Flea Market Finds: Cars, Cards & Comics

Back to brag!

I've returned to show off all the goods I scored this morning at the flea market, well before revealing the stuff I promised to share several weeks ago. That's just how we roll here, I guess, with the false promises and always pulling swerves. It is probably a good thing that no one cares about anything going on here. Not even me.

Here's some things, non-existent readers.

One of the booths that I've been passing by for years belongs to an older gentleman and it consists entirely of "vintage" sports-cards and various long-boxes of comic books. I usually skip on flipping through bins of comics at the flea market, mostly because I have my local comic shops with their dollar-bins to peruse on a regular basis. However, my collecting has transitioned lately to completing runs of titles, something I've never been concerned with before, so now I have a reason to dig through any boxes of books I stumble upon.

Of course, only a handful of the dollar books that I picked up today add to the particular runs that I'm aiming to finish off. The rest were a series of single issues that caught my eye with their bizarre subject matter. Most notable, and my personal favorite find, is DC Special #27, dated May 1977, which features characters like Captain Comet and Tommy Tomorrow battling both traditional dinosaurs and oddly-dressed dino-men hybrids.

Also, dig that Archie Meets The Punisher.

I don't really have much to say about these Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles wax-packs. I have a fondness for anything TMNT, and my love and adoration for trading cards is well-documented.

Cowabunga..?

What hasn't been mentioned here before on the blog is ReBoot, one of my favorite Saturday morning cartoons from the mid-'90s. A Canadian-produced series, it was the first to feature entirely computer-generated animation, and was the result of over a decade's worth of hard-work and dedication from Mainframe Entertainment. It originally aired on ABC starting in 1994 and ran for four seasons.

I was nearly a teen when the show first started, so the idea of collecting action-figures based on it was far from an appealing one. Of course, here we are, two decades later, and I have zero reservations when it comes to picking them up now. In fact, I was pretty psyched when I discovered Bob and Megabyte sitting in a box surrounded by various other loose figures. There was no way that I was going to leave them behind, especially where they were only a couple bucks each.

Here's a few more of their box-mates that I rescued.

I'm not ashamed to admit that all three of these items are duplicate purchases; I own or did own every single one of these guys at some point. I've actually picked up Panda Khan six times over the course of my life, though nearly all of them have found other homes. This one is no exception. He'll be going out in a package shortly, part of the prize for a contest I'm running over on Instagram [@itstrashculture].

Weed-Killer is staying with me, since he's a replacement for his duplicate "older brother" that I had before. My original was gifted to Brian from Awake Oh Sleeper, one of my favorite artists/bloggers, and a genuinely friendly and extremely generous dude. Go check out his site [if you don't already] and admire his unique and totally rad aesthetic sensibilities. Seriously, I am always in awe and envious of his work.

And no, your eyes do not deceive you, that third item is a McDonalds Happy Meal toy from Batman: The Animated Series. I am not going to reveal which one, though, because it is also part of my prize-pack giveaway and I don't want to risk ruining the surprise should the winner read this.

Even though I can almost guarantee that he/she will not.

The same vendor that I scored those loose figures from also had a set of Ertl Dick Tracy collectible cars. They were released back in 1990, the same time as the feature-film, and there were four different vehicles to choose from. The only one of the quartet that I cared about was Dick Tracy's patrol-car, but here I am several hours later and I'm starting to regret leaving behind Itchy's car.

I can't reenact a chase-scene with only one car, can I..?

This was the big score, the main reason that I walked away with anything from the seller's booth. I can't recall the last time I ran across a sealed box of Marvel Universe trading cards, never mind the several that this particular vendor was offering. Series one through three were available, so naturally I split the difference and picked up 1991's Series II.

I was already a dedicated Marvel Zombie when these cards were originally released, and discovering the more obscure characters featured in this set was the real draw for me. Instead of the pages of their comics, it was Marvel trading cards that first introduced me to characters like Death's Head, Sleepwalker and The Grim Reaper. My friends and I must have spent hours pouring over and trading this particular series, trying to be the first of our group to put together a complete set, including the much-desired Limited Edition Holograms.

I plan on taking my time opening the thirty-six packs within. Some I'll tear into later today, sure, but the rest I'll leave for days that I need a nostalgic pick-me-up to chase away a grey or lonely day. And it will probably be a few years before I work up the nerve to open the last one.

