For any young boy coming of age in the late 1980s there was one primary source for both patriotic fervor and unmitigated violence, and that was G.I. Joe. Yes, there was nothing quite like the Joes to inspire a love for one's nation, instill a strong moral compass, or sometimes just provoke an ineffective but passionate child fistfight over who gets be Snake Eyes this round. Before the cartoon, there was only one G.I. Joe.

That was his name. His first name was G.I., his last name was Joe, and his middle name was Fuck You for Asking, Commie. He was just one guy, and he was out there to swim the vast greatness of that puddle in your backyard, traverse the lonely tundra of your picnic table, climb the mammoth peaks of your dog, and shoot the god damn bad guy who, due to a slight oversight by Hasbro, did not have a toy yet, and was thus relegated to whatever you had in front of you at the time. Sometimes he was a Ken doll. More often he was just your sister.

But being only one guy, you only had to buy one toy. They got your popsicle-sticky five dollar allowance, and that was that. Then the '80s rolled around, and greed was good again, so they started putting out a new G.I. Joe character for every single task. Some jobs were awesome, like Blowtorch, the flamethrower operator, whose 9 to 5 was the non-stop burning of motherfuckers. And some, well, some were just there to punch a clock. Like...