I was recently watching a program on VH1 called “I Love Toys.” VH1 polled viewers about their favorite toys, and based on the results produced a show that revealed the 100 most popular toys, ranked in order of popularity.

As I watched portions of the program, I began to realize how many odd little stories I could tell about the toys I had when I was a kid. My parents were not the sort to cave in every time I whined about needing this toy or that; I learned to make do with the toys I had, resulting in some rather amusing improvisation on my part. Add the warped imagination I possessed as a child and a healthy dose of gullibility, and what resulted were some rather strange little tales. I believe there are enough such tales to support this recurring series that I call “Very Strange Toy Stories.”

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In 1974, at the tender age of four, I lost my faith in humanity, and turned bitter and cynical, all because of the toy company called Mego. It began with television advertisements for Mego’s Star Trek Enterprise Bridge Playset. Those commercials touted the features of the toy, including the Enterprise Transporter. The way the commercial depicted the playset’s transporter led me to believe that the damn thing actually worked, just like the transporter on the show. Somehow I’d become convinced that the makers of a $20 toy consisting of vinyl and plastic had figured out how to build into that toy a cost-effective and fully functioning device that converted matter to energy, transmitted that energy over great distances and then converted that energy back into matter again. Moreover, I believed they were willing to allow such a device to fall into the hands of four-year-olds. I remember daydreaming about using it to beam action figures, unpleasant foods, and my little sister to the moon.

I subsequently received the toy as a Christmas gift. I discovered that the “transporter” was just a plastic chamber with two compartments in which you could place one of the Star Trek action figures. It did have a cool spinning effect that was transporter-like, but it did not actually work. I could not use it to beam my little sister to the moon.

Nevertheless, I did have a great deal of fun with the toy. That is, until a particularly dangerous mission resulted in Captain Kirk’s right leg breaking off at the knee. In 1974, there was no such term as “handi-capable,” and Starfleet Command saw no further use for James Tiberius Kirk. In my world, Kirk’s career therefore ended with a medical discharge, and he spent the rest of his days collecting Starfleet disability payments.

Kirk became embittered and withdrew from his friends. Without a captain, the Enterprise was decommissioned, and my sister turned it into a house for those little Weebles, the odd toys whose distinguishing feature was their ability to wobble without falling down. Dr. McCoy never fully adjusted to civilian life, and developed a severe drinking problem. Mr. Spock’s inability to find another job drove him to turn to crime, resulting in Batman kicking his ass on more than one occasion.

It was a sad ending for the career of three heroes who had saved the United Federation of Planets from the Cookie Monster Puppet That Tried to Eat the World.

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After the Enterprise was decommissioned, I caught some re-runs of the 1960s Batman T.V. series. Many aficionados of super-hero comic-books revile this series, blaming its unrepentant campiness for creating an inaccurate perception of super-heroes in the minds of the general public.

Looking back, the one thing that sticks out in my mind about the show was how the police in Gotham City were unable to cope with criminals whose weapons included laughing gas, sneezing powder, stupid riddles and umbrellas. Apparently even though Gotham’s finest carried guns, none of them had been trained in their use.

At the age of five, however, the ’60s Batman T.V. series seemed anything but campy to me. I became the biggest Batman fanatic there ever was or would ever be. When I would watch the show, I would put on a Batman mask that was part of a Halloween costume my parents had gotten for me, and would try to re-enact all of the dialogue and action as I was watching it. That was difficult since I was seeing these shows for the first time.

My mother very quickly soured on the idea of my jumping around the living room, knocking over furniture as I tried to act out the fight scenes. The producers of the ’60s Batman T.V. show may have had only a limited budget for things like breakaway furniture, but it was infinitely more than my parents’ budget for such items.

So my mother bought me a Batman action figure from Mego in hopes that I would use it to act out the scenes from the show, rather than dispensing vigilante justice all over the furniture. The Batman action figure had a lever in back that created some kind of one-two punching action, and that was enough to get me to stop assaulting the furniture.

But Batman needed Robin. To that end, I was given a Mego Bend ‘n Flex Robin action figure. These were small rubber action figures with wire “skeletons” underneath. Unfortunately, the rubber on those toys broke easily, resulting in the occasional accidental amputation of a limb, and exposing the copper wire underneath. I suspect someone somewhere put an eye out with one of those things.

The main problem with Bend ‘n Flex Robin was that he was only about one-fourth as tall as One-Two Punch Batman and his enemies. So all a villain had to do was step on Robin and he was out of the fight. Eventually, Batman stuffed Bend ‘n Flex Robin inside one of my mother’s couches, deciding the little turd was more trouble than he was worth.

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I remember when Star Wars came out in 1977. I was seven years old (and I know I’m carbon-dating myself by acknowledging that) and going to Catholic school (my parents had me transfer to public school the following year, which is another story for another time). I remember seeing Darth Vader in the television commercials and thinking how much he looked like the scary nuns at my school, with their black habits and their heavy breathing. So I asked my parents not to take me to see Star Wars.

I saw some advertisements for the action figures, though, and I thought they were cool. So I asked my parents to buy some for me, and they purchased a few (they didn’t always say no).

Not having seen the movie, though, I had no idea what to do with these toys. So I decided Luke Skywalker, with his poofy little kimono-like shirt, was this girly-boy who was being pursued by dirty old man Obi-Wan Kenobi. Luke had a yellow stick up his right arm (as opposed to his butt), which I decided he would use to bash the dirty old man over the head repeatedly. And I thought R2D2 was an ashtray, a little garbage can, or perhaps a futuristic urinal (for use by the other figures, not by me).

Soon after the movie came out and I had acquired some of the related toys, I saw the comic-book adaptation and asked my parents to buy it for me, which they did (again, they didn’t always say no). I’ve always been more excited about comic-books than movies. Seriously. Although reading the comic got me interested in seeing the movie; I believe I went in ‘78 or ‘79 (I mean, that movie ran forever). I got hooked on the Star Wars movies and became a rabid fan.

Boy, was I ever surprised to learn that R2D2 was not a urinal. The next day I made Chewbacca apologize to R2.

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Well, that’s it for this edition of “Very Strange Toy Stories.” I dare you to come back and read future installments.