Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have acquired yet another piece of colorful plastic from the purveyors at Mattel. It appears to be a wheeled conveyance, garishly decorated, accompanied by a small, masked effigy of a human wrestler. The intended purpose is, I gather, to recreate the loud and nonsensical grappling rituals they enjoy on the glowing box. While the rolling wheels offer a modicum of potential for a satisfying bat-and-chase, and the bouncing "hydraulics" might be momentarily startling, the true, and perhaps only, redeeming feature is the "launching action." The ability to transform the tiny man into a high-speed projectile could, potentially, elevate this from a piece of floor clutter to a worthy adversary, if only for a few glorious seconds before it gets lost under the sofa.
Key Features
- Roll down to the ring with the Lucha Low Rider vehicle.
- Includes a WWE Main Event Rey Mysterio action figure with advanced articulation.
- Recreate iconic entrances with the Lucha Low Rider hydraulics action.
- Rey Mysterio can enter the match with the vehicle's launching action.
- Ride into matches with real rolling wheels.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The incident began in the quietest hour of the afternoon, that sacred time when a sunbeam makes its pilgrimage across the living room rug. I was, of course, occupying the precise center of this solar blessing, deep in a trance-like state, when the Human returned. They carried a box that smelled of plastic and broken dreams. From it, they produced a machine of such lurid purple and gold that it offended my very fur. It was a chariot, a ridiculous, low-slung thing that spasmed up and down on its wheels in a series of undignified convulsions. At its helm sat a tiny, masked creature, frozen in a posture of absurd bravado. I watched from my sunbeam, my tail twitching in silent judgment. The Human placed the contraption on the floor and poked at it. The chariot bucked and weaved, its silent pilot staring into the middle distance, oblivious to his chariot's fit. A pathetic display. This, I thought, was a new low. A toy that merely sits and shudders? An insult to the noble art of the chase. I was about to close my eyes and excommunicate the entire affair from my consciousness when the Human’s finger found a different button. There was a sharp *click*, a mechanical whir of protest, and then the unthinkable happened. The chariot, with a violent shrug of its chassis, ejected its pilot. The tiny, masked man flew through the air in a perfect arc, a silent, flailing emissary of chaos, before landing with a soft *thud* mere inches from my pristine white paws. He lay there, face down on the rug, a sacrifice delivered directly to my holy sunbeam. I blinked. The ridiculous, shuddering chariot was not a vehicle; it was an altar. A launching platform designed for one purpose: to deliver offerings to me, the ruler of this domain. Slowly, I rose and stretched, extending my claws deliberately. I padded over to the fallen idol. It smelled of nothing, felt of nothing, was nothing. But the gesture... the magnificent, high-velocity gesture was everything. I pinned the small figure with a single paw, claiming my tribute. The chariot could keep its pointless bouncing. Its true purpose had been revealed. It was a flawed, gaudy, but ultimately acceptable Tribute-Flinger. It could stay.
