Suddenly the melting pot of toys came alive! An eye popping array of playthings gathered around to study the new arrival. There were murmurs about how the cube did not see this one coming. Then a shriek came from atop the dresser. It was a blue spray bottle with a battery-powered fan on top. "Oh, my department store Santa! Last year when Eight was Seven, I was da bomb! Now he'll have to get another fan and there's no room for two on the dresser!" The misting fan scowled at the puzzled wind-up dog, "Fuzzball, it's your fault for being his new little favorite and making him forget! Don't you have butts to sniff? Barf to lap up? You know you want to!"
"Operation Tail Wagging the Dog, on me!" commanded a disembodied voice. Ropes lowered from the shelf above. Other Major Smith O'Reens figures repelled down to the shelf holding the unusual gang of suspects for inspection of the automaton puppy. The contingent of big guns were the same muscle-bound hero but varied in size and quality -- one was 3D printed, fully articulated, sporting a flocked beard, and another was an injection molded plastic prize from a cereal box. Each counterpart wore specialized battle rattle for specific missions. The highly decorated parallel universe version was clad in a velvet lined asymmetrical cape. Last of the ilk to descend for the meet was an oversized representative just like the scuba cop Muhammad took with him except outfitted in olive drab safari fatigues and wanted for a crime he didn't commit.
The strong-jawed major stood with his Herculean arms akimbo to greet the VIP in a friendly manner, but his demeanor quickly switched and he approached like a bad weather front to tell the newcomer to stay in its place. "Spoiler alert, Sparko: You're a knickknack! While we bona fide toys take the risks of being broken, chewed, or lost, you backbenchers sit on this safe enclave in complacent year after year till a child grows up, the light goes out of their eyes, their sense of wonder replaced with the obsession to collect a paycheck, and then in some Dr. Freud desperate attempt to reclaim childhood happiness you all become collectibles that are handed down to the next generation of handlers and worth stupid money!"
"Cha-ching!" cheered the bunny coin bank.
"He said, 'stupid!'" a leftover firework from the Fourth of July popped out of a drawer.
"Can we say 'stupid too?'" asked its twin.
"Didn't know it was a competition," the sport accolade harrumphed.
"Well, he's not wrong..." the elf shrugged in agreement.
The quintessential tough guy like Ali, Chan, Schwarzenegger, Stallone, Norris and Lee all rolled into one pointed to a kite hanging from the ceiling. "Each mission it goes wheels up on is probabilistically its last. Here's some hypotheticals. Biologics always shoot for the moon so chances are if it doesn't get stuck in a tree, the string will accidentally be let go! And if the veteran somehow beats the odds it'll just get boxed up and stuck in the garret with the holiday decorations! And that's no reindeer dust that'll sprinkle down all over it." The kite could barely stand to listen to these kitemare scenarios and its tail shook frantically.
