It's likely that you, as a child, loved toys as much as I did. Some of those toys I cherish to this day, like my original Star Wars figure collection, which I proudly display in my living room. Some toys I grew out of - cool though they were - like my enormous Playmobil train set. Some collections of mine simply vanished over time, like the bulk of my GI Joes. But not all toys were wonderful. Some toys were so monumentally ill conceived, so arbitrary or totally retarded that they deserved to be forgotten- forever and by everybody. Some toys deserved to be buried or incinerated because they just plain suck ass.
Those toys are as follows (scroll down for the new ones):
Those toys are as follows (scroll down for the new ones):
Item #1- The Ewok Battle Wagon
Primarily, I blame George Lucas for the creation of the Ewoks: The world's WORST science fiction protagonists. I don't know what happened there; was ol' George pressured by his daughter to make race of 'snuggle-able' characters and put them into his classic trilogy?
I don't know. And it really doesn't matter.
I do know that the Ewoks were, unfortunately, in Return of the Jedi and there's nothing I can do to change that. I just have to hum the 'Yub-Yub Song' and smile while I play with my AT-ST Imperial Walker and use its giant, metal feet to squash the little fur-balls into bloody piles of hair, teeth and love, knowing that legions of other ex-children from my generation are probably doing the same.
So, it's one thing to include the Ewoks in the movie. It's another thing to make them into toys. Did we REALLY need to invent fictional vehicles for the Ewoks, though? I mean, what was the point of this? The Ewoks had spears and rocks and shit (oh, and a hang-glider- wow). Was this an attempt to make the Ewoks cooler and more battle ready? Was this an effort to make the Ewoks less the suitable cannon-fodder that they should so rightfully, always be?
Shudder to think.
Yes, I have one.
Primarily, I blame George Lucas for the creation of the Ewoks: The world's WORST science fiction protagonists. I don't know what happened there; was ol' George pressured by his daughter to make race of 'snuggle-able' characters and put them into his classic trilogy?
I don't know. And it really doesn't matter.
I do know that the Ewoks were, unfortunately, in Return of the Jedi and there's nothing I can do to change that. I just have to hum the 'Yub-Yub Song' and smile while I play with my AT-ST Imperial Walker and use its giant, metal feet to squash the little fur-balls into bloody piles of hair, teeth and love, knowing that legions of other ex-children from my generation are probably doing the same.
So, it's one thing to include the Ewoks in the movie. It's another thing to make them into toys. Did we REALLY need to invent fictional vehicles for the Ewoks, though? I mean, what was the point of this? The Ewoks had spears and rocks and shit (oh, and a hang-glider- wow). Was this an attempt to make the Ewoks cooler and more battle ready? Was this an effort to make the Ewoks less the suitable cannon-fodder that they should so rightfully, always be?
Shudder to think.
Yes, I have one.
Item #2- The Topps Sportstalk Player
I never got into baseball cards. Yeah, I had about a shoe-box full of them but the same box had some football and basketball cards contained in it as well. There was no consistency. This isn't to say that I have anything specifically against sports cards; I'm just not really a huge fan of sports in general. I'm into comics. Maybe you're into baseball cards; whatever.
Those who swim in Lake Dork should not cast stones.
Surprisingly, I had a Topps Sportstalk Player; I'm not sure why. Probably because I was the toy-collecting equivalent of a raging drug addict. You name it and I would have tried it. Upon examination, I noted that the device was a small, plastic record player that played a small, vinyl album, which was glued onto the back of an over-sized baseball card. The speaker on the device would announce player statistics or trivia about the player featured on said card. And the collector was supposed to sit there in silent amazement at the wonders of (what was fundamentally about 100 year old) technology.
What makes the Sportstalk Player special- or not special in any way, shape or form- is that it wasn't such a bad idea; in fact, it was completely ahead of its time. In the age of Ipods, such a device is completely rational. In the age where Oregon Trail was the hottest video game on the PC, not so much.
I'm pretty sure that what you're currently reading represents the most time or thought anybody ever put into the design, manufacture or use of this toy- as it's about as fun and interesting as an empty box of Polaroid film that's laying on the floor of a porn set- with the possible exception of some asshole trying to sell his on Ebay for like ten bucks. People slay me. It's totally worth eating the ten bucks to contribute to the collective coolness of society by throwing the Sportstalk Player out of your car window when driving to the Florida Keys.
