#0086: Pokemon Gashapon Figurines

After the raging success of the last entry (I asked the serial killer who occasionally visits my bedroom what he thought. He described it as being 'pretty cool', then proceeded to remove another one of my organs), I surmised that we ought to continue embracing the frenzy of Pokemania. Today, we're going much more minuscule, and for once, I'm not even dipping into my usual fallback of McDonald's-related merchandise.

These nifty Pokemon Gashapon figurines are not only tiny and adorable like a Colombian prostitute, but I think I could eat them all without even a single episode during the digestion process. Sorry, all that talk of McDonald's made me hungry.

I have had many dalliances with Gashapon machines over my thirty miserable years on this earth. Though not every toy vending machine falls under that branding, you're pretty much getting the same thing from all of them; wee little trinkets that you'll probably throw in the bin shortly thereafter, or in my case, store in a drawer at your dad's place for a decade, for reasons unknown.

One of my most vivid toy vending machine memories came when I used one that was dispensing rubber bug toys. I received something with big mandibles that resembled a stag beetle, which is fairly unspectacular by most accounts, but the main reason that I remember it is that I somehow broke the container in my feverish attempt to wrest my prize free, cutting my hand open on the jagged plastic. Think of the most gruesome death you've ever seen on The Walking Dead. It was basically that, but worse.

Fortunately, this happy trio is yet to cut me open. It consists of Turtwig, Chimchar and Piplup, the starting Pokemon from Diamond, Pearl and Platinum. For various reasons, gen 4 doesn't receive a lot of love; the victims of Pokefatigue and perhaps less ambitious than they should have been, they are still, of course, fantastic games that don't deserve a lot of the flack they catch. That kind of vitriol should be reserved for gen 7. Ho ho! Controversial.

Turtwig et al play merrily below an unspectacular tree, the ground dotted with several holes that suggest there was once some kind of apparatus to stand the figurines up. Of course, such an apparatus remains only a telltale whisper on a scandalous wind, so its veracity is dubious, at best. That there is fancy talk for I dunno where the fuck them things is at.

Don't worry, boys. We've all been there.

The figurines are unfathomably small, to the point where if you were to give them a whiff, you'd risk snorting them directly up your nostril. As such, any kind of aromatic pleasure you hope to receive from them is a fool's errand, and is best reconsidered. They have an admirable amount of detail, from Chimchar's cheeky monkey grin to Piplup's plumage. I bring attention to the latter because it has these white dot things on its chest that look all too much like nipples. Frosty penguin nipples, for all the world to enjoy. ...Did you enjoy? I thought they were okay.

What I can't help but wonder, though, is what purpose they are meant to serve. Not only are they incredibly losable (which is apparently a real adjective and that makes me very happy), but they don't really do much of note. They are more ornamental than anything else, and once you lose the pegs to actually make them stay put, as I am wanton to do, they don't even perform that task particularly well.

If you intend on flipping the script, pointing an accusatory finger my way and demanding to know why I bought them in the first place, my extravagance is already well-established. You are, after all, reading the blog of a man who bought this, these, these and this. Your words can hurt me no more than I can hurt my own bank account, so neener neener neeeeener!

I also have another Gashapon critter in my possession, but this one is even harder to explain.

Yes indeed, that there is Mr. Fancypants Darkrai, still in his original packaging and coming complete with a transparent Ash Ketchum boy toy of his very own. He comes from the Pokemon Diamond and Pearl Blockbuster line of Gashapon figures, and I can only surmise that this refers to the fact that they all had a movie about them at some point. I know for sure that that was the case with Mew, Lugia and Entei, each of whom are also included despite the fact that they have nothing to do with Diamond and/or Pearl, but the rest I'm not so sure of.

In fairness, there have been approximately 195 Pokemon movies, and most of us checked out mentally during the first one when the conflict between good and evil was resolved with tears. I was nine at the time, and as I sat there in the theatre with my dad, I couldn't help but feel ashamed by how lame that was. WHY WAS MEWTWO UPSET BY THIS DESPITE THE FACT THAT THIS WAS HIS INTENTION THE WHOLE GODDAMN TIME? BY HITTING CAPS LOCK I LOOK LIKE EVERY INTERNET COMMENTER AND WOW, IT'S A LOT MORE SATISFYING THAN I EXPECTED.

