| Monday, October 17, 2005 |
| Real Amercian Hero |
Go Joe!
So as you may come to realize, should you continue to read my unending rants, is that I really am a child at heart. I love to relive my childhood, which for me was primarily about two things: (1) how many toys I could accumulate and (2) how cool and popular I could become with my collection of toys... or my tree-climbing ability... or my trashing-talking opponents on the four square court.
By far, my favorite toys growing up were G.I. Joes (beating out Legos). Nothing said "death and destruction" like a bunch of wild vigilante militants (with morals), who may or may not work for the government, killing off some evil "terrorist" group like COBRA (I cannot recall any of their terrorist actions). Nothing made me happier than gathering up all those little plastic men and killing them off one by one in hails of imaginary gunfire.
Often times, these battles resulted in actual toy destruction. Sometimes Joe would lose his "Kung Fu Grip" with the loss of a finger or two. Or, worse yet, the malady most feared by Joe owners - a rupture of the "O-Ring," that all too powerful rubberband that doubled as Joe's intestines, backbone, hip, muscles, and ligaments. There was almost no cure for lost fingers, but that wouldn't stop the brave soldier from firing his weapon, even if it was straight at the ground. The only cure for broken O-Rings, was, well, check out the supply in the junk drawer, find a new rubberband and affix it into Joe's mid-section. This usually led to "Limp Joe," who could never regain the posture he once had.
The other fatal G.I. Joe affliction was losing the figure, plain and simple. Being an outdoorsy sort-of kid with a love for toys, I would often bring my toys outside and play with them in the mud, trees, dirt, flowerbed, beehive, and what have you. Once, I suffered a loss so great that one might compare it to the grief of losing a loved one - I lost Roadblock. I had been playing in the dirt, and there was a lot of G.I. Joe carnage left in one area in the yard. I had been called into dinner, and before you know it, the Joes were roughing it. The next morning, I went down to retrieve my Joes, only one was missing, and was nowhere to be found. "Roadblock!" I screamed. "Noooo! Roadblock, no!!"
Roadblock was AWOL, and he was never seen of nor heard of again.
You would have thought I would have more of an allegiance to Dialtone, as he was from my hometown of Eugene, Oregon, but he had that porn star moustache. That was kind of off-putting. |
posted by Ross Conkey @ 12:20 PM  |
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Name: Rosco
Home: Bay Area, California
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