Journey Into Mystery Boxes

Remember when I would occasionally blog about comic books?

Remember when I would occasionally blog..?

I promised to show off some of the goods I picked up at JC's Things a few weeks back, but before I get to bragging about decades-old crayons and Dolly Parton Christmas albums [spoilers], I wanna gab a bit about one of my many weaknesses. There are a number of Kryptonites in my life, but none as enticing and dangerous-to-my-wallet as the comic book grab-box. My local comic shop never has a shortage of them, and it seems like I fall victim to their siren song more often than not.

Let's see you try and resist 50 different comics for a mere $11.99, though.

I've mentioned before that I'm a total sucker for mystery packs and grab-bags, blind-box toys and random packs of trading cards. The idea of opening a package, not entirely knowing what treasures could lurk within, is so appealing to me. There's the risk of discovering nothing worthwhile, the contents within could all be a total wash. It's a gamble, I know, but that thrill of anticipation and uncertainty before digging in is what always draws me back.

Enough yammering on, it's time to get to the comics.

THE BREAKDOWN:

Titles and publishers always vary in these grab-boxes, and so does the initial release-date for books. I've picked up several that featured books from the '70s and '80s, but this particular one didn't date back quite that far. The earliest issue included is cover-dated November 1993, and a majority of the books included are from the last several years.

Marvel Comics made up the bulk of the box, one single issue over half its contents, at twenty-six books. DC was a distant second at sixteen, and the remainder was comprised of several small publishers, including Dynamite, Dark Horse and Valiant. That's about par for the course with the boxes I've purchased in the past.

The real risk is acquiring duplicate copies, books I'd picked up in the past either as monthly purchases or something dug out during my frequent dollar-bin splurges. It's unlikely that I'd ever find a box that didn't contain at least a couple dupes included, and this one was no exception. Of the fifty books lurking inside, I already owned seventeen of them. Not the best turn-out, but the extras make for good trade fodder or little extras in my giveaways.

THE BEST:

My definition of best is pretty unique, because I doubt most collectors would consider mid-'90s DC titles like Extreme Justice or The Book of Fate as great finds. I would never argue that these were top-quality books, but that particular era of comics was when I really started getting into them, so I have a total nostalgic fondness for anything released at that time. Bonus points if they featured C- or D-list characters like Maxima, Guy Gardner or Speedball.

I've not-so-secretly admired third-tier heroes more than their ultra-popular contemporaries since I was a kid, and it's a trend I don't see bucking any time soon. Further evidence of this can be found at my long defunct Tumblr account -- Grade-Z Heroes.

THE WORST: 

Sovereign Seven issue number one, dated April 1995, wins this superlative with ease.

Somehow, in some strange turn of events, I've already owned several copies of this particular comic, despite having no strong positive feelings for the works of Chris Claremont. I can appreciate, and even enjoy at times, his work on Marvel's The Uncanny X-Men title for so many years, but there's almost nothing else in his body of work that I admire. One of the few creator-owned books to sorta' reside in the proper DC Universe, it featured a team of original characters and a very unique interpretation of Darkseid, ruler of Apokolips and one of the most powerful villains in comic history.

I'm not sure what compelled me to pick it up fresh off the stands when it was originally released, but we'll chalk it up to the wildly fluctuating hormones and moods of a recently teenaged Trash Man. I mean, seriously, look how hot their team-leader, Cascade, is.

Ignore the part where her code-name is a brand of detergent.

THE VERDICT:

It certainly wasn't the best grab-box I could have scored, but it contained enough small gems and old favorites to justify pissing away twelve-bucks. There were a handful of really solid books, the type of stuff I'm looking forward to reading and sorting away into my collection. A few to throw in with a large stack of trade-in material, and a few that I'm hoping to share with friends sometime in the New Year.

Salvage Saturday Spent at JC's Things

Discovering new treasure troves, entire locations full of forgotten pop culture gems, is getting more and more difficult as time marches on. I blame a combination of things, but the biggest culprit has been and still is eBay. People look to that site and see that old, collectible items can occasionally fetch top dollars, so obviously everything that's been buried in their basement these last two decades must be worth a fortune. This belief is often incorrect; their trash is only worth what someone is willing to pay for it, and usually it's a low, low number. That doesn't stop yard-sales and "antique" shops from marking up their items ten-fold, asking big bucks for worn-and-torn goods, niche items and actual garbage.

