I don't have any specific memories of it, but I think it's a safe assumption to say that I did. What I mostly did was play with legos and create cities. My favorite was in the back yard after we removed the above-ground pool, and were left with a large circle of sand. I carved it out to make mountains and complex river systems, and then populated it with my lego buildings and people. I know the battle of good vs evil took place on many a mountaintop or riverboat.

I was more "small band of misfits/lone hero against incalculable odds/fire-ant nest".

A small band of Battle Beasts, under command of a fearless leader, would hide out in a cave, attacking the fascist tyrant and his deviant army with guerrilla and--if I look back on it honestly--terrorist tactics.

Looking at the figure lists now I realize I had about 60% of the little guys. Hours of fun, although I never paid attention to their names ("Horny Toad?") or saw the cartoon.

The weirdest thing (to me at least) about the Battle Beasts, is that they were apparently a spin off of the Transformers.

No, but my Ken doll had 10 or 15 Barbies, and they'd have to wait in line to go on dates with him.

I use to set up the bad guys hiding among the good guys (civilians) and some toy cars and things in the sand pile. Then from the porch I would use a bb gun to pick off the bad guys without hurting the civilians or their stuff.

No, but my Ken doll had 10 or 15 Barbies, and they'd have to wait in line to go on dates with him.

Amazing that Ken had a such a way with the aldies, despite the handicap of lacking a penis.

way with the ladies, dammit. whether he had a way with the aldies, I'll never know.

I wasn't allowed to have Ken: my mother decided he was just too tacky. She was anti Barbie as well but somehow I managed to end up with 3 or 4 Skippers (Skipper has no boobs, thus she was marginally okay) and a Malibu Barbie. The dog got ahold of Malibu Barbie and ate most of her feet and lower legs off. Then I decided to improve her hair and makeup. The proto punk hairstyle was okay, but the makeup, done I think with oil paints or something, was not so good and in a fit of panic I cleaned her face with nail polish remover. Nail polish remover, for all you twisted souls out there, melts Barbie faces. Voila! I was the proud possessor of Deformed Evil Barbie (tm) and she fulfilled all my wicked stepmother, deranged witch and evil oppressing space overlady needs for years.

Oh, and I am a member of the few, the proud - the lucky generation whose Barbies could date GI Joe without awkward size issues. ;-) Thus evil Barbie could always swan around with one of my brothers' hideously deformed from M-80 abuse GI Joes and together they could plot to take over the galaxy with their gruesome luxuriant evilness.

My mother and sister will still occasionally delight in bringing up that I used to play with my sister's Barbies when I was a boy. What they conveniently leave out when bringing this up is the specific use I had for the Barbies: My mother wouldn't allow me to have any "violent" toys, like guns. Or even GI Joes. But I discovered that if you bent Barbies legs down just right, they made a fairly convincing pistol grip. That's right - I played with my sister's Barbie dolls, but I used them as surrogate guns. To this day, I love the smell of gunpowder in the morning. It smells like... articulated hourglass figures.

I had Barbies, but instead of a Ken, I had a Luke Skywalker. He was totally awesome (I wonder if I still have him somewhere) and had a grappling hook and light saber and everything, but he was considerable larger proportionately than the Barbies. They still went out on dates, though, and occasionally would grind their hard plastic crotches together.

drezdn:

That's insane. I just read that on XE as well.

My world is shattered.

I only had one Ken for several Barbies, so some of the Barbies had lesbian relationships. : )

My Barbies had cross-species (stuffed animals) relationships.

My younger brother and I had a ton of Star Wars figures, army men and misc. figures. I don't really have an specific memories of who was good or bad and how we arranged them to fight against each other. BUT I remember we used to use one of mum's flowerbeds for the killing field. There was a huge chunk of driftwood, several smaller chunks and tons of ferns for them to hide and fight in.

I went for the lone warrior versus hordes of evil guys approach. We had a sandpit in the back garden and my next door neighbour and I would borrow my dad's footpump, bury the nozzle under a hill of sand, station enemy troops on it and then BLAM! the mine that the hero had planted would suddenly go off.

I also have vague memories of blowing imperial stormtroopers up with caps.

Heh! Great stories.

Here's mine, from an old 'blog post:

I'd be so damned happy if I could goof off and do something creative here at work without looking even more eccentric. But, while most of the cubicles are only decorated with American flags, I'm the guy with paper airplanes and a little rubber Creature from the Black Lagoon and Origami birds all over his desk. Do you know why Origami paper is folded but never cut? It's a Shinto custom to respect the spirit or "kami" of the tree that gave its life for the paper.

Toothpicks--I have toothpicks! I could build a wee bridge out of them with Elmer's Glue, a bridge for toy soldiers. "Army men" we used to call them, me and Scotty Marshall, as we drew a division line between us in the sandbox and built forts, dug tunnels, and set up command posts for a war we would never get around to fighting. We'd spend the entire summer day sitting in the shade of an oak tree, talking while we scooped out strategic trenches and filled them with our green plastic brigades. When we found an army man who had been chewed by a dog we might use him as a casualty, while an armless soldier (a victim of the lawnmower) might be a grizzled WWII veteran general overseeing the troops from HQ. Like Patton, maybe, but a nicer guy.

By the time the battlefield was ready for battle, the sun was dropping below the trees and it was time to pack it up. We would start over in the morning and maybe get as far as a brief skirmish, but probably not. The real fun was sitting in the shade with our hands in the cool sand as we talked about dinosaurs and movies and whether the Hulk could kick Superman's butt (he could, as far as I was concerned).

It was a good war, a war that was never fought, a war that was pre-empted every evening when one of the Commanders said, "That's my Mom calling me. I guess I have to go home now."

But a sandbox on my desk would not go over well.

I wonder if George Bush or Ariel Sharon have sandboxes on their desks? Each miniature tank might represent $1,000,000 of deployed hardware (with corresponding defense industry contracts and related campaign contributions); each tiny man might symbolize 10,000 lives. Maybe they missed out when they were kids, and they're making up for lost time.

I'm not important enough to have a sandbox on my desk, and I'm grateful for that. Instead I pick up a piece of paper and fold it carefully, never cutting, as I think of a plastic amputee general who never gives the order to fire for fear his troops will end up like him.

I had GI Joes brought over for England from my grandmother. They were neat, as they had completely different accessories than their North American counterparts. Ususally, the baddies would win, or at least beat the goodies (no, not those Goodies) to a standstill.

(...)I cleaned her face with nail polish remover. Nail polish remover, for all you twisted souls out there, melts Barbie faces. [thinks mgl got a little bit more cool]