned mechanics of its contemporaries, it still manages to stick out like a sore thumb, and it's yet another reminder of how far we've come in the years since.

In lieu of it serving any kind of purpose as a Terminator-adjacent toy, I might just repurpose it as a generic police officer who goes about enforcing the law against any criminal who he can somehow catch up to without the aid of weapons and/or moveable joints.

"I'm not a crook!"

#0109: Metalhead

If you enjoy this post, make sure to check out my recent list of awesome content from Black creators!

Ninja Turtles lore can be a little bit complex at times.

Usually, you're pretty safe to assume who's good and who's bad on the sole basis of whether or not they are pretty. Monty Moose? Obvious good guy, what an outstanding Canadian citizen! Antrax? That scowling face, those terrible mandibles, he's clearly wicked! Ray Fillet? Look at the kindness in his eyes, he just reeks of valour! Pizzaface? He's pretty fucking hot, I guess he's okay.

Then you have others like Metalhead, who could teeter somewhere between the two based on aesthetics alone, and wouldn't you know it, has indeed worked on both sides of the coin. You robotic Judas!

For an impressionable youth like myself, Metalhead acted as the quintessential soldier of antagonism. It was pretty much a foregone conclusion that if there was some kind of clone fashioned after the main character, they were bound to be evil. Plus there was the handy clue when he called me a green slimball before opening fire.

...That's right. Slimball. There was a fucking spelling mistake in Turtles in Time and I only found out today. Needless to say, I'm not taking it well.

Originally devised by the Foot Clan as a means of infiltrating and destroying the green guys, Metalhead was reprogrammed by Donatello to serve in various fashions, depending on the iteration. Despite the fact that this cyborg was constructed with the sole mission of death and destruction, in the 80s cartoon, he's reduced to a role as the Turtles maid.

Seems like a waste of perfectly good killing machine, but I guess that made him the original Roomba.

My figure is in pretty fantastic condition. He's missing the accessories on his backpack, but the fact that he even has the backpack itself is something of a Christmas miracle. His chassis is super shiny and pretty (probably not the right context for the word chassis, but I so rarely get to use it), and he's sans battle damage.

The latter suggests that I never really played with my Metalhead, and the way he glares at me so menacingly backs up that notion. Do robots have feelings? Do computers wear tennis shoes?

Above all else, I really can't get over all of the little details littering his body. I've spoken a little bit about how fantastically intricate Turtles figures were, but it bears repeating again and again: no expense was spared in designing all that minutiae, and we never even noticed it as we flung them about the house with reckless abandon.

Ultimately, of the Turtles action figures I've sent onto greener pastures, this is probably the one I'll miss the most. He's just neat, and part of me thinks that he would serve as a perfectly suitable desk mascot.

However, toys are meant to be played with. This was the lesson taught to me by Toy Story 2 (in addition to 'never trust Kelsey Grammer'), so I can only pray earnestly that Metalhead will become the piece de resistance for some plucky child out there in... I dunno, Amsterdam.

He may just need a little bit of a recharge first. Battery leakage is no laughing matter, after all.

Cowabunga

Brand loyalty is quite the fascinating science unto itself. Elusive, spectacular and hard to quantify, once a brand has properly hooked its claws into a demographic, purchase becomes a practical certainty. The concept has shifted from ‘this is something I want’ to ‘this is something I need’.

Take it from me, as a brand loyalist since before I could even spell the words.

My particular allegiance lies with Playmates Toys, or more specifically, their Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles line of products.

In case you were wondering, yes, I am a thirty-year old man(child), and as such, the timing of Turtles hysteria lined up perfectly with my childhood, a time where money was no object and funds were limitless, strictly because I wasn’t the one paying for anything.

But it’s not as cut and dry as getting caught up in one of the biggest fad of the early 90s. Had that been the case, my obsession would have died down with the turning of the years, in much the same way that it had for countless other products.

To this day, I still shell out my hard-earned dollars — if you’ll pardon the pun — on at least the newest iteration of Raphael, my go-to Turtle of choice. His look has changed a fair bit over the years, but he’s still the same old, surly reptile he ever was.

A lot of the foundation for Playmates’ continued success was laid down in those early days, as each new product would lean into the quirky brand and fully embrace the weird. It’s part of the reason why Turtles toys from yesteryear still attract attention from fans and non-fans alike.

If you have a Turtles figure around, literally any, grab a hold of it and take a look at it. The quality of the moulds is obscenely detailed. It’ll likely be riddled with little veins, or scars, or warts of some kind. It may have some description of little anomaly as part of the design, like a creature surreptitiously clinging on or a nondescript ‘tear’ in their costume.