Somehow, in some miraculous way, I was able to stumble upon a second-hand shop that wasn't pricing their wares too high. An entire shop full of decades-old products, reasonably priced, and it just happened to be hiding out ten minutes down the road from my house. It was Christmas come about a month too early, and I wasn't complaining.

I'd actually driven past JC's Things plenty of times, but always assumed that it dealt solely with used furniture. Yesterday was no exception. I was on my way to an entirely different thrift shop, a couple towns over, when I was struck with the sudden urge to pull into JC's parking lot. Not sure why, couldn't explain it to you. There was just something magnetic drawing me in, and I am awfully glad that I didn't attempt to resist. I knew from the moment that I stepped inside that there was something special about this place.

Unlike most of my favorite thrift shops, there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the layout; not even a semblance of organized chaos. So, yes, I was immediately in love. There were shelves and shelves of miscellaneous items, old new-stock and rusty tools, bins of vinyl albums, vintage holiday decorations. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of stacks of VHS and boxed Intellivision games.

Yes, you heard correct, they still have complete, boxed Intellivision titles.

It only took a few minutes for me to realize that this was somewhere special, somewhere I could spend hours upon hours searching through boxes of stuff. A place to uncover forgotten treasures, pop cultural relics that needed to be rescued and loved. I'm not embarrassed to admit that I was giddy at the prospect of wasting my Saturday afternoon getting my hands dirty in search of some real, old-school trash.

You'll be happy to hear that I did not walk away empty-handed, but dismayed to learn that I won't be bragging here today. No, you're gonna have to wait a little while before I start showing off the goods. It will be well worth it, though, especially if you're a fan of transforming robots, spinach-eating sailors or country music legend, Dolly Parton.

Stay tuned, boys and girls.

Total Trash Tuesday: Leprechaun: Origins (2014) and Candy Corn Pebbles

There are few things that go as well together as junk food and bad movies. Apologies to PB&J, and so sorry to put you down, Hall & Oates, but it's true. The one-two combo of unhealthy snacks and trashy cinema is a devastatingly sublime thing; and it's a staple of my, uh, lifestyle. Still, no matter how much I enjoy it, or maybe because of, well, you might mistake me for a masochist, what with the absolute shit that I subject myself to.

Today, our inaugural Total Trash Tuesday, perfectly illustrates the type of garbage that I regularly feed my body, my mind, and my soul. 

THE FILM: 

Leprechaun: Origins (2014) is billed as being the seventh film in the series; something of a reboot to the classic franchise featuring Warwick Davis as a murderous, wise-cracking leprechaun. Produced by WWE Studios, and yes, that would the pro-wrestling company that brought the world Hulk Hogan and a villainous dentist known as Isaac Yankem, it "stars" one of the company's former superstars, Dylan "Hornswoggle" Postl, as the titular mythological creature.

Titles aside, there is nothing here that resembles the franchise of old; gone is any dark humor, the charm and, yeah, the silliness that permeates the decade-long series. Viewers are left with a quartet of college-aged Americans backpacking across Ireland, a bland collection of twenty-somethings on a crash-course with an ancient evil that sorta' looks like a reject from The Hobbit.

Look, I may joke about the villainous creature's appearance, but there's some real serious flaws that need to be addressed. The main problem that the film faces is how damn mediocre it is. I get that film-snobs may decry the original Leprechaun (1993) and the five sequels it spawned, but they're frequently fun and always bordering on completely bizarre. Here, another decade later, and the team behind Origins seem to take several steps back, delivering a sub-par slasher that features every hackneyed trope you'd expect in a horror film.

The film's Final Girl fumbles with keys. She trips or falls nearly a half dozen times. Her more promiscuous best-friend even utters the phrase "cabin in the woods" without the slightest bit of irony.

Its complete lack of originality or unique identity are doubly unfortunate, because otherwise, it's a competently made feature. Despite a few missteps, and an obnoxiously overused Leprechaun-vision, director Zach Lipovsky knows what he's doing. And the four young actors are all, I don't know, serviceable. Both facts only further frustrate me as a viewer; realizing that with a bit of creativity, a fresh idea, the people responsible for Origins could have made a really solid flick.

Better luck next time, I guess.