I am quite interested in meeting the type of person who would actually buy one of these... and smacking him.
I never got into baseball cards. Yeah, I had about a shoe-box full of them but the same box had some football and basketball cards contained in it as well. There was no consistency. This isn't to say that I have anything specifically against sports cards; I'm just not really a huge fan of sports in general. I'm into comics. Maybe you're into baseball cards; whatever.
Those who swim in Lake Dork should not cast stones.
Surprisingly, I had a Topps Sportstalk Player; I'm not sure why. Probably because I was the toy-collecting equivalent of a raging drug addict. You name it and I would have tried it. Upon examination, I noted that the device was a small, plastic record player that played a small, vinyl album, which was glued onto the back of an over-sized baseball card. The speaker on the device would announce player statistics or trivia about the player featured on said card. And the collector was supposed to sit there in silent amazement at the wonders of (what was fundamentally about 100 year old) technology.
What makes the Sportstalk Player special- or not special in any way, shape or form- is that it wasn't such a bad idea; in fact, it was completely ahead of its time. In the age of Ipods, such a device is completely rational. In the age where Oregon Trail was the hottest video game on the PC, not so much.
I'm pretty sure that what you're currently reading represents the most time or thought anybody ever put into the design, manufacture or use of this toy- as it's about as fun and interesting as an empty box of Polaroid film that's laying on the floor of a porn set- with the possible exception of some asshole trying to sell his on Ebay for like ten bucks. People slay me. It's totally worth eating the ten bucks to contribute to the collective coolness of society by throwing the Sportstalk Player out of your car window when driving to the Florida Keys.
I am quite interested in meeting the type of person who would actually buy one of these... and smacking him.
Item #3- Pedal Cars
If ever there was a crueler joke to play on a child I cannot think of what it is. I don't know who invented these but I can imagine that they were only slightly cool when they were invented, on or about 1890. Today, I can only speculate as to how these infernal contraptions remain in mass-production. I mean, who exactly is this product made for? And who would buy one of these for their kid? Furthermore, how do you advertise a toy like this? Lucky for the schmucks who still produce these retarded diversions, I have some ideas.
Campaign A... The pedal car: inefficiency in human powered travel at its best. Parent, are you tired of having an overweight child? Is your child more or less allergic to exercise and living on a steady diet of Cheetos and Pizza Hut? Do you find yourself contemplating physical abuse in a last-ditch effort to get your child's heart rate up? Are you searching for a way to trick your child into physical activity in order to make sure he or she has a fleeting chance of succeeding with the opposite sex later in life? Well look no further! Introducing, the pedal car: a really heavy cycle-driven device that appears to be a miniature Formula One race car but actually weighs the same as a full sized one. And if you're sick of looking at lil' fatty, just point him or her down hill because there aren't any brakes!
Campaign B... The pedal car: because that ungrateful little bastard doesn't actually deserve Power Wheels. Parent; is your child a spoiled little tool? Is your kid the kind of demon spawn that you often contemplate killing in an effort to reduce the foreseeable damage he or she will inflict upon the peoples of earth if he or she obtains even a modest position of power. Well, look no further! There simply is no better way of saying: "Listen you little shit; you'd better shape up or ship your ass out if you ever want to see what the future looks like. From here on out it's all shitty, cruel toys like this barring some radical personality change. So get used to it, fucko," than with a pedal car. So buy one today!
Campaign C... The pedal car: because mommy wants you to be a fruit when you grow up to get back at daddy for fucking the babysitter on the floor in front of the Christmas tree last week while mommy was shopping for presents.
Self explanatory.
If ever there was a crueler joke to play on a child I cannot think of what it is. I don't know who invented these but I can imagine that they were only slightly cool when they were invented, on or about 1890. Today, I can only speculate as to how these infernal contraptions remain in mass-production. I mean, who exactly is this product made for? And who would buy one of these for their kid? Furthermore, how do you advertise a toy like this? Lucky for the schmucks who still produce these retarded diversions, I have some ideas.