Moreover, let’s observe that prior notion again, embracing the weird. Unless this particular figure happens to be one of the mainline series (in which case, why did you open it, you fiend?), it is probably doing something, or at least representing something, rather bizarre.

Is it Mike the Sewer Surfer? Or Private Porknose Bebop? Maybe it’s Wolfman Leo, or Road Ready Donatello, whose feature is that he transforms into a literal car?

Though the lunacy could easily be equated to a cash grab, it was a perfect blend of irreverence and style that suited the franchise to a T. By its nature, the Turtles brand is grandiose and bombastic; so it’s only appropriate that its merchandise have those same qualities.

With the series now in its fourth iteration of animated programming, the action figures keep chugging right along. Now they’re riding garish motorbikes and doing ‘ninja backflips’ while shouting catchphrases. Sure, it’s not quite as obtuse as “sumo Turtles”, “Turtles at a birthday party” or “Turtles as Peter Venkman” — and yes, all of these are real things — but give it a few more months, and those boys in green will be back to their wacky antics once more.

And I’ll be there every step of the way.

#0107: Sky Escape Joker

It's that time again! Thanks to the efforts of Joaquin Phoenix and that guy from the Hangover (Mr. Chow), the whole world is abuzz over that loveable old psychopath, the Joker.

The response has been divisive due to the thematic content and questions of morality, but frankly, you can colour me unsurprised, as nearly every DC movie nowadays fails to grab universal acclaim. Honestly, it's like my career; tragically disappointing and only made more tolerable when accompanied by copious amounts of alcohol.

In the end, it's bound to be thrown onto the pile with the rest of the also-rans, leaving the world pining for a definitively solid film featuring the clown prince of crime. Among his grinning contemporaries is Jack Nicholson, who garnered generally positive responses for his appearance in the 1989 Tim Burton Batman flick, impeccably cast as a particularly charismatic version of himself Jack Napier.

And you know what that means, right? Toys.

Many toys! Toys for girls, toys for boys, toys, toys, let's make some noise!

Now that I've sufficiently boosted my SEO, let's take a look at this stupid Sky Escape Joker.

At first glance, it appears much like any other Joker action figure. It does vaguely resemble Jack Nicholson if you look at it the right way, but that could probably be said of anything or anyone if you have enough conviction.

So what does a Sky Escape Joker do? Does it sky escape, and... joke? The latter is somewhat debatable, but it most certainly can sky escape when provoked. It came — note the past tense — with a 'whirling copter pack' that he could use 'to escape from trouble', whether that was a brush-in with the law or an awkward social situation.

It's definitely an appropriate Joker ploy, however it's a real stretch for a movie tie-in. At no point did the Joker suddenly sprout a helicopter from his back and take off into the night, cackling with glee. Yes, he did attempt an ill-fated evacuation via helicopter at the movie's climax, but that's really grasping at straws.

The more logical explanation is that this copter is how Jack Nicholson got around between scenes. It seems like something he'd do, I reckon.

Fortunately, it has a completely arbitrary secondary feature that is more in line with the source material. Dip the Joker's head in cold water, and his face will turn bright orange, vaguely resembling the scene where the Joker paints his face in skin tones as a method of better blending in with the people.

He then bolsters this plan by blasting out Prince and throwing money at the crowd, and alas, this toy does neither, unless I'm just using it wrong.

So let's see it in action, shall we? Bring this Oompa Loompa motherfucker out for real.

...Well shit, that was awkward. I think I just waterboarded the dude. Judging by that smile, he didn't seem to mind.

Funnily enough, this is potentially the only Batman action figure I ever owned. As you're well aware, the Turtles were my only comic book love, and aside from the early 90s Archies issues, I never even read the damn things.

Considering the Sky Escape Joker came out in 1990, my parents either hedged their bets that a one-year-old Anthony would become a big fan of Batman or pale homicidal maniacs, found this fella languishing in a bargain bin, or just straight up stole it from a small child with poor grip strength. I like to think it's that last one.

That's about all she wrote for the Sky Escape Joker, really (I guess I'm the she in this scenario). He also comes packaged with a pistol with a comically long barrel, the same he used to fell the Bat...plane, or whatever it was called.

No, I don't have any of these accessories. I probably threw them out immediately to protest my distaste for guns and aeronautical devices. Fortunately, I didn't lose the colour changing face, because misplacing a figure's head would have been a new low for me.

Toy Flashback: Armless Fun

 

"Wait! I'm unarmed!!"

