Pete's Expert Summary
My human has brought home another box of what they call "LEGOs," this time a plastic replica of a helmet from their noisy space-westerns. The concept, as I understand it, is for them to spend hours meticulously clicking 854 tiny, brightly colored rectangles together, only to create a static object that will sit on a shelf, gathering dust and my disdain. While the process will undoubtedly provide me with a temporarily occupied lap and a symphony of crinkling plastic bags, the true treasures are the individual bricks. They are the perfect size and weight for batting under the heaviest furniture, ensuring a frantic human search later. The finished "helmet," however, is a monumental waste of plastic that could have been a proper crinkle ball.
Key Features
- Features a highly-detailed LEGO Star Wars Captain Rex Helmet model set which allows fans to pay tribute to the 501st Legion Clone Commander
- Relive spectacular scenes from Star Wars: The Clone Wars as you replicate authentic details of Captain Rex's helmet in LEGO bricks
- Proudly display this LEGO Star Wars memorabilia model on the brick-built stand with a nameplate; makes an attention-grabbing décor piece
- Part of a collection of LEGO Star Wars collectible helmets to build and display; includes picture instructions in print and on the LEGO Builder app
- This 854-piece LEGO Star Wars set for adults makes a great gift for any fan, an experienced LEGO builder or a Star Wars LEGO helmet collector
- This collectible Captain Rex helmet replica measures over 21 cm (8 in.) high, 12 cm (5 in.) wide and 13 cm (5 in.) deep. Contains 854 pieces
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The ceremony began at dusk. My human, with an air of reverence I usually only see when they open a can of premium tuna, cleared the great flat plain of the coffee table. The Box was opened, its cardboard groaning in surrender. Inside were not toys, but components. Little plastic souls in clear, crinkling bags, and a heavy book of scripture filled with cryptic diagrams. For the next three evenings, my human became a monk, head bowed, performing a ritual of endless, satisfying *clicks*. I observed from my perch on the armchair, a gray-furred sphinx judging this strange worship. Slowly, an effigy took shape. It was a head, but not a head. White and blue, with markings like angry birds above its emotionless black eyes. My human would build a small section, consult the scripture, and then offer it up to the larger whole. A blue fin here, a grim mouth-vent there. The final piece was a long, thin antenna, which they attached with the gentle finality of a priest placing a crown. The idol was complete. It was then moved to its designated shrine—a bookshelf—and placed upon a small black plinth with its name etched on a tile. Captain Rex. A new god had entered my home. For a day, I let it be, watching from afar. It stared out from the shelf, a silent, plastic sentinel. It drew the human's gaze, earning admiring glances that rightfully belonged to me. This could not stand. Under the cover of night, I made my pilgrimage. I leaped silently onto the desk, then to the top of a stack of books, and finally onto the shelf itself. I was face-to-visor with the usurper. I sniffed its smooth, unbreathing cheek. I peered into its dark visor, seeking a soul, a challenge, anything. It offered only the faint reflection of my own perfect tuxedo. With a soft *thump* of my paw, I tapped the antenna. It wiggled. I tapped it again, harder. It swayed with a pathetic little wobble. This was no god. This was not a rival. It was a hollow shell, a collection of clicks that signified nothing. Its only power was the attention my human foolishly gave it. I gave the antenna one final, dismissive flick, watching it bounce, and then turned my back on the false idol. It could have its shelf. I was off to find a warm lap, the true throne of this household. The helmet wasn't worthy of my notice, but the chaotic potential of its 853 brethren, should it ever be "dusted" too vigorously, was a thought I filed away for a rainy day.
