Pete's Expert Summary
My human has brought home another plastic totem for his shelf-based religion. This one, a 'G.I. Joe,' is a small, stiff-looking man-figurine celebrating some ancient human conflict, I presume. While the figure itself, with its 'premium deco,' is about as engaging as a dust bunny that's lost its will to drift, I must admit a flicker of interest. The box boasts of *twenty-five* tiny, detachable accessories. These little plastic baubles—helmets, packs, assorted pointy things—have immense potential for being batted into the darkest, most inaccessible corners of this apartment. The doll is a bore, but its wardrobe and equipment? That's a treasure trove of chaos waiting to be unleashed.
Key Features
- THE ORIGINAL ACTION FIGURE NOW IN 6 INCH SCALE: The G.I. Joe Classified Series celebrates the 60th Anniversary of G.I. Joe by updating the original classic 12-inch toys into a highly articulated 6-inch (150 mm) scale with premium deco and detailing
- MODERN ACTION SOLDIER-INSPIRED DESIGN: Features a contemporary military design bringing the rich history of the G.I. Joe Action Soldier - Infantry into the modern era and packed with 25 accessory pieces making it ideal for troop-building
- HIGHLY POSEABLE WITH PREMIUM DETAILING: G.I. Joe Classified Series 60th Anniversary Action Soldier - Infantry action figure set features exceptional detailing and articulation for cool poseability to create dynamic dioramas (some poses may require additional support)
- COLLECTIBLE WINDOWED PACKAGING: The open-box display showcases the figure along with accessory loadout, gorgeous original character artwork, and dynamic digital renders while also celebrating 60 years of G.I. Joe with a unique Anniversary design
- EXPAND YOUR COLLECTION: Look for other 60th Anniversary G.I. Joe figures and toys to build your roster of heroes (Each sold separately. Subject to availability.)
- A PERFECT PRESENT: This 60th Anniversary Action Soldier - Infantry 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 "Action Soldier," which was a misnomer from the start. It performed no action. It simply stood, encased in a clear plastic prison on the desk, a silent sentinel of military-grade boredom. My human would occasionally pick up the box, murmur things about "nostalgia" and "classic design," and then place it back, perfectly aligned with the edge of his mousepad. For days, I watched this ritual, my gaze drawn not to the doll but to the tiny, intricate pieces arranged around him like offerings. A miniature shovel. A helmet that gleamed under the desk lamp. A rifle no bigger than my ear. They were trapped, and their imprisonment was an affront to the natural laws of gravity and entropy—laws I am sworn to uphold. My opportunity came during a thunderstorm. The human, distracted by the percussive symphony outside, had left the room to secure a rattling window. This was no brute-force attack; this was a mission of finesse. I leaped onto the chair, then soundlessly onto the desk. The box was my target. I ignored the soldier's stoic, painted-on gaze and focused on the container's structural weaknesses. A corner, secured by a mere piece of circular tape. I extended a single, sharp claw—my finest scalpel—and with the precision of a surgeon, sliced the seal. There was no tearing, no undignified shredding. Just a soft *snick* and the whisper of cardboard relaxing. With a gentle nudge of my nose, I worked the inner tray loose. It slid out with a satisfying rasp, spilling the treasure onto the faux-wood landscape of the desk. The soldier tumbled out, his "premium articulation" allowing him to land in a rather undignified heap. I paid him no mind. My focus was on the liberated gear. The tiny backpack was the first to go, a perfect skittering disk that slid beautifully across the surface before vanishing over the edge. The helmet followed, its arc through the air a thing of beauty. I selected the shovel and, with a flick of my paw, sent it flying directly into the human's open mug of cold tea, where it sank with a quiet *plink*. This was not destruction; it was redistribution. When the human returned, he found the soldier face-down on the desk, one leg bent at an impossible angle behind its back. He didn't notice the missing shovel for a full day. The backpack remains at large, likely establishing a new base of operations under the sofa. My final verdict? The soldier himself is a useless lump of plastic. But as a delivery system for twenty-five exquisite, high-quality floor toys, he is an unparalleled success. The G.I. Joe program has my full, albeit covert, support.