"I guess you'll never be in the army."

#0106: Insaniac

Ahh, Small Soldiers.

This thrilling family blockbuster hit theatres in 1998, and it was a rollicking good time from start to finish. Tommy Lee Jones as the gung-ho villain. Phil Hartman being his usual amazing self. Kirsten Dunst playing the young love interest, before she became an advocate for marijuana (or maybe during?)

As an impressionable ten-year-old, it was almost an inevitability that I would end up with merch, simply because Tony of the 90s was a spoilt little shit. And of course, there are no prizes for guessing which member of the cast I had my heart set on...

By any chance, was that character Insaniac?

...I'm sorry, no, it wasn't. I wanted Archer. But we can't always get what we want. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to throw a tantrum until I get my Archer action figure (a tantrum that has lasted an impressive two decades so far).

Insaniac is a member of the Gorgonites, a band of creepy yet good-natured sentient toys who are being hunted down by the ruthless Commando Elite. Despite being cast as the bad guys in their lore, the Gorgonites are peaceful, and lack in self defence skills. They're basically the 1992 Lithuanian Olympic basketball team.

This particular guy looks like he walked out of a failed pilot for a late 90s cartoon, complete with Tim Curry as the villain and Frank Welker playing his animal sidekick. I'd watch the shit out of this imaginary cartoon, personally, but I digress.

His schtick was that he was the wisecracking oddball, and acted as the frenetic antithesis to the leader, Archer. Just looking at him, he is probably riddled with STDs.

Should you be interested in more information, allow me to refer you to his page on the Small Soldiers wiki, where the comments section features such compelling discussions as 'Hes funny', 'Hes a maniac!' and 'me like'.

If articulation is your thing, Insaniac is the toy for you, featuring ball joints in his shoulders that let his arms move practically every which way. He can even do one of Hulk Hogan's famous poses, brother.

He isn't quite as fluid as his on-screen counterpart, however, and though he may appear to have points of articulation in his elbows and knees, these are merely for show. It does make him more film accurate, but golly, I think that's a cheeky bit of deception right there.

I can't think of another toy I've ever seen that features false articulation - not Bucky O'Hare, not the Street Sharks, not even Donald Trump.

On the plus side however, his torso is able to be pulled upwards to spin in 360 degrees, something that I was actually completely unaware of until I happened upon an eBay listing that informed me of such. His value has now increased by 500 Tony Points, a new form of cultural currency that is still yet to take off outside of my imagination and certain Maltese municipalities.

The reason I went hunting for Insaniac on eBay, incidentally, is not to see what kind of profit he would net me, but to ascertain whether I have all of his original accessories. If you're new to this blog —may I first say welcome, and please take off your clothes —you're probably unaware that I have a track record for losing about 85% of accessories.

Yes, even weapons crucial to their survival are soon misplaced, as if every action figure I've owned is simply a proxy for Vaike from Fire Emblem Awakening. In fairness, Insaniac does look like Vaike after years of crystal meth abuse.

However, we might have an exception here. Insaniac is brandishing his necessary chains, as well as his little buddy Miniac, a figurine with no articulation whatsoever (the inarticulate ninny). Miniac is forever posing as if he's been cornered by the police in a dark alley.

Judging by the rare instances of fully packaged Insaniac figures, my favourite of which seems to be an excuse for this guy to surreptitiously take photos of his dog, this was everything that was originally included.

What a rare feeling of jubilation! Insaniac is complete, and by association, so am I.

How will we celebrate this feeling of fulfilment? Why, by spinning, of course! Because it's an awesome way to get your daily cardio in, and more importantly, we're high as fucking balls, yo. I just hope you brought lots of gum.

#0105: Cave-Beast Bebop and his Bodacious Brontosaurus

Toronto Raptors, Toronto Raptors, Toronto Raptors, something something, Toronto Raptors.

Allow me to be as transparent as the shirt Christian Cage used to wear in the late 90s: the only reason I'm making this post is so that I can take yet another opportunity to celebrate the fact that my Toronto freakin' Raptors have won the NBA Championship.

After a quarter century of misery, I never thought I'd see the day, and I'm still riding a high. I just want to set down as many flagpoles as I can, so that I may someday look back on this date and remember the elation I felt.

As such, you, my svelte/gargantuan/Herculean friend (trying to cover all my bases here), get to be the beneficiary of a rare 2019 Toy Eulogy post. I know you're excited. I also know you're me. So hello me. I hope you're having a nice day.