THE FOOD:

Infinitely more surprising, while I wandered the aisles at my local Target, was discovering that Post had released a limited-edition cereal for the Halloween season. All the attention being heaped upon General Mill's trio of terrifying monsters, it appears that Fred and Barney's popular offspring, Pebbles and Bam-Bam, were being overlooked. Gone the Fruity and Cocoa varieties of Pebbles cereal, replaced by a candy corn flavor.

The idea of a candy corn cereal sounds awfully unappealing; pretty damn gross, actually, even with Halloween staring us in the face. Thankfully, it's the last thing you'll think of when you finally muster up the courage to pour yourself a bowl. The cereal's scent, subtly sweet, is the first thing that will hit you. It's pleasant, a faint marshmallow-y, and will not remind you of falling leaves or pumpkins at all. The same goes for the taste; it's a vague, almost bland sweetness that barely resembles candy corn. Fantastic box graphics aside, this could easily stand-in for a Christmas or Fourth of July-themed Pebbles cereal.

Like the film I watched while I half-heartedly finished my bowl, I'd mark these down as nothing special.

The Wonderful World of Toys: Day 666

Hello again, boils and ghouls, and welcome to the final Wonderful Week of Toys entry, the nail in the coffin that's come a little too late. Ah, but with every end, there's a new beginning, isn't there?  As we usher out seven days of assorted action figures and plastic dinosaurs, we look to the weeks ahead. They're all gloom-and-doom, hollowed-out pumpkins and hollowed-out skulls. All Hallow's Eve is closer than you think.

Who better to lead us down this pathway of monsters and mayhem than our good friend, The Crypt Keeper?

I've mentioned before that the popularity of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles brought about a strange age of animated series and toy-lines based on peculiar properties. Suddenly, we lived in a world where hyper-violent, R-rated flicks like Robocop (1987) and Predator (1987) could spawn series of action figures meant for children ages seven-plus. Everything was this odd mixture of terrifying and silly, all these brightly-colored nightmares clogging the pegs at your local Bradlees or Kay Bee Toys.

It's a trend that continued on into the early '90s, when you could tune into ABC's Saturday Morning line-up and catch a cartoon based on the macabre HBO-series, Tales From the Crypt. It's a show that both frightened and fascinated me as a pre-teen, so when Nelvana Limited and Warner Bros. teamed up to create a more lighthearted, animated version known as Tales from the Cryptkeeper, which was intended for younger audiences, well, I was there.

I wasn't, however, keen on collecting the toys produced to coincide with the cartoon. On the cusp on being a teenager, I was fine with watching the show on Saturday mornings, but obviously drew a line at owning the action-figures. Odd, I suppose, because nearly two decades later, and I was ecstatic to stumble upon The Crypt Keeper figure at my local thrift shop. There he was, jammed into a bag with a random assortment of Happy Meal toys and a battle-damaged Spider-Man, waiting for me to rescue him from his own nightmare.

I'd be terrified too at the prospect of spending an eternity trapped in a plastic-prison alongside Kung Fu Panda.

The Wonderful Week of Toys: Day Six

Remember that monkey-wrench I mentioned a couple days back?

Some of you may know him best as Niddler the monkey-bird from Hanna-Barbera's fantasy-based animated series, The Pirates of Dark Water. Originally airing as a five-part mini-series, and referred to only as Dark Water, the program gained an immediate cult-following. A year later, sixteen additional episodes were produced, and they would air as part of ABC's Saturday morning line-up. Hasbro Toys picked up the license that same year and created several action-figures based on the series.

I have fond memories of the cartoon, but never owned any of the toys when the show was first broadcast back in 1991. When I spotted Niddler, along with a handful of other figures from the line, sitting in a random plastic bin at the flea market this past Sunday, well, I wasn't going to leave him behind.

And yeah, he's a little rough; the paint worn from his beak, and various scuff-marks littering his feathered frame. I still love him though, despite the flaws and imperfections. Maybe even because of them. It's almost like I enjoy the idea that his previous owner actually played with him quite a bit, loved him more than the Batman or Power Ranger figures they had, too. I imagine story-lines where a sidekick like Niddler was able to be the hero, to save the day when no one else could.

The Wonderful Week of Toys: Day Five

Oh, the horror.

Oh, that Hook Horror.

