Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a box of garish plastic intended, I gather from the "Playskool" branding, for a human of far less distinguished taste and developmental maturity than myself. It appears to be a collection of five chunky, brightly colored robotic dinosaurs. The primary selling point, a rather desperate one, is that these separate, vaguely dissatisfying objects can be clumsily mashed together to form one larger, supremely dissatisfying object called a "Megazord." While the individual components might possess a certain heft suitable for being batted decisively under the credenza, the overall concept of "assembly" seems like a tedious human ritual that will produce a great deal of noise and result in a statue far too unstable to properly nap against. The included "Power Sword" does, however, show some promise as a chewable baton.
Key Features
- ALL FIVE DINOZORD ACTION FIGURES IN ONE PACK: Includes five action figures inspired by the Zords of the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers
- COMBINE TO FORM THE DINO MEGAZORD: Megazord Power, on. The Megazord Megapack contains all the Zords you need to form the Dino Megazord
- INSPIRED BY MIGHTY MORPHIN POWER RANGERS: The five teenagers with attitudes combined their mighty dinosaur-powered Zords into the Dino Megazord to battle giant-sized monsters
- INCLUDES SHOW-INSPIRED ACCESSORY: The Megazord Power Sword is included so kids can imagine the epic battles between Power Rangers and monsters
- LOOK FOR OTHER POWER RANGERS TOYS: Find other Power Rangers figures and gear, including Mighty Morphin Power Rangers toys, to expand the morphinominal action. Additional products each sold separately. Subject to availability
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The human called the ritual "assembly," but I recognized it for what it was: a desperate act of creation. He sat on the floor, surrounded by five primary-colored idols, muttering incantations from a paper scroll. There was the lumbering black one, the brutish yellow one, a garish blue, a superfluous pink, and a sharp-headed red one. I watched from my perch on the armchair, a silent, gray-furred god judging a mortal’s clumsy attempt at sculpture. He clicked and pressed them together, not with the elegant finality of a predator’s jaws, but with the fumbling uncertainty of a creature who still has to *open* cans of tuna instead of simply willing them into existence. When the effigy was complete, he presented it to me. "Look, Pete! The Megazord!" It stood there, a monument to poor taste. Its posture was rigid, its expression vacant. It was a hollow god for a hollow age. I descended from my throne, my paws silent on the rug, and began my formal architectural critique. I circled the construct, my tail giving a slow, judgmental twitch. The lines were all wrong, a chaotic jumble of competing forms with no central, unifying aesthetic. It lacked the sleek minimalism of the television stand or the brutalist honesty of the scratching post. It was, in a word, suburban. With a soft *pat*, my paw made contact with its leg. The plastic felt cheap, yielding. This was no mighty Zord; this was a bauble. I gave it a more insistent shove. The connection points, so proudly "clicked" into place by my human, groaned under the pressure. I saw the weakness, the inherent flaw in its design. This was not a structure built to last or to inspire awe. It was built to be sold. With a final, decisive push aimed at its center of gravity, the entire thing collapsed. The "Megazord" tumbled into its five constituent parts, scattering across the floor with a series of pathetic clatters. My human sighed. I, however, felt a sense of rightness restore to the room. The grand, ugly idol was vanquished, reduced to manageable, bat-able pieces. I selected the yellow one—the Saber-Toothed Tiger, I believe he called it—and with a flick of my paw, sent it skittering under the sofa. It was a far more fitting fate. It was not a warrior. It was clutter. And I am the master of all clutter.
