Call Them Action Figures, Not Dolls

Here’s an old addiction that I’ve nearly cured by going bankrupt. I have only spent $5 on dolls in May.

Catch a Falling Star

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Yes, I am an addict.  I have a mania for buying dolls… er, I mean, action figures.   It began when I was nine back in 1965.  Yes, G.I. Joe got me hooked.  Specifically, the G.I. Joe sailor.  I still have that sorry pusher.  He has detached arms held on by strings and the shirt that he wears.  He is play-worn and so far from mint that he’s only valuable to me.   I still have the Marine dress uniform hat on him, the sole surviving piece of the second costume set I ever got for him.  The first costume, given to me for the same birthday, big number nine, was the frogman uniform, long since disintegrated into black rubber pulp.

Of course, it wasn’t exactly like my sister’s Barbie.  Yes, the idea was to buy costume after costume, the drive for fashion being the primary source of income for Hasbro and…

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