I had no idea what I was looking at last week, a late-day visit to my local flea market, and there was this bizarre looking creature sitting in an open cabinet. He was half-buried under a mix of old wrestling figures, just enough visible to catch my eye. Something about the Hook Horror reminded me of those old Thundercats toys, which isn't too far off, considering he was produced by the same company, LJN. However, he doesn't hail from Thundera like Lion-O or Snarf, but instead from, uh, wherever it is that Dungeons & Dragons takes place.

I have no real fondness for the old D&D; never one for role-playing games in my youth. There are vague memories of watching the "classic" Dungeons & Dragons animated-series when it aired on Saturday mornings back in the '80s. But otherwise, I've never been a fan of sword-and-sorcery RPGS, all elves and chaotic-neutral allegiances.

If I'd known that the game was populated by weird, mish-mash monsters like Hook Horror, well, maybe I would have been tempted to give the game a try.

The Wonderful Week of Toys: Day Four

We're cutting things close today, due mostly to a lengthy flea-market trip and spending time with friends. The former is going to throw an interesting monkey-bird, er, I mean, monkey-wrench into the planned entries for the remainder of the week and that's okay. More than okay, actually. Just you wait and see.

For today, though, we're heading back to the year 1993. A time where Bill Clinton took over as President of the United States, WWF Monday Night Raw debuted on cable-television, and for some odd reason, troll dolls were a thing again. In an attempt to appeal to pre-teen boys, several toy companies released their own series of action figures loosely based around the concept of Norfin Trolls. One such toy-line [and an accompanying animated series] was known as The Stone Protectors.

Which is precisely where this guy, Chester the Wrestler, originated from. Not only a professional wrestler, Chester also played bass guitar and saxophone in The Rock Detectors, which is possibly the worst band in existence. Actually, maybe second worst, placing just behind Butthole Surfers.

Chester and his glorious, neon-pink mohawk only ended up in my collection because he was sharing space with Thunder Punch He-Man. Yes, this is the guy who also happened to be in that dollar ninety-nine grab-bag I mentioned in our first Toy Week update. Sad to admit, but if I'd stumbled across Chester on his own, I probably would have passed. Now that I have him, I'm even sadder to admit, I actually find that I dig how ridiculous [and awesome!] he is.

I may even keep an eye out for his trollish band-mates.

The Wonderful Week of Toys: Day Three

And here's another relic from my childhood that was salvaged from the local thrift shop.

Long before there was Transformers: Rescue Bots, way back in the mid-'80s, Hasbro utilized its recent acquisition, the subsidiary Playskool, to release My First Transformers. A trio of brightly colored vehicles that could, uh, transform into things that sorta' resembled robots in disguise. There was a race-car, a jet, and this guy right here, who was affectionately referred to as Dump Truck.

I never owned Dump Truck before; already at an age where the real Transformers appealed to me more. I did, however, have a younger cousin who did have him. So, despite my love for Soundwave and Grimlock and those pesky Insecticons, there was still something totally appealing about their primary-colored, safe-for-most-ages "little brother". I have pretty fond memories of time spent at my aunt and uncle's, casually transforming Dump Truck back and forth between his two modes.

Here he is in robot-mode, and yeah, he's not nearly as impressive as Optimus Prime or Omega Supreme. Hell, even Bumblebee gives poor Dump Truck a run for his energon cubes. Still, I adore his simplicity and the fact that he shares ties with one of my favorite childhood properties.

Unfortunately, the decal on mine is in rough shape, but I still get a huge kick out of his adorable faction symbol. He's not quite an Autobot, but maybe he'll get there when he's a little older.

The Wonderful Week of Toys: Day Two

Oh man, this guy.

He probably doesn't look like much, I know, but he may go down as one of my all-time favorite finds. Released by a Chinese company called Dor Mei sometime in the '80s, this ankylosaurus is an absolute dead-ringer for one that I owned as a child. Like a lot of young boys, I grew up totally obsessed with dinosaurs and giant monsters; a massive fan of King Kong (1933) and the Godzilla series of films. Hell, I even used to rent the British-produced Godzilla knock-off, Gorgo (1961), pretty frequently on VHS.

Despite the overwhelmingly awesome selection of toy-lines available during the decade, one thing that was sorely lacking in the 1980s was a series of legitimate "kaiju" toys. Sure, there were bootlegs galore; dozens of different scaled Godzilla replicas. Some looked pretty authentic, but most were light-years away from the real thing. That didn't bother me at all. I loved my Godzilla knock-off, even despite his outrageous shade of blue.