In keeping with the prehistoric theme, we are heading back to the Jurassic period to revisit a dinosaur that has been proven and disproven by modern science, as well as his grouchy warthog friend. Say hello to Cave-Beast Bebop and his Bodacious Brontosaurus.

I wonder how many people at Playmates were assigned to the singular task of brainstorming alliterate phrases. Incidentally, Cave-Beast Bebop is my username on FetLife.

This dastardly pair came as part of the second batch of Cave Turtle figures. The other, Cave Woman April, had a Radical Raptor as her ally, which would have made her a much more appropriate candidate for today, however this brontosaurus is red... So that makes it more aesthetically close to our beloved mascot.

Also, I don't have Cave Woman April, but that's neither here nor there. Actually, it's entirely there, for it is clearly not here. Ho ho ho!

Once upon a time, Cave-Beast Bebop came equipped with a sword and club to make him appropriately menacing, but the only accessories left in his possession are the saddle and reigns on his scaly comrade, simply because I never had a reason to take them off (fortunately, I wasn't into dinosaur porn back in 1994).

Also, the 'Bronto Brand' remains intact, for obvious reasons, and I think it's a bit cheeky to consider it an accessory in the first place. It has the Foot's logo, which is appropriate, but next to it is 'TMNT' in big, bold font.

The reasons for this are completely beyond me – other than simple toy branding, but we're talking kayfabe here – so let's try and think of possible meanings for this acronym other than representing the Foot Clan's mortal enemies.

Terrapin Mashing Neanderthal Terror?

Terribly Mean Nasty Tyrants?

Trevor Might Need Therapy?

Fuck it, it's totally that last one. Lock it in.

As you'd expect, these figures are your standard Turtle quality, riddled with nice little details and even a few warts atop Bebop's hide, in keeping with his name.

They're also sporting various items of armour fashioned out of turtle shells, typical among the villainous Foot, however I'm left wondering why, just a little bit.

Sure, they detest their Turtle rivals, but does that mean that every single tortoise in existence needs to die? That would be like hating your neighbour John, and then murdering every single person named John and wearing their scalp as a trophy.

The back of the box had your average Turtle fare (yes, I have now used standard, typical and average in quick succession, so sue me), but most noteworthy, describes Cave-Beast Bebop's brain as being about the size of a grain of Stone Age sand.

For one thing, that sounds like it would inhibit his basic motor functions, and he would die upon birth. Moreover, what difference would the era make? Was Stone Age sand notably smaller? In theory, it would be less eroded, making it larger than modern day sand, right?

Goddammit I really wish I wouldn't get so obsessive about these minor details. My mind just goes in strange directions sometimes.

Anyway, I think we've talked enough about Cave-Beast and his long-necked comrade. They look mighty hungry, and I'd rather they leave me alone, and target a hapless turtle instead.

#0099: Big Slammu

So let's talk Street Sharks for a second. I certainly haven't got anything more important to do with my evenings, and if you've dared click on this accursed blog, I'll fathom that you're much the same.

All of the Street Sharks had their gimmick. Their thing. The defining quality that helped differentiate them from their brethren. Ripster's intelligence and levelheadedness made him a natural leader. Streex was the smooth-talking ladies man, while Jab was a lazy piece of shit with some kind of weird eye thing going on. But Big Slammu? He was my favourite, by far. Was it due to his rippling musculature, broad fishman shoulders, and the promise that he probably had a gigantic schlong? No, no and maybe.

If you're a wily INAKA veteran, you'll be able to realise the source of my affection based simply on a picture of the crew.

 

Figured it out yet?

If not, let me just lay it out for you. Big Slammu was the best because he was fucking red. Nothing more than that. His personality didn't make a lick of difference, he could have been a simpering coward, a treacherous double-crosser or a mass-murdering pedophile - as long as he remained red, he still would have been my favourite. That last one would have been a really weird creative choice for a children's cartoon, though.

In any event, I unearthed a whole bunch of sweet shit in the garage recently, and was quite shocked and frankly a little disappointed in myself when I found this fella rotting away in a box. Sure, there have been a few neat things to discover out there, but a Street Shark? A Street Shark deserves better than that, especially when it's big Coop himself.

I must confess, I never really watched the cartoon all that much, preferring for my edgy storytelling to come from Swat Kats and Gargoyles instead. So I couldn't quite tell you what Big Slammu's personality is. I have vague suspicions that he fits the peaceful big man trope, but typing 'Big Slammu virtuous' into Google only leads to a bizarre piece of fan fiction. Gotta be honest, Azmodan0210, I think the world could have gone without this crossover.

