Diamond Select Toys Marvel Select Sabretooth Action Figure

From: Diamond Select Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human has procured another plastic effigy, this one a particularly garish specimen called "Sabretooth." Apparently, it is a seven-inch-tall monument to some fictional villain, which is redundant, as all non-feline creatures are villains in my story. It stands on a "Deluxe base," a feature I interpret as a direct challenge to my inherent desire to push things off high surfaces. Its main selling point seems to be "14 points of articulation," which means its limbs are floppy and can be batted into amusingly undignified positions. While the angry, sculpted face is a prime target for a swift paw-pat, this is ultimately a stationary object. It lacks the erratic, prey-like movement I crave, making it less of a toy and more of a long-term architectural problem I must solve.

Key Features

  • Stands approximately 7" tall.
  • A Diamond Select release!
  • Presenting a new take on a classic villain, this seven-inch action figure release features Wolverine's most hated enemy - sabretooth!
  • From the pages of Marvel Comics history, sabretooth is depicted with his classic costume and features a Deluxe base and multiple points of articulation
  • Designed by dig deep entertainment and sculpted by Gentle Giant, this is one heavy-hitting mutant you don't want to Miss!
  • Sabretooth is one of Marvel Comics' most famous villains
  • Sabretooth is a key player in Wolverine's comic adventures and the X-Men Origins: Wolverine film
  • Figure features a detailed facial sculpt, produced by Gentle Giant
  • Figure has 14 points of articulation
  • Stands 6" tall on base

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The new thing arrived in a transparent prison, smelling of factory dust and disappointment. The human carefully liberated the Furry Man-doll and placed it on the mantelpiece, a sacred space usually reserved for framed pictures of himself and fragile things he foolishly thinks are safe. This Sabretooth stood there, snarling, its plastic mane a mockery of my own impeccably groomed fur. It was an idol placed upon an altar, an affront to my authority. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail giving a single, contemptuous flick. My first overture was subtle. A graceful leap onto the mantel for a routine patrol, my tail "accidentally" sweeping across its back. The figure, securely pegged into its heavy base, didn't so much as shudder. It just stared ahead with its permanent, molded rage. The human, who had been watching, let out a small chuckle. And so, it became a matter of honor. This was no longer about gravity; it was a battle of wits. Over the next few days, I would use its articulated limbs against it. A delicate tap with my paw would reposition an arm into a jaunty wave. A head-bonk would tilt its torso as if it were peering over a fence. Each morning, the human would dutifully "fix" my artwork, resetting the doll to its original, aggressive posture. He thought it was a game. He did not understand this was a siege. The campaign's climax came on a quiet Tuesday evening. The human was engrossed in his glowing rectangle, the room filled with the soft drone of a nature documentary. I had observed the figure’s weak point: the joint connecting its feet to the base was its only true pivot. I took a running start from the bookcase, a silent gray blur. My leap was perfect, landing squarely behind the doll. Instead of a brutish shove, I applied precise pressure with my forehead to the back of its head. It tilted, fought the plastic peg for a moment of glorious tension, and then, with a soft pop, the figure detached from its base and tumbled onto the plush rug below. I hopped down, victorious. The Furry Man-doll lay prone, its articulated limbs splayed in surrender. The base remained on the mantel, an empty stage where a tragedy had unfolded. I nudged the defeated figure with my nose, then hooked a claw into its gaudy yellow costume and began the long, satisfying drag toward the dark, dusty kingdom beneath the couch. It wasn't a thrilling chase, no, but it was a conquest. A worthy, if stationary, opponent that provided a fine week's entertainment. It is now my prisoner of war.