Likewise, this chipper-looking fella worked perfectly as a stand-in for The Big G's best pal, Anguirus.

When I saw him last week, sitting on a shelf surrounded by beat-up Imaginext Batcaves and broken remote control trucks, I knew that he was coming home with me. I only wish I still had that baby-blue, bootleg Godzilla and a tub full of Legos, so I could recreate those childhood days of devastation.

The Wonderful Week of Toys: Day One

Is there anybody out there..?

I sure hope so. Not that I'd blame anyone for jumping ship, though, what with the infrequency of posts and the increasingly long periods in-between. Few and far between, man. Close only counts in horse-shoes and hand grenades. Or something like that.

In an attempt to jump-start this dead or dying blog, I'm gonna try my hand at a theme-week; seven straight days of posts that may possibly be mildly amusing and/or the slightest bit interesting. We dream big here at The Trash Pile, kids. Don't you dare ever say otherwise.

You see, and some of you might remember this, we're heading into my absolute favorite time of year. There's already been glimpses of spooky cereals and fun-size Milky Ways, but we're still a little time away from hanging the fake cobwebs and carving pumpkins. The plan is to build up a reserve of scary, thrilling things to post about in October, while still taking time to pay tribute to the non-Halloween trash that happens to come along, too. That's gonna mean more posts, more of my inane ramblings, more more more.

The only problem, the one thing that threatens to derail those plans, is that I obviously lack the ability to stay consistent. To post frequently, to, well, to keep the train rolling, since apparently we're stuck on a locomotive metaphor. I am the worst kind of conductor, it seems, and you're unfortunately along for the ride. As long as you choo-choo-choose to stick around, that is.

So, yes, let's ignore that last bit of bullshit and get going with the first entry in The Wonderful Week of Toys.

Originally released in 1985, smack in the middle of The Masters of the Universe toy-line, is Thunder Punch He-Man. One of the many variations of He-Man created for the line's seven-year run, this particular version featured a backpack that could be loaded with caps, allowing a "thunderous" blast with each punch thrown. Not pictured are his two weapons, his trusty Power Sword and a new-design shield, which were molded in a mustard-gold plastic.

I never owned the Thunder Punch-version as a kid, but I was totally content with the bare-bones original release. This guy pictured above was found in a grab-bag at my local thrift shop a couple weeks back, packed along with another of this week's upcoming highlights. He-Man's pretty battle-worn; you can clearly see where the paint has faded away on his face and hair. He's also lacking his thunder-punching abilities, the backpack gone to Sorceress knows where.

Still, there's something about him that I really enjoy. He's only one of three Masters of the Universe figures I own these days, something I'm hoping to change in my collecting future. It's safe to say, though, that he'll probably end up my default He-Man from here on out.

Total Darkness: The Legion of Losers

Darkness fell. Things happened. Some of them were pretty bad, I guess. Thanks to some bungling Moth-Lady claiming to be the world-renowned dorkette Miss M, the evil sorceress known as Maleficent was able to reclaim a powerful and ancient artifact that granted her god-like abilities. With her augmented powers, she became The Queen of Darkness, and her evil spread and engulfed all worlds. Including the afterlife.

The wicked gathered, growing stronger with every new rogue who joined their ranks. Strong enough to defeat, enslave or vanquish their heroic foes. Strange alliances were struck amongst the villainous collective; former rivals setting aside their differences to crush and conquer, to rule with iron-fists and blackest hearts.

Lord Zedd: --set your sights too low, Killemoff. This is our chance to finally burn this pathetic mud-ball of a planet. Nothing left but cinders and ash! 

Dr. Killemoff: Some of us have to live on this "pathetic mud-ball", and really, I don't think it's awful to wanna carve out my own little slice of it. The bad-guys won, sure, and now I plan on just kicking back and enjoying my time as King of Tromaville. 

Lord Zedd: Your obsession with this... Tromaville is nearsighted, fool. It is trivial in the grand-scheme of things. Don't you understand that the universe is finally ours..?! 

Dr. Killemoff: I hope you realize how ridiculous you sound, man. It's like, yeah, you don't even know how to shut off villain-monologue-mode and enjoy the fact that we're the top dogs these days. 

Apocalypse: Cease your pointless chattering, both of you. None of us shall rule anything until we've stomped out every last scrap of resistance. Once the last foolish "hero" is gone, then and only then, will we become true gods.