But what of the toy itself? I know you're both quivering with anticipation for me to wax lyrical on its features, and lowkey infuriated that the Jab article only had one actual photo of the action figure itself. Fuck, I really mailed that one in, didn't I?

Clearly, Big Slammu has seen better days. His paint is peeling, half of his face seems to have collapsed, and he has the unnerving grin of an ice addict. Be it due to the rigors of the garage or the tragic aftermath of steroid abuse, he just looks absolutely dreadful, and we advise that you'd best keep your distance. These are probably byproducts of being such a weighty item, because Big Slammu here is definitely packing on the pounds. If you threw him at someone, it would likely cause some damage, or at the very least be a particularly upsetting and bewildering experience for them.

He is riddled with nice little details like the prerequisite veins and tendons bulging through his flesh, and even some nifty cankles that are worthy of a mention. Pressing on his fin opens his mouth, but it doesn't work nearly as well as it does with Jab. Instead, Big Slammu's major calling card is his mighty clobbering fist, and it packs quite the wallop. You lift it up, and he brings it crashing down with the power of a thousand extreme dinosaurs.

Poor Optimus. Now he'll never sire a child.

Overall, I have to say that Big Slammu is actually a lot of fun. Aside from his wear-and-tear (a quick scan of the Internet reveals that this is fairly common among Slammu figures), he still looks rather nifty, and I've stopped mid-sentence a few times during the writing of this piece simply to play with his silly whomping arm. I like to pretend he's demanding more food at the dinner table like an impetuous child.

The good parent in me thinks that such a tantrum should be reprimanded, but when the child in question is twelve feet tall and can chew through solid steel, perhaps we should just give him what he wants. Also, if the pants are any indication, he seems to play for the Niners, and I definitely don't want to be cut off from that kind of income.

#0097: Storm Toad Trooper

Who could have ever imagined that we would be talking about Bucky O'Hare in 2018, and it would actually be vaguely topical? For you see, over the last few years, a company known as Boss Fight Studio has been bringing the Toad Wars back for the modern era, producing an all new line of Bucky action figures. All of your favourites have made their glorious, highly articulated return - from Jenny all the way to Deadeye Duck. Still no sign of my dude Bruiser, though, and definitely no Willy DuWitt, as he is nobody's favourite.

Wave 3 drops this fall, and included among this batch is the villainous Storm Toad Trooper. You can grab a single Trooper for $34, or a two-pack for $65. If, however, you follow my long-term belief that the foot soldiers should greatly outnumber the heroes, they offer a Master Case Pack of twelve toads for the low, low price of $420.

If you have over $400 in expendable cash that you can splurge on imaginary frog enemies, then fuck you, you have too much money. And now, too many frogs.

Look at that! I have two now.

The Storm Toad Troopers were your average minion. They all looked the same, and were mostly there to be disposed of effortlessly as Bucky and his comrades spouted one-liners where they declared them to be 'slimy fly eaters' and whatnot. In hindsight, that sounds racist as fuck, and I don't approve. But it was a different time, and between this and Danger Mouse, it seems as though amphibians were typically considered to be assholes.

I did a quick Google search to see if I could find more examples of toad villainy, but typing 'frog enemies' merely led to this website that looks like it was made in 2000. I fucking love FROGLAND, and I have added it to my bookmarks.

But enough on that. Let's talk Storm Toad Trooper.

He's a little bit dirty from years of lurking around the garage, but otherwise, he's pretty much in perfect condition. No chipped paint or doggy bite marks, which suggests that even Peppy thought he was too gross to bother gnawing on. He is riddled with nice little details, including a K on the side of his helmet that I will assume stands for Karen.

Most significantly, however, this is one of the very few toys where I was able to successfully locate his weapon, putting him in the 95th percentile of most dangerous figures in the entire house.

Fuck yeah, neon orange shotgun!

It fits quite nicely into his hand with a satisfying snap sound (I hope that wasn't actually the sound of it breaking), but his arms are positioned strangely, and his elbows aren't posable. As such, he actually looks more like he wants to engage you in a boxing match, which in and of itself is pretty badass, but likely unwise during a fight in outer space.

That being said, however, I did a quick search for packaged Storm Toad Trooper toys, and I can't help but shake the idea that something here is amiss. No, it's not the fact that it's in French, nor is it the revelation that the French word for frogs is krapos.

What I am now realising is that he came packaged with an entirely different weapon altogether.

So what gives, krapo la (that's Haitian Creole, but bear with me for a moment)?? Whose gun did you steal? Did it belong to Mighty Max, or Ace Duck? Maybe Papa Smurf on a really bad day? In any event, it seems to suit you quite well, so I'll just accept this transgression and feign ignorance when the police come knocking at my door.

