McFarlane Toys Spawn Action Figures Deluxe Box Set

From: McFarlane Toys

Pete's Expert Summary

My human, in their infinite and often baffling wisdom, has procured what appears to be a small, plastic gargoyle trapped in a transparent prison. The box claims it's something called a "Spawn," which I can only assume is a type of particularly grotesque and immobile vermin. Its primary features seem to be an excessive number of joints—all the better for being knocked off a high shelf, I suppose—and a small, rigid cape that looks entirely unsuitable for snuggling. The most curious part is its throne, which is fashioned from what looks like garbage. While I appreciate a good sit, I prefer my thrones to be velvet or sun-warmed, not made of sculpted refuse. This seems like an object designed purely to gather dust and occupy a space that could be better used for my mid-afternoon nap.

Key Features

  • Incredibly detailed 7” scale figure based off Todd McFarlane's Spawn Comic Series
  • Designed with Ultra Articulation with up to 22 moving parts for full range of posing and play
  • Includes a removable cape and a garbage throne
  • Featured in Spawn themed window boxed packaging
  • Collect all McFarlane Toys Spawn Figures

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The ceremony began, as it always does, with the crinkle of cellophane and the sigh of cardboard yielding to a blade. My human lifted the dark figurine from its plastic sarcophagus with a reverence I find frankly insulting, given the perfunctory way they scoop my dinner. They placed the creature upon its designated perch—a throne of twisted metal and filth, a monument to poor taste. And they put it on the *good* bookshelf, the one that catches the westerly sun just so. An intruder. A rival. I waited until the house fell silent, the giant biped having retreated to stare at their glowing rectangle in another room. A silent leap, a practiced landing, and I was face-to-face with the interloper. It was smaller than I'd imagined, all spiky bits and a dramatic red cape that smelled faintly of a factory in a land I'll never care to visit. I gave it a tentative sniff. Nothing. Not prey, not friend, not even interesting trash. I nudged its leg with my nose. To my surprise, the limb gave way, bending at the knee with an unnerving, silent fluidity. I poked it again, this time with a soft paw. Its arm swung out. This wasn't a statue; it was a puppet without strings. My investigation turned to its throne. I circled the pathetic chair, noting the sculpted detritus. An insult to royalty, clearly. My velvet cushion by the fireplace was a throne; this was a mockery. A plan, brilliant and simple, formed in my mind. This pretender had to be deposed. I gave the figure a firm, decisive shove with my forehead. It teetered, its 22 points of articulation lending its fall a certain wobbly, undignified grace. It tumbled backward, its stiff cape catching on a sculpted pipe, leaving it to dangle ignominiously off the side of its own seat. Victory. The garbage throne was mine. I carefully stepped onto the seat, preparing to claim my prize. It was dreadful. The plastic was hard, cold, and lumpy. There was no comfortable way to curl up. I hopped off immediately, disgusted. The throne was as worthless as its former occupant. I cast a final, disdainful glance at the dangling figure, now just a bit of plastic decoration hanging crookedly. The conquest was satisfying, but the prize was beneath me. I left it there as a warning to all other inanimate objects and went to find a sunbeam. Some battles are won simply by proving the enemy isn't worth fighting for.