Mega T-Rex. Mega Awesome.

Due to my age and a lack of visible scarring, I probably can’t play the “When I was a kid, the only toys we had were sticks, and we only got those if we could outrun the neighbor’s pet timber wolf” card. Not convincingly, anyway. There’s also the matter of photographic evidence regarding my aspirations of being a ninja turtle from age six to…oh…sixteen.

Adolescence was not kind to me.

Regardless, in reflecting on the artifacts of my childhood, it has come to my attention that I measured awesomeness in points of articulation. I.e., it was, as the great prophet Joe Biden once said, a “big !@#$in’ deal” if my action figures could bend their arms at the elbows. Tack on functioning knees and, well, perhaps dubbing myself a god among men would be a little extreme, but it would have certainly made me a prince among fourth graders. Much of my collection did not boast so many functional joints and, in many cases, possessed a range of motion akin to Mr. Bean.

Living proof knees are a biological nicety.

Living proof knees are a biological nicety.

Still, such usually satisfied me. On a scale of 1 to “awesome,” I felt I was coming in at “pretty darn good.” Or at least I thought I had been until age, experience, and Amazon.com caused me to reevaluate my childhood.

Jurassic Park meets G.I. Joe meets my doodles during fifth grade math class.

Jurassic Park meets G.I. Joe meets my doodles during fifth grade math class.

I’d like to request a moment of silence while all of us with a Y chromosome just sort of take in the awesome.

Thank you.

Now, even with the benefit of thirty years and an English degree from an accredited institution, I find myself struggling for adequate verbiage on the subject of Mega T-Rex. I do know that, were we to construct a time machine, hurl ourselves into the quantum, avoid fathering our own mother, and present the above construct to my four- to eight-year-old self, he (or me) would likely find his neural pathways inadequate to the wonder and spontaneously combust. My mother would not approve or, at the very least, would probably request that if one was going to subject her son to self-immolation it be done outside or, at the very least, not on the carpet.

What I’m getting at is I’d probably think it was pretty dang cool…or rad…or whatever term was being slung around to mean “neat” in the late eighties.

This is a real 80s band.  This actually happened.  Aliens will excavate pictures of them and think we all actually dressed like this.

This is a real 80s band. This actually happened. Aliens will excavate pictures of them and think we all actually dressed like this.

I’m not sure who’s buying Mega T-Rex. No. I take that back. I know exactly who’s buying him – it would be me had I a son and not a daughter. This is not to say I’m disappointed in my offspring so much as in my salesmanship skills. I’ve been attempting to persuade my wife that Mega T-Rex is gender neutral. Her counterargument, however, is that “a dino-rider astronaut who pilots a T-Rex in some sort of futuristic gun-laden saddle pod is many things but not gender neutral.” At the risk of further undermining my own argument, the Amazon product description is not helping my cause. I quote:

“Standing over 1 foot in height, Imaginext Mega T-Rex adds a new, futuristic dimension to classic dinosaur play. This is no ordinary dinosaur toy: Mega T-Rex is equipped with robotic armor, including tech arms and a protective helmet. He even has two blasters mounted on his armor, which can fire projectiles during the heat of battle. T-Rex also comes with a miniature soldier figure who can ‘take control’ of T-Rex by sitting in his cockpit.”

Related to that, or at the very least Mega T-Rex’s tech arms, anyone else think they look like 7/16” wrenches? I’m not sure how augmenting a T-Rex with 7/16” wrenches improves its overall performance, but that’s really beside the point. What we have here is a tyrannosaurus with guns on it.

Two, please.

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