Darkrai is of a more serviceable size, but despite this utility, I kept him imprisoned like a particularly off brand version of Han Solo. And you know what, I really can't begin to tell you why. It's not like I was dismayed that I hadn't gotten Jirachi instead, choosing to cast Darkrai aside in an effort to show him that he's not pretty enough.

The mystery is so deep and complex, I think I'll keep him in there as I send him off onto his next chapter in life. Someday, someone more benevolent than I may decide to release him from his stasis, or the cycle will continue forevermore; a perpetual loop of ghastly misery.

As for Turtwig, Chimchar and Turtwig? Man, fuck those guys, they won't even stand up long enough for me to snap a decent photo. As if I care where they end up.

...Spoiler alert, I actually do kind of care, because I'm vaguely hopeful that someone really will either eat or snort them up. I don't know why I'm this way. I just am.

#0085: Charizard & Blastoise

Ahh, Pokemon. That kooky phenomenon that captivated the world for a solid two years or so. This may sound insignificant in the vast enormity of pop culture history (and even more so if you extrapolate that figure to the dawn of mankind), but that is, in actuality, an incredibly long run for what some might deem a 'fad'.

To be fair, Pokemon has more merit than the curios of yesteryear like Beanie Babies and Pogs, by virtue of the fact that it was built on the foundation of a video game that was actually incredibly good (albeit hugely flawed, if you're willing to incur the wrath of stubborn genwunners who have had their fingers in their ears for the last two decades), and as such, it has enjoyed great success to this day.

But damn, to be a kid at the turn of the millennium when it was at its peak, it was something else, man. And other than everyone's third favourite rat Pikachu (behind only Mickey Mouse and Donald Trump), this formidable duo was at the forefront of the whole thing.

Odds are, you have fond associations with your very first Pokemon, particularly their evolved forms, Charizard and Blastoise.

...Unless you were smart enough to choose Venusaur, that is. But hey, we can't all be luminaries.

By the time we had reached 2006, Pokemania was little more than a collection of shrapnel scattered on the floor, threatening to be carried away by a strong Gust (it's super effective!) But I was still hooked. I am still hooked, obviously. I'm little more than a petulant man child who happens to be wearing a Litten hoodie at this very moment. And no, you can't have a photo.

So it was an inevitability when Jess and I arrived at McDonald's that Saturday evening in September that I would be walking out there the proud(?) owner of a figurine made for children. To give you the full scope of the situation, here's a blog entry I made the day after...

Our order was prompt; twenty chicken McNuggets, a quarter pounder and a Big Mac. ...Hmm, sounded more impressive at the time. And I lie, it was not prompt; I hesitated in my decision to go with the Big Mac. Foreshame, Tony.

Possessing the sustenance, I peered up at the menu above. I keenly noted that they were still hawking their cheesy Happy Meal wares, and today's selection would be of the Pokemon variety. Ho-hum, how tacky, how 1997, how childish, how droll... OH MY GOD THEY HAD CHARIZARD.

I will now admit, I get all giddy at the very mention of Charizard, simply because he's a massive angry dragon whose tail is on fire. He's everything I ever dreamed to be, and though in actuality he ranks like thirteenth or fourteenth on my list of Poke-preference (the upper echelons reserved for such legendary beasts of valour as Venusaur and Dragonite. Those are the money-mon), he was always meant to be the most utmost cool Pokemon. I mean, seriously, his trading card game card cost like $100. That's one expensive lizard.

I had previously expressed my Charizard-fancy to Jessica (probably as an off-handed remark; 'Yes I'd like a coffee, and some scrambled eggs, OH MY GOD CHARIZARD RAWR'), and she could no doubt see the intensity in my eyes.

She quickly asked how much the toy would cost on its own, and I was taken aback. Sixty years from now, though there shall be a special place in my heart for my graduation day, wedding day, and the inevitable day I win the Superbowl, they will all bow down to the day when Jessica would buy me a Charizard. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the true mark of saintliness. ...After all, it's not like I was gonna ask for the friggin' thing, I look like a twenty-six year old stoner, don't need to act like one too.