After all, when you're hanging out with space toads, you sometimes just have to accept that they'll get drunk and cause all sorts of mischief. I've been dealing with Slippy for long enough to know this firsthand.

#0096: War Planets

 

When you're a kid, you just kinda... have stuff. For whatever reason.

Sometimes it's an impulse buy from your parents, desperate to appease your insatiable hunger for consumerism, while other times, you're drawn in by the sweet aroma of a particularly compelling commercial. Whatever the case, we all had the occasional toy of unknown origin from a series you didn't have any particular affinity for. Unless you were poor, in which case you just had specks of dust. Even then, some specks were better than others.

Today's specks of dust are these rather obtuse War Planets. Evidently, this was a late '90s toy franchise that spawned a TV show with character designs from Brendan McCarthy, formerly of ReBoot. The toys never really gained much traction and the show was short-lived, but despite all these factors, I ended up with not one but two of the eponymous planets of war. Allow me to take you on a trip to Bone Planet and Ice Planet.

Side note 1: I really had to force myself to use the term 'eponymous' in that leadoff. In actual fact, I much prefer 'titular'. Must be the 'tit' that does it for me.

Side note 2: "Allow me to take you on a trip to Bone Planet" sounds like the worst pickup line ever.

The narrative of War Planets is fairly self-explanatory, focusing on the ongoing struggle for galactic supremacy, with the occasional handshake armistice between parties to help shake the narrative up. Despite its tentacular exterior that threatens to molest oncoming spacecraft, Bone Planet is purportedly a heroic nation, and according to the Shadow Raiders wiki, part of the Alliance against the wicked Beast Planet.

Fuck Beast Planet. Hate that guy.

If you're unimpressed by the first photo, you'll be pleased to know that the planets are merely a precursor to the true wonder that lies within. Deep within the core of your War Planet are a bevy of aliens, ready to do battle with a wide variety of weapons and creatures. Does this imply that all War Planets are hollow? If we dug deep enough, would we happen upon the subterranean kingdom of Atvatabar? Will anyone actually understand this incredibly vague reference?

No time for answers, dammit, we need to crack our planets open and feast on the goo inside.

Whoa, that's a lot to unpack. Quite literally, actually, as it took around seven minutes to even set this stupid photo up. My dad walked in during the process, and asked me if I was working today.

"Clearly, I am!" I hissed, slamming the door shut before I continued to prop up my tiny little monsters in a manner I deemed aesthetically pleasing.

From what I can glean, the Bone Planet is a bit of a loose cannon, only entering the Alliance out of a convenient place of mutual interest, while masking their true intentions of double crossing everyone else at the last minute. In that sense, they're rather similar to the Forsaken legions of the undead from World of Warcraft, or North Korea if you'd prefer to be a little bit more on the nose.

There's beasts and cannons aplenty, and it was quite the nightmarish task to unearth all of these pieces from the toy chest and ascertain what actually belonged to the Bone Planet. If it was fairly green and vaguely lumpy, it was probably Bone Planet. Or infected.

I appear to have been so fond of Bone Planet that I acquired supplementary pieces, as there are some characters and vehicles that weren't included with the original set that look a little bit more yucky. I don't have any recollection of enjoying it this much ("they like War, they like Planets... One kid seems to love the Bone Planet"), which leads me to believe that it was in actual fact my father who was the Bone Planet fanatic. Holy shit, that phrase really rolls off the tongue.

And yes, I do intend on saying Bone Planet as much as humanly possible. It's what Bone Planet would want me to do. It's also really good for SEO.

Brr. This is Ice Planet. Hopefully their frosty reception doesn't give you the chills, they're just known to give the cold shoulder. Yes, I'm fully aware that that was a terrible sentence, and nowhere near as funny as the concept that Bone Planet is a euphemism for sex.

Ice Planet has a myriad of tiny blue denizens toting firearms, as you might expect. I particularly like the crystal spiders, but the missile turtles aren't without their charm. Particularly the one on the left there that appears to have stuck its nose right up another one's ass - he's tons of fun!

There aren't as many projectiles on offer in this set (disappointing if you particularly enjoy shooting your younger siblings in the eye), but they do have a sweet blue automobile that appears to be too small for any of the local fauna to fit into. This leads me to believe that there is a tiny unseen race of beings that operate this vehicle, or the people of Ice Planet are actually clowns, and they miraculously squeeze an entire group in there to great comedic effect.

