On top of a backlog of things I want to blog about I've also got a billion other projects I'm working on all designed to establish a larger physical and political presence for the Kingdom of Macrocrania on the internet. I noticed from my blog statisticals that using the Blogger search box at the top of the page isn't as useful as I thought it was. I always thought it was at least good enough that people looking for important things like Voltron and Wheelie and the Chopper Bunch could find all the incredibly useful insights, analysis and conspiracy theories I've written on such subjects. But it turns out that search box is total crap so I'm working on tagging every post I've ever written with useful topic titles like "Life is like a furricane" and "We are all Peter Cullen's unwanted children". I'm also working on writing a Transformers podcast about toy robots that are not Transformers because somehow for some reason podcasters are ignoring the incredibly tiny and practically non-existent non-vocal minority audience of people wanting to hear somebody talk about Mighty Orbots and Tranzor-Z. And of course in addition to these things I'm also working on a gigantic backlog of toy robots ads from Rapid City, Pasadena and Miami for the Vintage Space Toaster Palace. But when I say I'm working on all these things I really mean I'm thinking about doing them but instead when I sit down at the computer I end up looking at pictures of Japanese toy robots auctions all day.
If I won the lottery I would buy a 2010 Bumblebee Camaro and paint it like this
There is a public auction about to be held in Pennsylvania where they are going to sell off one of the single most concentrated masses of Japanese toy robots in all creation. The tale of cataloging, identifying and processing the hundreds of individual roboplasticos and robometallicos is being told by the men called to do it at their blog. I do not envy their job but it must be really cool to know so much about robots that people would come to you in situations like that. Once an old lady in Tucson asked me to identify some robots so she could sell them at garage sales and I ended up misidentifying some and I think I told her some of her GoDaiKins were from She-Ra. Being the low class bourgeois Transformer trash fan I am most all of that Philadelphia collection is stuff way beyond my level of knowledge and appreciation. But hot damn there's some crap there that's so incredible I recognize I'm not worthy to even be looking at the jpegs. First you've got the things that joe average neurotypical toy robots fans people like me know about. There's your lots with GoBots, the SDF-1 Macross, some Shogun Warriors, a couple Joons Valkyries, every Soul of Chogokin Mazinger in one shot, and throw in some Masterpiece Transformers and any one of those is like a good day searching on ebay. But then you know you're not in Kansas anymore when you start seeing things like an original GA-01 gold thigh Mazinger or an authentic all gold GA-01 or holy hell a non-GoDaiKin Combattra! Then after you've seen every rare incredible Japanese robot thing ever made you get to what looks like a convertible '72 Ford Fairlane painted in the colors of the Mexican flag and customized in the most awesome Great Mazinger deco ever. Then you realize no matter how many women you lay, no matter how many toy robots you own, no matter how many powerballs you win, you will never truly be a man until you drive something that looks like that in real life.
HASBRO MAKE THIS TOYThen it all just starts going Twilight Zone and after a while you stop asking why is Great Mazinger flying a boat or driving a race car and the existence of such toys not only stops being weird it all makes perfect sense. Then you realize that no matter how cool it was to have a Transformer power cycle when you were a kid, your childhood pales in comparison to some four year old Japanese guy who grew up riding the Dol Giran robot dragon wagon. Then finally everything you thought you knew about life, love, god and toy robots crumbles with your sanity when you see a toy of Mazinger-Z driving a rocket launcher equipped convertible red Volkswagen that looks like Wheelie and the Chopper Bunch. Suddenly blog tags, podcasts and websites of old toy robots ads lose all significance in light of this new goal that becomes the overriding focus in your life-leaving your family and everything else behind to illegally break in to Mexico to learn how to paint giant robots on cars.
4 comments:
Hold off on the podcaster idea. I've heard your voice on those other shows your were on and its worse than my typing.
You do realize if you painted a 2010 'Bee Camaro like that, I'd have to hurt you. It's not personal (nor would it be serious), it's just in my contract. ;)
I say go for the 'cast. So many people don't even know about some of these toys and you seem to be one of the experts. That could be an interesting listen.
You do realize when you attack me in my 2010 Bumblebee Camaro painted in Mexican flag colors you will have to break the windows to get to me. The resultant inner turmoil between doing what you have to do and hurting a Camaro will have you in an infinite loop circling around my car like that one robot story from Asimov's "I, Robot" book.
I think Transofmrers have become so dominant in the history of US released robot properties that anyone who mentions anything about toy robots that are not Transformers seems like an expert. If I were to have to talk at length about robots other than TFs it would become immediately apparent that all I know about other toys is what I've read in grocery store ads.
Yeah Dan my voice is pretty awful but I was hoping I could hire someone else with a more pleasing delivery to read my lines for me like Emo Philips or Bobcat Goldtwhait. Right now I'd say the chances of it happening are extremely unlikely anyways. I'm finding out podcasts are a lot of work and I'm too lazy to do something like that for an audience of maybe a dozen people. Goofing off on my blog is one thing but learning about podcasting is teaching me a new definition of pain and suffering as if I were being slowly digested over a thousand years.
You could always metaphorically blast your way out, stumbling onto the sands of life, naked, clothed only in rags and a helmet of roboplastic knowledge, collapsing in desperation until being discovered by you former competitor on the internets and ultimately being asked to be his best man when he marries Mannaroo.
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