I merrily watched on with anticipation as the McEmployee sifted through her box of mystery for the Char Czar. She came back empty-handed, expressing that there were none available.

WHAAAAAAAAT?? The sign clearly stated, AVAILABLE NOW. Had NOW expired in the duration of the last couple seconds? Was the Charizard on display in the case next to me mocking me at that very moment? I should have staged a McMutiny. I should have sent HER to St. Louis!!

She did however mention that for $2 I could have a substitute Blastoise. Jessica asked if I wanted that one, and, save for the fact that I felt like a seven-year-old who was just denied his favourite toy, I couldn't help but pity the poor Blastoise.

He's no fire-brandishing dragon, nosirree, he's a turtle with water cannons. He's like the G-rated Charizard. The Diet Coke of Charizards. What Charizard would be if he was a sissy. Whereas Charizard sits at a mighty 18 on my Poke-list, Blastoise probably occupies a conservative 35. I was still gonna get the Blastoise, oh hell yeah, but I was gonna sulk all the same. Additionally, keep in mind that the previous couple paragraphs all happened within the span of a couple seconds, which suggests that I really do ramble on.

Funny how times have changed. Charizard later took a tumble down the power rankings, fuelled by my bitterness that it got such adulation where others would be forgotten. But enough about that. What of the toys themselves?

They're both pretty damn cool. Quality figures, with their own little quirks and hidden abilities. Charizard's tail lights up with the fury of a thousand suns (or at very least, an alkaline battery or two), and if you press a button on its back, its wings wiggle. Barely. When I unearthed it from the drawer, it was doing its best Sephiroth impression by being a one-winged angel, and even after I had tracked down the missing appendage, its movement is particularly unmoving. It may have to take these broken wings and learn to fly again, learn to live so free.

Blastoise don't mess around, on the other hand. It's a wind-up toy, and boy howdy does it go like the clackers. Its hydro cannons poke up and down as it powers along, and its arms are outstretched in the ultimate display of aggression. Plus, it just has this look of genuine unhappiness on its face that I can only assume comes from having been dismissed as my 35th favourite Pokemon twelve years ago.

Which one is the truly superior toy? Well, there's only one way to find out...

In hindsight, there was probably a more academic way to solve that.

#0084: The Littlest Pet Shop

Rub your eyelids furiously, kick off the dust, and shoot some heroin into your veins - because we're back, baby!! I can't be held responsible for any enjoyment you may get from this blog entry, nor from any drugs you took on an ill-advised whim. Side note: I always found it funny that heroin and heroine sound so similar. Side side note: I mean, I didn't always find it funny, obviously. It's not like I was an infant in the crib giggling to myself about heroin. At least, I don't think I was. It was a long time ago, after all.

What? Blog? Oh yes.

So 2016 was a year of grim absence - only one blog post to its name, and it wasn't even a proper toy-related entry: instead, it was a way of showing off my amiibo collection! More the pity, no wonder a spambot added a comment linking to a variety of illicit websites. The punishment should fit the crime, and in my case, my punishment was a computer virus and an eyeful of dong.

What of this year, though? What opportunities has it afforded me? Well, I've started writing for a quirky pop culture website known as Nerds4LifeBlog (cheap plug), and I've even gotten some stuff published on Fox Sports, too. It's tucked away in a quiet little corner of the site, but you know what? It's there. It's mine. It's exciting.

But enough about that! Considering I'm the only one who really looks at this blog, this is reading more like a diary entry than anything else (next I want to talk about Charlie Fitzpatrick from chemistry class - he's dreaaaaamy). Fuckers aren't here for exposition. They're here for exhibition. Of toys. And who did I decide would make the perfect hosts for this return? Why, it's the Littlest Pet Shop, that's who!

Before you start pointing digital fingers at me like a surly group of naysayers, I assure you that these were my sister's toys. I was into more masculine things like Ninja Turtles and Sonic the Hedgehog and Murder, She Wrote. I was able to convince my sister that it was time to free these sad animals from the garage, and unleash them on the world. It'll either be a wonderful experience, or they'll spread the deadly T-Virus. Fingers crossed its the latter, I'm sick of this shit already.

