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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