Recently ate by my lonesome in Kenny Roger’s Festival Mall, and in the table across mine was a boy around 8 or 9 with his father. While waiting for the food said boy brought out a huge pail of action figures, and played with them all–there was an old He-Man fig, a couple of Batmans in different costumes, some robots, a few old Marvel Legends. The father who seemed like a very nice man played with his kid, mouthing sound effects and all. “Kapow! Kapow!” he said as his Batman pummeled his kid’s robot. “Kabooooom!!” kid yelled, as his robot killed Batman with a missile launcher. It was a fuzzy, warm, cutesy scene. So cute, in fact, that I felt a twinge of envy and longing. Envy, not for the father and son dynamic, but for all those ultra-cool action figures! No kid with the compulsion to tear of heads and arms should ever be allowed to play with such exquisite toys! The father seemed nice, but the kid seemed neglectful and evil! I want them toys! I want them all!!! As the Scottish leprechaun in the Simpson’s said: Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! GIMME!

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