The basic concept of TLPS (oh god, that's a horrible acronym) is that you buy a variety of cute little animals in lovely enclosures. As you can see from the header photo, complete with terrible lighting and questionable feng shui, critters range from kitties to puppies to goddamn swans, making me assume that this pet shop has some particularly loose morals. For ninety bucks, they'll give you a puppy! For two hundred, they'll kill a man.

It should come as no surprise, that several of the animal population and their homes are now missing, an eerie form of genocide that my government still hasn't recognised officially. Now there's just a bed, a lonely, empty house, some poop litter and a basket that may or may not actually be part of this collection. It's sad, but not nearly as sad as the former residents of this once great (and yet somehow decidedly little) pet shop. There's fluffy tailed furries and clawing critters that no longer have the scratching posts they once possessed. So now, they look more like they just want to strangle you.

Some of them are actually miniature figurines that came as part of a little playset, suggesting that the aforementioned pet shop was not in fact the littlest, a misnomer that perhaps led to the company's demise.

Here we see little Abigail resting in her cot, watching idly as her bunny friend Amber hops along the rolling fields of grey. Amber's younger sister Wendy observes cautiously from a nearby tree, while Bruce and Betty spin merrily about for hours on end. The evil pink starfish watches unseen from above, because every tale needs a villain, and more importantly, I forgot to include it in the group picture.

My favourites? I'm so glad you asked. There's the fluffy Yorkshire terrier that has long flowing hair that can be pulled from behind to make it into a long flowing tail - just like a real doggie! Then there's the large grey cat with its mouth agape that is perpetually crawling along the floor like some sort of struggling alcoholic. And not to be left out, there's a pair of mice that used to be part of a cute little enclosure. Only the bottom part of this feature remains, a delightful maze in which to test your wits. One of the mice has a magnet in its butt like some sort of test subject, you see. Originally, you would place a magnet on the other side of the plastic, and have it navigate the maze to collect the many pieces of cheese haphazardly stuck to the floor. It has no access to this magnet now, so it can only sit there at the starting line in misery. It could be worse, though - the other mouse doesn't even seem to have a face at all.

The series has continued to this day, relaunched in the mid-2000s with a new art direction that chiefly consisted of REALLY BIG EYES. Like, seriously, those things won't just stare into your soul, they'll look right through it and perv on your wife's soul before you even realise what's going on. Call me a purist (go on, I fucking dare you), but I prefer the more understated appearance of the original series. Especially the drunk cat - seriously, that chick is awesome.

Odds are, as the years go by and I continue to unearth more items from dad's garage, I'll end up finding more and more of these fun friends, so doubtlessly you can look forward to those being arbitrarily shoehorned into other entries when I can't be bothered to make a follow-up post.

For now, though - there's something more exciting to prepare for... A FROG JUMPING CONTEST. That's right, just like we used to do in the old country. Join on in, it'll be a hoot! Or at least, a warble.

Addiction renewed, part 1

So what happens, you may be asking, when a blog dedicated to clearing space and moving on in life comes to a stall?

...Addiction sets back in, of course. And because I've arbitrarily made the commitment to never get rid of any toys unless they're in the guise of this blog, there's only things coming into my possession, when it's supposed to be the other way around.

But hey... I hope you enjoy my amiibos!! I certainly do. I wonder if they're the only item that's rapidly multiplying? Stay tuned...

Team X-Stream

So it's been a few months now, and no doubt the lack of updates have given y'all reason to believe that I have, in fact, fallen into a bear trap of unfathomable size, been accosted by deadly wasps with laser eyes, and then combusted into a million pieces, each of which was then eaten by camoflagued wolves. It's the only logical explanation, after all.

The good news is that it's only the half truth. I'm doing fine, and will possibly begin toy blogging in a few months. Got that wedding to save for, after all. Should you miss your quarterly intake of Tony, however, you may be excited to know that I've taken up streaming and Let's Play-ing (awkward verb is awkward).

Check me out on Twitch if you're so inclined, or head on over to my YouTube channel to see gaming excerpts of all shapes and sizes. You might like it!

...I mean, you might hate it, too, but that's a risk I'm willing to take to hawk my shoddy wares.

My shitty year gets shittier

If it's not apparent in the written form, please take a moment to re-read the title of this blog entry aloud and appreciate its marvellousness. I muttered it to myself a fair few times in about twelve different ways of phrasing it in order to best make it sound clever.