Apocalypse: And, my dear General Tragg, what do you have to report? Have our forces finally defeated those accursed G.I.Joes? 

General Tragg: Negative, sir. However, the last several waves were able to reduce their numbers significantly. It's only a matter of time before we breach their defenses and finish them off for good. 

Apocalypse: Excellent. Once we overtake their base, we will add their weapons and resources to our own. And then nothing, not even Maleficent herself, will be able to oppose our Triumvirate of Terror! Only the fittest shall survive! 

General Tragg: Uh, yeah... very good, sir. 

Apocalypse: Now go, my faithful servant, and assemble my forces. By sunset tomorrow, we will claim victory and the worlds will tremble in our presence.

General Tragg: (whispering, as he leaves) ...idiots.

Dr. Killemoff: And remember to have fun, man! You need to take time to really, like, enjoy all the carnage!

Lord Zedd: What are you prattling on about now?

Dr. Killemoff: I'm just saying that there's no point in being heinous and world-dominating if you can't sorta'... savor it, right? I mean, I've seen your stuff, Zedd. All giant monsters and evil bird-men. Battling "teenagers with attitude". That's not really my thing, but I'm not one to judge how others get their kicks.

Lord Zedd: How dare you imply that I enjoyed being humiliated by Zordon's pups! I should reduce you and your precious New Jersey--

Dr. Killemoff: Yeah, yeah, cinder and ash. Christ on a stick, man, save it for the good-guys, yeah?

Apocalypse:  Enough of this. Dr. Killemoff is correct. You must reserve your hatred and your strength for our true foes. We should retire to our separate quarters, and prepare ourselves for tomorrow's bloodshed.

Dr. Killemoff: Survival of the fitness, sure. You know, I never would have pegged you for a Jane Fonda guy.

 

Magmar: Oh, you fools. It is I, Magmar, the powerful living rock, who shall be the one to claim those weapons first.

Magmar returns to his lair and summons his lieutenants. Eager to share his wicked plan, to take the G.I.Joes' headquarters and its technological advances for their own! Unfortunately for him, he's gathered together the most ridiculous assortment of henchmen, mutants and monsters of all-time. A veritable who's who of Z-grade villains. Separately, none of them have achieved anything worthwhile. Together, well, they're still pretty terrible. I mean, really, one of them is a drooling, sentient tomato. It's so stupid.

They're all so stupid. 

Magmar: Ah, my minions! The time has come for us to claim our place as the world's greatest villains! No longer shall we be mocked, laughed at or ignored. Once we've taken the Joes' arsenal, we shall use it to lay waste to all who oppose us!

Rocksteady: I just wanna murderalize some Toitles.

Magmar: And murderalize you shall, mighty Bebop!

Rocksteady: Uh, boss, I'm Rocksteady. Wait, I am, ain't I..?

Magmar: It matters not, my loyal soldier. Your mission is a simple one, one that even you can comprehend. If you wish to wreak havoc, I am granting you that opportunity. Go forth and destroy our enemies!

Weedkiller: I wanna eat you, man. Delicious looking fella, tomato-man.

Ketchuk: Naw, you don't want to do that. Look, there's a talking cookie standing right there next to us. He's, uh, way more enticing than some gross, rancid tomato. I'm just some gross, rancid tomato-man and I totally just hurt my own feelings. God, I hate my life.

Magmar: Bossk, you shall lead the assault. I trust you, and only you, to ensure this mission's success. I know none who are as ruthless and cunning as you. None who possess your strength. You are my most trusted. My most accomplished. You... are my number one... guy.

Bossk: I live to serve, lord. We shall not fail you.

Chip the Ripper: Oh, shut up already, lizard-lips. Let's just go kill the fuckers.

Somewhere in the deserts of Utah, there exists The Pit III; the command center for G.I.Joe, once a peace-keeping military-unit dedicated to protecting the world from the ruthless, terrorist organization known as COBRA. In recent days, since the darkness fell, the secret location of this heavily-fortified outpost has been compromised. The combined forces of Evil have tried several times to penetrate the base's defenses and claim the technological treasures within. The G.I.Joe team has so far managed to resist these attacks, but not without suffering severe casualties. Only a small, rag-tag team of operatives remain...

Admiral Ackbar: Thanks for joining us, Ice-Viper One.