Campaign A... The pedal car: inefficiency in human powered travel at its best. Parent, are you tired of having an overweight child? Is your child more or less allergic to exercise and living on a steady diet of Cheetos and Pizza Hut? Do you find yourself contemplating physical abuse in a last-ditch effort to get your child's heart rate up? Are you searching for a way to trick your child into physical activity in order to make sure he or she has a fleeting chance of succeeding with the opposite sex later in life? Well look no further! Introducing, the pedal car: a really heavy cycle-driven device that appears to be a miniature Formula One race car but actually weighs the same as a full sized one. And if you're sick of looking at lil' fatty, just point him or her down hill because there aren't any brakes!
Campaign B... The pedal car: because that ungrateful little bastard doesn't actually deserve Power Wheels. Parent; is your child a spoiled little tool? Is your kid the kind of demon spawn that you often contemplate killing in an effort to reduce the foreseeable damage he or she will inflict upon the peoples of earth if he or she obtains even a modest position of power. Well, look no further! There simply is no better way of saying: "Listen you little shit; you'd better shape up or ship your ass out if you ever want to see what the future looks like. From here on out it's all shitty, cruel toys like this barring some radical personality change. So get used to it, fucko," than with a pedal car. So buy one today!
Campaign C... The pedal car: because mommy wants you to be a fruit when you grow up to get back at daddy for fucking the babysitter on the floor in front of the Christmas tree last week while mommy was shopping for presents.
Self explanatory.
Item #4- He Man
I'm not nearly a big enough narcissist to think that I'm the only guy with a website to submit to his readers that He Man toys were really, really 'unique.' And let's delve deeper into this concept: the guy had huge, rippling pectoral muscles, biceps and quads and his abs had more bumps than the skin of a giant, swollen raspberry... only white. In his teens, He Man wore little man-panties, which were made of fur and a leather harness across his chest.
Are you with me so far on this? Do you get where I'm going with the prevailing theme? No? Okay, well, I'll just continue then.
He Man sported a silky, 'page boy' haircut and carried a huge, phallic sword. To top it all off, He Man rode around his little kingdom (his teenage alter-ego was that of a prince of some sort) on a giant tiger, complete with rawhide saddle. He Man's arch rival, Skeletor, had a demon mask- much like the kind one would find on the faces of tanned, oiled, shirtless men during the Brazilian festival of Carnival- and a bulging codpiece.
Get my drift now? Still no, eh? Right-oh...
In his early twenties, He Man began listening to frantic, pounding techno and the soundtracks to Bette Midler movies. On his weekends, He Man used to do a bunch of ecstasy and dance for days on end, usually ending on Sunday afternoon wherein he generally went home and slept with the first similarly dressed individual that he could find. Towards the high point of his 'party days,' He Man got into a terrible GHB-related car accident and suffered major brain damage. After that, sources close to He Man reported that he "completely changed and totally went off the deep end with the whole drugs and sex thing."
He Man began patronizing various seedy bath-houses and, in one such location, was widely known as a "complete slut" who "always rode bareback." Reportedly, He Man would rub, suck or hump practically anyone that crawled into the sauna with him, provided they were willing to wear a damp facsimile of Skeletor's mask. As the years progressed, He Man lost interest in the bath house scene - which worked to his advantage as he was barred from most of them for 'inappropriate conduct' - and grew more and more involved in dark, deviant sexual practices. He Man developed a sexual alter ego, who was named "Ass: The Ripper," and he was not un-proud to proclaim his ability to simultaneously inject cocaine into his penis and fellate a transvestite hooker while enslaved, underage Cambodian boys - with similar haircuts as he - tickled his balls from behind with dead rabbits.
In his late thirties, He Man got arrested for soliciting an undercover detective to urinate on his face in a public restroom, somewhere near Griffith Park in Los Angeles. Just after pleading "not guilty" and being released from the county jail, sources close to He Man stated that he announced his plan to "smoke an entire fucking eight ball" of angel dust, and masturbate on the front steps of a Catholic church "until my fucking dick falls off, man." He added, "Im going out in a blaze of glory man, yeah!!! Hey, can I get another hit off the nitrous tank?"
Of course, minutes into the act's execution, He Man was, again, arrested.