Truth be told, I never waged war between my planets. I just believed in the sanctity of the peace treaty that much couldn't come up with enough things for them to do. Such is the plight of the miniature figurines; they're just not as hale and hearty as your hand-sized toys. For this reason, I also put a great deal of thought into how I would tag this piece; 'figurine', or 'action figure'.

Dictionary.com defines an action figure as "a toy figure with jointed, movable limbs, representing a character in a cartoon, movie, etc., or a real person or animal, often one known for exciting action or extraordinary powers."

The War Planets collection fit most of these distinctions, particularly their 'exciting action' or 'extraordinary powers', but it's worth noting that several of the pieces have no jointed, movable limbs to speak of. To this end, Reis O'Brien of The Spruce Crafts delegates them as figurines; "often small, sculpted and painted representations of personified characters like superheroes or movie characters. They have no moving parts."

The sizing is also consistent, as O'Brien goes on to note that figurines range "from extremely miniature (6mm model train figures) up to approximately 6 inches. Anything larger is generally considered a "statue.""

Or my penis. Ho ho ho.

In the end, I just said fuck it and chucked both tags on there. I'll allow you to argue amongst yourselves as to which is the more accurate delineation. Odds are, you'll find yourself a mutual enemy more worthy of your rage before too long.

#0095: The Terminator(s)

Deciding which Terminator film you prefer is similar to comparing pizza with ice cream. On the surface, they're both foodstuffs, and one can easily be enjoyed immediately after the other. However, they evoke different sensations within you. The first movie was harrowing and gritty. The second was spectacular and fun. They are very different beasts, and combine to make one hell of a cinematic one-two punch.

Unless you opt for Terminator 3, in which case you eat shit and you die.

As a child of the '90s, Terminator 2 was always my preference growing up. With its emphasis on catchphrases and special effects, it was practically made for kids, just as long as you looked away when he cut open his arm. Or shot all the people. Or when the T-1000 stabbed the security guard in the eye.

You know what? It actually wasn't child-friendly at all. Who knows what the fuck we were thinking, it was a different time. Regardless, action figures came out in the dozens, and I myself was the proud recipient of these handsome Terminators.

On the left is the Power Arm Terminator. I figured this out thanks to this blog entry from Poe Ghostal, which is incidentally a really excellent read that I highly recommend. I will resist the urge to steal material from that post as best I can, but I'm only human. To his right is the Meltdown Terminator, complete with a canary yellow singlet and a 'white-heat bazooka sprayer' (read: a spray gun). The main meltdown is the one your child will have when they realise that you've given them the wrong toy.

They each feature a few curious design choices that can make you scratch your head and wonder aloud when that ever happened in Terminator 2. The Power Arm variation looks more the part with his black leather jacket, albeit a sleeveless variant that suggests that the seasons are a'changing and he wants to get a more even tan. However, it comes with three interchangeable arms that do a series of things that the T-800 has never been able to do.

The first one sees him pushing a metallic beam from his fist in his best Robert Patrick impersonation. The second is a claw kinda apparatus that looks particularly good for pinching bums. And the final is a goddamn rocket launcher, although in my case, it's down a rocket, so it's just a launcher. A launcher of nothing. A nothing launcher, perchance.

So what gives? Why is Uncle Bob suddenly wielding a magic arm? In all fairness, Kenner had to come up with a plethora of variations of the same basic concept, so creative license had to be taken. My fondest memory of this toy was slowly lowering him in the bath while humming the Terminator theme, ala the climactic scene in Judgment Day. Unfortunately, he was incapable of gesturing with a thumbs up before he went into the imaginary molten steel, so I just had to settle for him firing off a ceremonial rocket at the last moment.

Then there's this asshole.

Despite arguably being the better made figure (that battle damage exposing his inner chassis is a nice touch), all it takes is one look at the bright yellow wife beater that renders his army pants completely useless, and you know that mistakes have been made. And if you thought that interchangeable arms was a curious decision, you haven't seen our dude Meltdown here unleash his fearsome weapon on hapless foes. Y'all are about to be H2OWNED.

The packaging suggests that you're supposed to shoot the water at the White-Hot T-1000 figure, which would change colour upon contact with warm water. But does that mean that you actually have to buy two toys to really make this one relevant? Power Arm has threatening weapons, while Meltdown is reduced to spraying water like a damned five year old? Unless he decides to load up with acid or really cheap gin, it's just not going to cut the mustard. Not even the mustard singlet.

Beyond the two Terminators, the only other T2 toy I collected was John Connor. As you can appreciate, it didn't really see much playtime, because the only thing an Edward Furlong action figure would be good for is hacking into computer systems and releasing lobsters from their tanks. He had a pretty sweet motorcycle that probably ended up in the possession of Raphael, so it wasn't all bad.