Ice-Viper One: The circumstances didn't leave me many choices, did they, Squidbert..? I mean, my buddies in Cobra are gone. Wiped out by all the big, bad super-villains we'd supposedly teamed-up with, the goddamn turncoats. The least I could do to honor my friends is to, for once in my life, show a little bit of integrity and saddle up with you guys.

Roadblock: You can rest easy now, Light-Foot. We thank you for your sacrifice, brother. Sic transit gloria.

Ice-Viper One: Hey, man, I'm not sure that means what you think it means. You might wanna go back and relearn your Latin.

Roadblock: Feel free to still your slithering tongue, snake, before I rip it out of your head.

Ice-Viper One: Hell, I know times are tough. Losing all your pals and all. But keep up with the attitude and you're gonna make me regret siding with the so-called angels.

Kitbash: We're in trouble, aren't we?

Admiral Ackbar: If we can't learn to stand together, well, I fear we won't last the night.

Kitbash: Awesome...

Frostbite: This is probably the worst timing ever, boss, but we've got movement outside. It looks to be a small force, but I'm not super-confident with these readings. Honestly, we're lucky that this equipment is working at all.

Admiral Ackbar: Go check it out, soldier.

Frostbite: I... I'm not even sure what I'm looking at, top. There's only a handful of 'em, but these aren't just a bunch of faceless thugs or masked grunts. I think we're in some serious trouble here.

Bossk: No survivors. No mercy.

Chipper the Ripper: Now you're speaking my language, guy.

Leaving the safety of The Pit III, Frostbite rushes to the L.A.W, which is an acronym for something. We can only assume the L stands for laser. Makes sense, right?

Frostbite's aim is true; the Legion of Losers scatters, bombarded by several vicious blasts from the L.A.W. But not all of them are lucky enough to escape unscathed. Despite the praise heaped upon him by Magmar, it seems that Bossk is the first to fall. He will not be the last.

The silent Giant known as Gonzales utilizes his immense strength to pick stuff up. He's probably going to throw it.

Told you.

Oh, man. Frostbite might be dead. Is he dead? Someone better go check.

Ice-Viper One and Kitbash lay down suppressive fire, allowing Windmill to retrieve their fallen comrade. That means that they're buds and stuff.

Roadblock races to the Desert Fox's turret. Only the massive chain-gun is capable of taking out the two strongest villains, Rockbop and Giant Gonzales.

Kitbash: You're going down, you unholy vegetable! 

Ketchuk: Technically, I'm a fruit! A murderous fruit!

So murderous!

Roadblock opens fire!

Whoa, he totally took out Gonzales. Not speedy enough, dude! Unfortunately, Rocksteady is quickly upon him, Roadblock, I mean, and crashes into the Desert Fox. That can't be good for the Ragin' Cajun.

Pinned beneath the vehicle, Roadblock struggles to reach his trusty machine-gun. It's probably named Bertha or Rosita or something. Seems like the sort of thing that Roadblock would do, naming his weapon. What a cliche. He probably deserves what's coming next.

With the exception of Bossk, who's dead anyway, it seems like everyone from the Legion of Losers is getting their moment to shine. Even the psychotic cookie.

I wasn't kidding about the psychotic cookie. He's really there, and he's really going to shoot Roadblock in the head. This is, uh, a little more grim than I had originally intended.

Ice-Viper One: Whoa, hey. I surrender, fellas. Remember that I used to be one of you. There's honor among thieves these days, isn't there? 

Rocksteady: We ain't no thieves, ski-mask. 

Ice-Viper One: Well, shit...

This part is pretty brutal and goes on for a bit. Let's just, uh, skip ahead.

Admiral Ackbar: What are you doing?

Windmill: It's called a Hail-Mary play. You'd get that reference if you weren't a weird, octopus-alien thing from a planet without professional sports.

Windmill: There's only one thing that can save us now. Honestly, though, I'm not sure why we didn't lead off with this--

Admiral Ackbar: You can't mean...

Windmill: Yeah, the Pac-Rat.

So, Windmill activated it and it was awesome.

A missile! It explodes and saves the day. Boom-shaka-laka.

This is the sad ending part. It's sad, because people died and all that's left are Windmill and Frostbite. Who the fuck are those guys, anyway?

So sad.


[...and yes, Weed Killer sorta' just disappeared, didn't he? You can find out where he ran off to over at Derek's amazing one-shot, which you can enjoy here.]