As the new offense had been committed while out on bail, He Man was given a harsh sentence: ordered to register as a sex offender and attend a rehab facility for his various addictions, which he promptly absconded from. While on the lam, He Man first wound up making underground 'German-style' pornography and then, as his horrific methamphetamine addiction progressed, working as a prostitute who specialized in 'Cleveland Steamers' and 'Hot Lunches.' (Both of these practices involve poop.) Of course, the combination of reckless, disgusting, degrading sex and intravenous drug use rapidly took its toll and He Man developed one of the first known cases of necrotizing fasciitis- the heavily scarring and (almost always) fatal flesh eating bacteria. After several months in the hospital, and a number of surgeries, He Man squeaked by with his life. Upon his discharge, He Man vowed to never go back to his life of sex crimes and drug use... but not before strangling your beloved family dog (you know, the one you had as a kid and loved to frolic in the discarded wrapping of your Christmas presents) and eating its heart in the middle of a bustling kindergarten class - for children with Asperger's Disorder. The same month, He Man authored a book claiming the holocaust was "not such a bad thing," and bombed a black Baptist church.
He Man then ran for the United States Senate and won. He is expected to make a presidential bid in 2008.
So you can see: He Man toys are really not all that fun.
I'm not nearly a big enough narcissist to think that I'm the only guy with a website to submit to his readers that He Man toys were really, really 'unique.' And let's delve deeper into this concept: the guy had huge, rippling pectoral muscles, biceps and quads and his abs had more bumps than the skin of a giant, swollen raspberry... only white. In his teens, He Man wore little man-panties, which were made of fur and a leather harness across his chest.
Are you with me so far on this? Do you get where I'm going with the prevailing theme? No? Okay, well, I'll just continue then.
He Man sported a silky, 'page boy' haircut and carried a huge, phallic sword. To top it all off, He Man rode around his little kingdom (his teenage alter-ego was that of a prince of some sort) on a giant tiger, complete with rawhide saddle. He Man's arch rival, Skeletor, had a demon mask- much like the kind one would find on the faces of tanned, oiled, shirtless men during the Brazilian festival of Carnival- and a bulging codpiece.
Get my drift now? Still no, eh? Right-oh...
In his early twenties, He Man began listening to frantic, pounding techno and the soundtracks to Bette Midler movies. On his weekends, He Man used to do a bunch of ecstasy and dance for days on end, usually ending on Sunday afternoon wherein he generally went home and slept with the first similarly dressed individual that he could find. Towards the high point of his 'party days,' He Man got into a terrible GHB-related car accident and suffered major brain damage. After that, sources close to He Man reported that he "completely changed and totally went off the deep end with the whole drugs and sex thing."
He Man began patronizing various seedy bath-houses and, in one such location, was widely known as a "complete slut" who "always rode bareback." Reportedly, He Man would rub, suck or hump practically anyone that crawled into the sauna with him, provided they were willing to wear a damp facsimile of Skeletor's mask. As the years progressed, He Man lost interest in the bath house scene - which worked to his advantage as he was barred from most of them for 'inappropriate conduct' - and grew more and more involved in dark, deviant sexual practices. He Man developed a sexual alter ego, who was named "Ass: The Ripper," and he was not un-proud to proclaim his ability to simultaneously inject cocaine into his penis and fellate a transvestite hooker while enslaved, underage Cambodian boys - with similar haircuts as he - tickled his balls from behind with dead rabbits.
In his late thirties, He Man got arrested for soliciting an undercover detective to urinate on his face in a public restroom, somewhere near Griffith Park in Los Angeles. Just after pleading "not guilty" and being released from the county jail, sources close to He Man stated that he announced his plan to "smoke an entire fucking eight ball" of angel dust, and masturbate on the front steps of a Catholic church "until my fucking dick falls off, man." He added, "Im going out in a blaze of glory man, yeah!!! Hey, can I get another hit off the nitrous tank?"
Of course, minutes into the act's execution, He Man was, again, arrested.