Overall, I'd say that these figures are decidedly okay. They could have stood to have a few extra firearms on them to make them feel more movie authentic, but knowing me, I would have lost those within a week anyway. Indeed, before I started this entry, I figured I was going to do this whole thing without Meltdown's water gun or any of Power Arm's powerful arms. So in that sense, I'm coming out of this much further ahead than I had anticipated.

#0090: Slice 'N Dice Shredder

Oh come on, you didn't really think I would just limit this little beauty to a throwaway post, did you? There's no way I would simply jettison a proper Ninja Turtles toy without dedicating a complete post to its glory, and though this isn't exactly the cream of the crop, it is a) potentially the only Shredder action figure I ever owned and b) better than the fucking Turtlecycle, which inexplicably remains the most popular post I've ever made on this godforsaken blog by a sizeable margin.

People must just really enjoy fictional modes of transport. After all, second place goes to the Lowly Worm car. I guess I missed my true calling, as a preeminent blogger in the shitty car toy scene. Maybe I'll rebrand someday, we'll just have to wait and see.

But for now, we'll focus our attention on Slice 'N Dice Shredder, one of the 'wacky action' line of Turtles figures. Each came with a wind-up motorised function, and some were decidedly more wacky than others. Donatello was arguably the best of the bunch, capable of actually swimming in water aided by a torpedo accessory. Raphael could theoretically breakdance on his shell, but he always seemed to opt more for the breaking than the dancing. Leonardo and Michaelangelo got the short end of the bo staff, with only a spinning arm and wrist to their name, respectively, and probably a whole lot of dislocated joints.

As for the Shred Head? His idea of wackiness is to have metallic blades surgically implanted into his fucking arms like a maniac. It's the kind of wackiness that makes small children cry, and he is obviously not a good choice for birthday parties.

So let's get a good look at this bad dude. He's actually one of the better Shredder figures from the original '80s line, appropriately buff and foreboding. This is especially important when you consider how obtuse the original Shredder offering turned out, looking less like the ultimate villain and more like a kind of homeless wizard.

One of the first things you'll notice is the wind-up key sticking out of his torso in an area that proves inconvenient for both kids and Shredders alike. It would have made much more sense if it had been placed somewhere on his back or perhaps even the front of his pants, because it prevents his arm from moving in a full 360 degree motion.

How will he get shit out of his pockets now? What a disaster.

In almost a token manner of combatting this cumbersome apparatus, his left arm is slightly raised. It does make him look a little bit less awkward, but I can't help but shake the feeling like he's just walked ten paces and is about to draw his pistol. Plus, it gives me false hope that I can manage to sneak the arm past it if I just wish hard enough.

Alas, it only threatens to snap the key off entirely, rendering him incapable of slicing 'n/or dicing.

To be fair, the key seems to actually be busted anyhow, because no matter how much I wind it up, it's not building any momentum whatsoever. Pushing it in the other direction does make the gears in his shoulders move just a little bit, suggesting that perhaps there is still hope yet in those old bones of his, but without the capacity to tinker with it, nor the blades that are the whole modus operandi behind this stupid toy, it renders the point moot. Mega moot, in fact.

The key does kind of look like a letter that Shredder has just received in the mail, though, so that's nice. Potentially a Valentine's Day card from some secret admirer? Ooh, my loins quiver in anticipation...

Slice 'N Dice Shredder also came equipped with a jagged sword and sickle that look freakin' awesome, and are actually cooler than the dopey blade gimmick, quite frankly. I'm fairly sure I could find the weapons if you gave me a few hours and four stout men to work the bellows. Last I recall, the sword was floating around somewhere in one of the toy chests scattered about the laundry room, and as near as I can tell, the sickle was with Mitsuko Souma.

In any event, there you have it. That's my Shredder. And as I mentioned in the opener, it may be my only Shredder, aside from a few miniature ones. I guess I really needed to broaden my horizons when I was a wee sprat, as I interpreted 'collect them all' to mean 'collect them Raphaels'. This was especially daft since I only ever used one Raph per play session, making each adventure into more of a monologue.

Had I only had the foresight to surround myself with a myriad of James Avery Japanese angry men (in the old country, we call him Jajam), I'd be much better off for it nowadays. Not that I would necessarily be playing with Shredder toys in 2018... I mean, sure, I might... but the major benefit would have been a much more interesting collection of knick knacks for this blog.

Guess I just couldn't resist the allure of those goddamn Turtles.