19 January 2005: The Slinky betrayed us. I should have known. I never trusted him. He was an unstable character, always going back and forth, back and forth, never showing a shred of backbone. “Come, senor, I know the way to the insurgents’ headquarters,” he rasped. The fact that he was an Arab toy speaking with a stereotypical Spanish accent should have tipped me off. But hindsight is always 20/20. Literally. I can turn my head 360 degrees.
I only knew my men by their code names, but even in that short space of time we shared a bond that only six-inch plastic combatants can truly understand. They were my family, my brothers in petroleum-based products. One night we all melted the tips of our fingers and became plastic brothers.
And I led those brave action figures into the trap.
The rest is just as funny.