The 80s gave us so many classic toys. Remember all those? Well, I've gone through and scientifically rated the 10 that gave the least amount of fucks. I know that sounds like something out of science fiction -- how can someone numerically rate a toy's lack of fucks? It's a secret combination of Rad, Stupid and Awesome. Rad is rated in Condors, the M.A.S.K. motorcycle that turned into a helicopter, and Stupid is rated in Granites, the Go-Bot that turned into a rock.
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In the 80s, mad lab technicians managed to create a toy that mocked the physical properties of both solids and liquids, but they could never get the scent right. Every brand of Slime smelled like a sweaty diaper. If a vulture mistook you for one of its babies and vomited dead wildebeest into your mouth, the smell would make you nostalgic for Slime.
It had to be intentional. We live in a world of scientific miracles. Burger King knows the chemical formula to get corporate spies to taste like expired beef. My antiperspirant is "Sport Scented," and that's not even a thing. If Slime smells like someone died of athlete's foot six weeks ago, that's because it was meant to.
My theory is that the smell was there to cover Slime's main side effect -- accumulation of disease. If you use Slime as directed, you might find yourself oozing it over an action figure or throwing it at a window. Well, a single He-Man toy has more harmful bacteria on it than six human buttholes. And now all of that bacteria is in your Slime. If Slime didn't come out of its container reeking like camping sex, your nose would warn you that it's festering with the plague. After an hour of play, there are more insect parts and AIDS in a handful of Slime than in a handful of Tila Tequila.
Omega Supreme was a transformer that broke apart into two things: a rocket and a toy train set. Now, there were some problems with this system. First, toy train sets are the direct opposite of tough. Owning a toy train set is like mailing a picture of yourself breast feeding to each of your enemies. Omega Supreme would've been more useful in a fight if it turned into a sex swing.
Fortunately, Omega Supreme still has his rocket. Unfortunately, it only takes the inscrutable logic of a 10-year-old to notice that if he ever launches it, a third of him is fucking gone when he goes back to being a robot. After a few fights, Omega Supreme will be the only Autobot that both turns into and needs a wheelchair ramp. One of the things I hate most about robots is their terrible lack of foresight.
To transform most Transformers, you just folded them in half and opened their car doors. With Omega Supreme, you disassembled him into a pile of shapes that had to be snapped together with the help of a dozen specialized contractors. Loose pieces seemed to be designed by geniuses to say, "Mothers, this plastic debris is obviously not a toy. Throw it away." Omega Supreme took 45 minutes to transform, but if your parents were rich enough to buy it for you, you were probably asshole enough to deserve it.
Before laser pointers were available to the consumer market, slot car racing is what we used to blow a cat's entire mind. They were very delicate toys. A bit too much speed and your car would flip off even the gentlest of curves. To punish you, its tiny needle was specially designed to pull up every fiber of your carpet and wind it through its wheels. Then, when you tried to play with it again, it would just moan in one place and smell like a burning battery until your cat summoned enough courage to punch it.
The Dukes of Hazzard Electric Slot Racing Set added something new: THE BRIDGE STUNT JUMP. It's exactly what it sounds like. But like all slot cars, the Duke Boys were attached to the road by a record needle and the hope that physics was ignoring them. Unfortunately, there is nothing physics loves more than a Dodge Charger filled with moonshine. The General Lee careened off every corner. The guardrails did nothing -- they were only included in the box to smuggle toxic plastic out of China. And now, with all the fundamental laws of the universe working against them, the Duke Boys were supposed to jump the General Lee off a ramp and hope it landed wheels-down exactly in a tiny metal groove? It didn't! Ever! This thing was less a toy and more a psychological test to see how long a child could withstand disappointment.
There was no part of Centurions that gave a shit. Their names were Rex Charger, Jake Rockwell, Max Ray, Ace McCloud and John Thunder. If they made a gay porno based on Centurions, it would be the first movie where every actor had the same name as his character. And speaking of porno, the Centurions had holes everywhere and they didn't care what you jammed in them. If you wanted to attach nine guns and a Skilsaw to Max Ray's SCUBA tank, he was into it. By the time you were done arming a Centurion, he'd be lucky if he could walk. Even their own ads featured a Centurion face down, helplessly pinned under the fifth century ballista he decided to wear as a backpack. Cause of death: Balls.
When I got a Power Glove, I knew it was going to be so awesome. And then I tried to use it to control a video game. The Power Glove works only slightly better than waving nothing at the TV. The Power Glove's sensor knew where your hand was about as well as Travis Henry knows where all his children are. I swear the Power Glove could tell what I'd been doing with that hand before I put it on and it was punishing me for it.