As the new offense had been committed while out on bail, He Man was given a harsh sentence: ordered to register as a sex offender and attend a rehab facility for his various addictions, which he promptly absconded from. While on the lam, He Man first wound up making underground 'German-style' pornography and then, as his horrific methamphetamine addiction progressed, working as a prostitute who specialized in 'Cleveland Steamers' and 'Hot Lunches.' (Both of these practices involve poop.) Of course, the combination of reckless, disgusting, degrading sex and intravenous drug use rapidly took its toll and He Man developed one of the first known cases of necrotizing fasciitis- the heavily scarring and (almost always) fatal flesh eating bacteria. After several months in the hospital, and a number of surgeries, He Man squeaked by with his life. Upon his discharge, He Man vowed to never go back to his life of sex crimes and drug use... but not before strangling your beloved family dog (you know, the one you had as a kid and loved to frolic in the discarded wrapping of your Christmas presents) and eating its heart in the middle of a bustling kindergarten class - for children with Asperger's Disorder. The same month, He Man authored a book claiming the holocaust was "not such a bad thing," and bombed a black Baptist church.
He Man then ran for the United States Senate and won. He is expected to make a presidential bid in 2008.
So you can see: He Man toys are really not all that fun.
Item #5- Lite-Brite
Ah... Lite-Brite: a square or flat piece of plastic coated in black paper, which one puts little dull pins into. The pins are of various colors. There's a lighting element on the other side. When you put the pins in, they glow. There are instructions included to help you make a clown face, or a duck... your call. Only fun if you turn the lights off.
Weak.
There's really not much more to be said about these little pieces of plastic garbage. Some special education teacher must have made one of these once with a box, a candle, some glue and a few marbles, then had one of those cartoon moments wherein a light bulb suddenly illuminated overhead, eureka! One product-pitch later, and somehow, despite all odds, the Lite-Brite - the spelling of which I won't even get into... okay, I will; it's retarded - legions of non-mongoloid children continue to be disappointed during Bar Mitzvahs, birthdays, and the major gift-giving holidays of our various cultures and religions.
And trust me on this: Lite-Brite is really THAT boring. I used to have one when I was a kid and couldn't even produce good-enough violent images or any mock-ups of human reproductive organs to glean any bit of enjoyment from it.
But, none-the-less, your child probably has one, because you did as a child and forgot how lame it was. That's what parents do: they do their best to romanticize every single aspect of their youths to escape the dreariness of human existence. In furtherance of this, they give their children all the same stuff that they had as children. That, and they get drunk after the kids go to bed. Maybe they then have a little cyber sex, or watch a little porn, and to try to remember what it was like to feel anything but overwhelming, soul-crushing hopelessness. Perhaps, said parents even play a few games on Junior's XBOX, attempting to escape into one single, fleeting moment of selfish joy.
Know what they don't do?
They don't play with the Lite-Brite. That crap stays in the closet where it belongs.
Ah... Lite-Brite: a square or flat piece of plastic coated in black paper, which one puts little dull pins into. The pins are of various colors. There's a lighting element on the other side. When you put the pins in, they glow. There are instructions included to help you make a clown face, or a duck... your call. Only fun if you turn the lights off.
Weak.
There's really not much more to be said about these little pieces of plastic garbage. Some special education teacher must have made one of these once with a box, a candle, some glue and a few marbles, then had one of those cartoon moments wherein a light bulb suddenly illuminated overhead, eureka! One product-pitch later, and somehow, despite all odds, the Lite-Brite - the spelling of which I won't even get into... okay, I will; it's retarded - legions of non-mongoloid children continue to be disappointed during Bar Mitzvahs, birthdays, and the major gift-giving holidays of our various cultures and religions.
And trust me on this: Lite-Brite is really THAT boring. I used to have one when I was a kid and couldn't even produce good-enough violent images or any mock-ups of human reproductive organs to glean any bit of enjoyment from it.
But, none-the-less, your child probably has one, because you did as a child and forgot how lame it was. That's what parents do: they do their best to romanticize every single aspect of their youths to escape the dreariness of human existence. In furtherance of this, they give their children all the same stuff that they had as children. That, and they get drunk after the kids go to bed. Maybe they then have a little cyber sex, or watch a little porn, and to try to remember what it was like to feel anything but overwhelming, soul-crushing hopelessness. Perhaps, said parents even play a few games on Junior's XBOX, attempting to escape into one single, fleeting moment of selfish joy.
Know what they don't do?
They don't play with the Lite-Brite. That crap stays in the closet where it belongs.