Anyhow. 2015 has been a grind for me, and it seems as though things are getting worse (perhaps as punishment for my lack of blogging?) The rigours and pressures of adult life I alluded to in October of last year have continued to mount - iffin' you're curious, I'm saving up for a wedding at the end of this year, which has completely stripped my lifestyle down to the essentials (read: booze), which was going fine until a few weeks ago, when the unthinkable happened.

While we were out celebrating my fiancée's birthday, someone broke into our apartment and burgled us.

I won't go into much detail because a) I watch too much TV and have convinced myself that it could 'jeopardise the police investigation', b) they stole my laptop and could possibly have access to this blog (in which case I hope they at least make some cool toy-related posts), and c) I reserve the right to track them down and cave their fucking head in, and the less evidence I leave of mens rea, the shorter my jail sentence.

The treachery and hollowness I felt in the apartment afterwards was horrifying: not only did they nab a whole slew of stuff, but there are other things they had picked up and put back into different places. Our home became a veritable buffet: take whatever you like, and feel free to jettison anything you decide isn't worth it. Similar to Eddie Izzard's take on growing bored of your shopping, and starting over again.

The first reason I came to discuss it on this blog is because I initially thought they had swiped my New 3DS, but later found it had been put into a drawer. Which is a huge relief insomuch as insignificant things like my 12 years' worth of Pokémon and the small, fragile animal community of Wiggins are intact (lord knows those fuckers aren't going to pluck those weeds without me), but a perverse reminder that someone invaded my living space, picked up my 3DS for long enough to carry it up the stairs and into a different room, and then decided to leave it behind.

Why do that? If you're going to turf some stolen goods, why would you leave it behind and risk fingerprints and other potential pitfalls (hidden Animal Crossing reference)? Perhaps they were overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choice at their disposal, because my old 3DS and even the original DS had also been moved to another location. It's like, 'shit, this is too much DS for me - let's bail'. Good thing I never bought a DSi, or else they may have well and truly lost their shit. While in the process of taking my shit.

The only things that were taken were items of quantifiable cash value, so all of my little toys and whatnot are still here, including ones I have not yet blogged about. Note to anyone concerned, apparently Gumby figurines are not worth stealing.

As an aside, in our fury and misery, we've done a massive clean out and cleared out some things that have been sitting around for years. Among these was a bag of toys I had prepared for the opp shop. I dropped it off at long last, then headed off to do some other errands. Afterwards, it had occurred to me how some things had been moved to strange places during the burglary, and I hadn't checked the bag to see if anything valuable had ended up in there. So I returned to the opp shop, and there before me, they had laid out the donated toys in a little basket.

The very nature of this blog is derived from some deep-seated issues I have with relinquishing material possessions (as you can appreciate, this made the burglary even harder for me to handle), so having seen the toys laid out, ready for sale, really tugged at my heartstrings in an unexpected way. Prior donated toys have either ended up in the possession of family members and/or my fiancée's classroom, or I have donated them somewhere - and never looked back. Today was the first time I saw the results. It was weird. Much less weird than being fucking burgled, but weird all the same.

Anyhow, that's where I'm at. As I rebuild my psyche and my life in general, I'm likely to return to the queer hobby of toy... describing, which at its base level, is what this blog is about. In the meantime, I'm going to put together some kind of lawsuit against Tonka, because my Pooch Patrol dog didn't do shit to stop this from happening. Fucking hell Sarge, you had twenty-five years to prepare for this!!

#0083: Sauron & Talon

Despite what archaeologists may tell you, the 90s were truly when dinosaurs were king. Because of Jurassic Park, everyone was dinosaur crazy, and as a token 90s kid, I can attest to that: I loved velociraptors a whoooole bunch. I became a fan of the Toronto Raptors back in their inauguration not due to any national pride, but simply because of their mascot.

So it should have come as a surprise to nobody when somebody decided to combine children’s affinity for dinosaurs with children’s affinity for maiming and slaughtering our enemies. The result was 1994’s Primal Rage: a fighting game where you took control of various beasts in an effort to conquer a post-apocalyptic world for some fairly mundane reasons. The cobra-like hissing dinosaur intended to build an insane, multidimensional temple. The wicked red tyrannosaur Diablo hoped to plunge the world into fiery destruction for shits and giggles. The virtuous yellow tyrannosaur Sauron, on the other hand, wanted only to eat everything and everyone. I can relate to that.

