I'm a Patriot

It's a scientific fact that growing up, boys played with action figures and girls played with faux cooking sets and barbie dolls. The boys who didn't play with action figures are currently trying to figure out their sexuality and the girls who didn't play with barbie dolls and easy-bake ovens are probably aspiring to be in the WNBA. Like I said... it's science.

As for myself, I was BIG into the superhero action figure scene. And I'm not saying that just to convince you that I'm confident in my sexuality (which I am.... I'm straight). Anyway, I probably owned 97% of all action figures known on Planet Earth.

They lived in my basement where I spent countless hours separating the bad guys from the good guys, creating intriguing plots, and ultimately playing them all out. Every day was another drawn out movie/war that I created with exceptional precision. I created some really thrilling storylines. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that I saw movies such as Batman, Spiderman, The Hulk, Iron Man, Transformers, and Pearl Harbor way before they were ever actually created. I know this because I made those movies with my little action figurines when I was ten. Fact.

I put a lot of elbow grease and props into those epic battles I created. I did some work on my sister's old doll house (which was huge) and made that the Super Hero mansion where all my favorite good guys lived. I had a log cabin set up behind the pool in the backyard for the rest of the good guys that didn't quite deserve a room in the big house. Everyone got along nicely there.

In the darkest corners of the basement resided the bad guys; such as Shredder, Joker, Kingpin, Venom, and the good guys' perma-mole: The Punisher. As the stories typically went, I would have the Punisher on the inside trying to find out information about the bad guys' plans. Unfortunately for him, he would always do something stupid that would get him caught, usually spurring the legendary wars. For example, one time the Joker caught him having ice cream with good girl reporter, April O'Neil. Naturally, all hell broke loose after that. Since this scenario was based loosely off the Mighty Ducks 2 movie, I think you know exactly what happened in the end...

USA won.

I should have you know that when I say 'USA,' I clearly mean Captain America. That was always the end result. No matter what happened in my stories, I would always have Captain America, driving in his kick ass red, white, and blue sportscar, run shit and come out in the end as the sole surviving hero.

Let me give you an example of one of the endings.

One time, I tried very very hard to set the Super Hero mansion ablaze. I was young and naive so I rubbed sticks together for hours trying to spark something for the best special effects possible; unfortunately, I was unable to ignite it. I don't remember exactly what I did instead, but I'm sure I created the ambiance by using glowing logs with rolling embers or something. Anyway, I had everyone still alive from before burn alive inside, except of course for Captain America, who during this particular scene, carried April O'Neil away from the flames as well.

Back at her place. (which happened to be inside a glass book case turned apartment) she was depressed because the Punisher was ritualistically shoved into a VCR by Abomination earlier in the battle. To make her feel better, and for the sake of mankind, I put Captain America and her in compromising positions hoping they would procreate smart, super hero babies. All leading to a sequal and trilogy.

I think that all just goes to show that I'm a true patriot. I love my country and I always have. Captain America is symbolic of that love. I sacrificed some mighty fine superheroes, just so America would prevail in the end. You could safely say that I love America more than David Dachovny loves sex and more than fat kids love cake. Proven.

America. Fuck Yeah.

Rodney Atkins widget by 6L & Daxii

POGS to Blogs

What do Eric Montross, Rashaan Salaam, Kyle Brady, and Eek! the Cat all have in common?

These sub-par professional athletes and that crazy, poor-man's Garfield were apart of my illustrious POGS collection back in third grade. Growing up, my school would go through phases where all the kids would get hip with the times and buy into all the propaganda bullshit that TV spoon fed us during the commercials of our favorite shows (Price is Right, Pinky and the Brain, and Ricky Lake if my mom wasn't home.) I bought into it like it was kiddie-crack...It wasn't crack though. They were decorated cardboard circles. They were what communion breads would look like if they let Van Gohg or Monet paint them. They were my religion until its time passed.

This was the case for everyone. (Although I'm pretty sure I was the only child who avidly watched Ricky Lake).

Just about every year something new and cooler would take over as the new trend and everything else became "so last year." For example, third grade was POGS, fourth grade was trading sports cards, fifth grade was a mix of Fireball Yo-Yos and Tomagotchies, and sixth grade was my personal favorite: the split-right-down-the-middle, butt-crack hairstyle with a squirt of product. To this day, I'd like to believe I had the best butt-crack in middle school. I got a lot of positive comments. (Side note regarding the Fireball Yo-yo: I screamed like a girl that just got a pony on Christmas morning when I saw that in my stocking. I walked the dog for days.)

It is amazing how these trends can really run your lives. I remember trading POGS for homework answers and Dunkaroo snacks at lunch. Weekends would consist of me either sitting Indian style (PC: legs crossed) in my room re-organizing them in all imaginable ways, or me sitting in front of Ricky Lake practicing my slammer skills. (Here is a link of how to play the game in case you are forgetful and/or stupid).

I did used to get in trouble for playing with my POGS too much. My mom would hide them from me or yell at me if I was POGing instead of practicing my handwriting on those old-school horizontal papers with the multi-colored lines that were grossly spread out. In fact, POGS, and other fads, could very well be the reason I ended up losing the 5th grade handwriting contest. My handwriting suffers to this day.

I had a lot of great times with the POGS and thinking back on all the games we played with them, I really want to get out the tubes full of POGS, blow my Mighty Ducks whistle to get the 'ole gang together again and play.

Alumni POG game anyone?