Happy Meal Toys
So, my kid got this dumb rat-Pokémon thingie in his Happy Meal.
I’m not ragging on Pokémon. I’m ragging on the toy.
Happy Meal toys are not what they used to be.
This rat has a wheel on its tummy. All it does is slide on the ground and its mouth opens and closes.
When I was a kid, we got animals with four legs that moved.
Our Happy Meals had actual LEGO sets and Hot Wheels cars made out of metal.
We got honest-to-god action figures that could join up with G.I. Joe as soon as we got home.
Now, I had the little 4" Joes, growing up. The ones with the bendable knees and elbows and the waist that if you twisted it enough times, Joe became a double-amputee.
If I knew then what I know now about the VA, I swear, I would’ve taken better care of my Joes.
I’m sorry, Sgt. Slaughter. I had no idea.
Anyway, my dad would always poke fun and tell me “That’s not a real G.I. Joe.”
According to my dad, a real G.I. Joe stood 12 inches tall and had fatigues AND a dress uniform.
No, Dad, that’s a doll.
If you can change his clothes and if he could live comfortably in the Dream House, that’s a doll.
That’s not G.I. Joe; that’s Weekend Warrior Ken.
And that’s fine! I can respect that. Just, let’s be honest, here.
Ken joined up with the Guard so that, one weekend a month, he wouldn’t have to carry Barbie’s shopping bags around.
Barbie: “Hey, Ken, lets go shopping.”
Ken: “Sorry. Can’t. Gotta go defend the homeland.”
Barbie: “Ugh. You’re not ‘defending the homeland.’ You’re just running around the woods with all the other homos.”
Ken: “How can you call me a homo? I’m your boyfriend!”
Barbie: “Because we’ve been dating for God knows how long and you’ve never once made a move on this!”
Ken: “That’s because I don’t have a penis, Barbie. I don’t. Have. A penis!”
And that is why Ken bought an AR-15.
G’night, ladies and gentlemen.
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