I was never very good at the game, so my defeat at the end of each round was inevitable, represented by the heart next to your health meter exploding, and the brain next to your stun meter melting. That always sucked ass. I kinda liked to think my guy would just fight on despite his combusted heart, but alas, he collapsed in a heap, dead. On the plus side, it wasn’t in vain, as Sauron would then proceed to feast upon my corpse. Seriously, the fucker ate everything.

So although Primal Rage action figures weren't especially appropriate, they were fairly inevitable. And I guess, had you not known the source material, you could just be led to believe that they were innocuous dinosaur toys. Unless of course you looked at the character description for Chaos, the shaman who had been transformed into a repugnant ape-beast, who featured a projectile called ‘Power Puke’, and a fatality of acidic pee. Then you could start piecing some (in)appropriations together.

Here’s the two I owned; my favourite for obvious reasons, Talon the deinonychosauria (aka a raptor yayyyy), and Sauron the aforementioned tyrannosaurus who no doubt intends to eat me.

In a vacuum, they're pretty faithful representations of the source material, but I can't help but wish they had been ballsy enough to stay true to the proper scale of the respective dinosaurs. As you can see, Talon stands toe to toe with Sauron, despite his in-game sprite obviously being a fair bit smaller. Overall, I feel as though Talon could stand to be a bit more lithe; he's obviously been hitting the gym for his action figure release.

Sauron I have no specific beef with. He could probably stand to look a little scarier, but I'm really being picky here (mostly as a way of padding out this blog post if we're being honest). The moulding and paint job on both figures is absolutely wonderful. Feeling Sauron's scaly hide is a pleasure to the fingers, one might boldly declare. Their tails are detachable for packaging purposes, but should you be a big fan of storylines revolving primarily around docking, your needs can also be met. Actually, I shudder to think what kind of Primal Rage fanfiction is out there. It's a good thing dinosaurs can't use the Internet.

As is the norm, they feature unique actions that are hardly groundbreaking. Pressing down on Sauron's arm opens his mouth, the perfect opportunity for him to devour or roar or sing vigorously. Lifting Talon's... well, his talons... allows them to snap back down in a fierce slashing gesture. It's not really that compelling, and you could argue it looks more like he's just slapping his knees after hearing a particularly funny joke.

What is far more superfluous however, are their accessories. They each came with a little follower: wee little humans who worship the dinosaurs, dashing about and cheering them on during each fight. Alas, the followers here are tiny things of only a singular colour, and that colour, no matter which dinosaur you buy, will always be orange. The apocalypse has been sponsored by Nickelodeon, I guess. Stick Stickly to narrate the death matches?

But the rest of the knick knacks make kno sense. Sauron can be fitted with metallic shoes and a mouthpiece that resemble a muzzle, while Talon receives bright red claws for his hands and boots that look more like slippers. Talon, bro, this is a fucking battle for world domination, don't come dressed for bedtime.

Overall, they get the job done. The series would take a curious turn when they decided that the dinosaurs should be able to transform into human avatars who are inexplicably still the size of enormous beasts. The cancellation of the sequel wasn't enough to put a fork in this idea, as a novel was written. With this one fell swoop, the storyline changed from 'meteor hits the planet and giant dinosaurs come to party' to 'space egg hits the planet and gods assign humans as their familiar to duel with the evil skeletal dragon Necrosan in order to save the world'. Safe to say they didn't just jump the shark with that one, they downright rocketed into space over a bevy of flying sharks. In fact, that in a literal sense would have been a better storyline, methinks.

I say this often enough, my friends, and I shall say it again. Don't fix what ain't broke. We don't want humans in Primal Rage, in the same way we don't want a family-friendly Mortal Kombat. When a game has a certain M.O., and you make a move to completely shift that theme, it isolates the fans.

It's a moot point, since this franchise is now as extinct as the very dinosaurs it was based upon, but should it resurface, I truly hope it's back to the basics. The wars... the wars... of dinosaurs!! Leave your humans at home.