Pete's Expert Summary
My human has procured another plastic effigy, this one a "G.I. Joe" named "Rock 'N Roll," a preposterous title for a small, bearded doll. It purports to be a "collectible" for grown humans, which usually means it's destined to gather dust on a shelf, a tragic waste of a perfectly good vantage point. From my perspective, its primary value lies not in the six-inch, hyper-posable man-figure—though his articulation might provide some fleeting entertainment when I eventually knock him over. No, the real treasure is the collection of nine tiny accessories. These small, plastic morsels are optimally shaped for batting, chasing, and, most importantly, hiding in places the clumsy human foot cannot reach and the vacuum cleaner cannot find. The main figure is likely a bore, but his equipment shows promise for a proper skirmish.
Key Features
- YO JOE! G.I. JOE EXPLODES INTO A LARGER-THAN-LIFE ERA WITH 6 INCH ACTION FIGURES: The G.I. Joe Classified Series evolves the retro toy figures fans know and love into a highly articulated 6-inch (150 mm) scale with premium deco and detailing
- CLASSIC CRAIG “ROCK ’N ROLL” MCCONNEL-INSPIRED DESIGN: Features a classic deco and design of the G.I. Joe Machine Gunner that fans of the original 1980s G.I. Joe characters will love and 9 accessory pieces inspired by the character’s rich history
- HIGHLY POSEABLE WITH PREMIUM DETAILING: G.I. Joe Classified Series Craig “Rock ’N Roll” McConnel action figure set features exceptional detailing and articulation for cool poseability to create dynamic dioramas (some poses may require additional support)
- CLASSIC-CARDBACK INSPIRED PACKAGING: This Craig “Rock ’N Roll” McConnel comes on a blister pack card with design and character art inspired by the classic A Real American Hero figure line that is perfect for display
- EXPAND YOUR COLLECTION: Look for other G.I. Joe figures and toys to build your roster of heroes and Cobra villains (Each sold separately. Subject to availability.)
- A PERFECT PRESENT: This Craig “Rock ’N Roll” McConnel figure makes a great gift for lifelong fans of G.I. Joe toys or for boys and girls who love action and adventure
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The human called it an "investment." He held the thing aloft, trapped in its crystal-clear prison against a sheet of garishly colored cardboard. "Look, Pete," he cooed, "a Retro Cardback Rock 'N Roll. Mint condition." He placed it on the highest shelf of the living room bookcase, a new plastic warden watching over my domain. For days, it stood there, its painted eyes staring into nothing, its tiny, absurdly large gun held at the ready. The human would occasionally gaze up at it with a reverence I typically reserve for a freshly opened can of tuna. An intruder. A silent, unblinking sentinel of poor taste. I decided it could not stand. My initial plan was a simple gravitational assault, a swift shove from the shelf to the unforgiving hardwood below. But that felt crude, unworthy of my intellect. The true insult, I realized, was not to destroy the figure, but to devalue the "investment." The human's joy was tied to its completeness, its pristine state within the packaging. The figure itself was worthless; the accessories, sealed within their plastic bubble, were the key. The helmet, the ammo belt, the bipod... they were the jewels, and I, a connoisseur of chaos, would be their liberator. The operation commenced at 3:17 AM, the hour of maximum stealth. A leap from the floor to the armchair, a silent bound to the credenza, and a final, graceful spring onto the bookcase. I was now face-to-face with the plastic man. I ignored him. My target was the packaging itself. I used a single, sharp claw to probe the edge where the plastic bubble met the cardboard backing. The human had been careless. A small gap. I worked it, gently at first, then with the focused intensity of a cat who has spotted a sunbeam's edge. With a sound like tearing fabric, the bubble peeled away from its cardboard tomb. It was an avalanche of tiny plastic treasures. The figure tumbled out, landing with a pathetic clatter on a stack of books. I paid it no mind. My eyes were on the real prize: the tiny, two-pronged bipod that had detached from the main weapon. It was perfect. Small enough to be a challenge, light enough to fly, and complex enough to make a satisfyingly frantic skittering noise across the floor. I nudged it with my nose, then gave it a firm pat, sending it rocketing off the shelf and directly under the heaviest, most immovable piece of furniture in the room. The mission was a resounding success. The plastic man could keep his post; his purpose, as a mere delivery vessel for superior toys, had been fulfilled. It was, I grudgingly admit, a very well-designed puzzle box.
