Decepticon jets are great, but because they're supposed to be airborne, they're not as fun to send rolling across your kitchen floor. Kind of dispels the illusion, doesn't it? Decepticon cars, though... You can send those evil warriors careening across hardwood floors into cats and babies and ankles, immersed in the wheeled malevolence, cackling all the way. When the Stunticons were introduced in the cartoon as the Decepticons' response to Autobot road mastery, I loved it. More Decepticons is always a good thing, and 'Cons that intentionally collide into the likes of Jazz or Sideswipe are even better. And then, when they transform and merge into one giant super warrior... Decepti-Bliss. And now we have greatly improved box art for all of them!

Let's start off with the two archetypical maniacs of the outfit, Drag Strip (left) and Wildrider (right). These two lack any complexity beyond the desire to cause mayhem and suffering. They're exactly the sort of uncomplicated and unquestioning warriors you want on the front line. I was trying in vain to think of a word for someone who demonstrates bad sportsmanship over everything in life, gloating over his victories and correspondingly raging uncontrollably when he is beaten or slighted; whatever the word is, that's Drag Strip. Even his fellow Decepticons find him insufferable.

As a complement, Wildrider resembles a hyperactive and violent child. Racing along without fear or concern, if there's one Stunticon who truly "cackles", it's him. In fact, he's one of the few Decepticons whose actual function is TERRORIST.

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While Fireflight might have been the most unnoticed Aerialbot, Slingshot was definitely the most unavoidably noticeable. Because he's a loud-mouthed, arrogant braggart with an inflated sense of self-worth. When the Aerialbots were first "born" in the cartoon, with the exception of their leader, Silverbolt, they all thought little of the Autobots, even less of humans, and admired the Decepticons, and Slingshot was the self-nominated spokesman for the the majority of these sentiments. Eventually, of course, they learned first-hand the supposed error of their ways. Of course. Because it was a cartoon. And while Slingshot, like the rest of the Aerialbots, had become more appreciative of humans and Autobots, he remained an arrogant braggart.

What do you say? Slingshot: cocksure hero, or annoying bastard? (It's difficult for me to judge objectively, because I'm a cocksure bastard of questionable heroism myself.)

The improved box art for Slingshot was edited and repaired by Vito Adesso (visiting all the way from Italy) and was scanned from the Japanese laserdisc box set scans. Thanks, Vito!

The latest improved piece for the Archive was a Japanese-exclusive character from the Masterforce era, the Autobot flag-bearer God Ginrai, the ultimate form of Ginrai when combined with and enhanced by his drone, Godbomber. This art comes entirely from Jeremy Barlow of Soundwave's Oblivion. Sweet, eh?

While God Ginrai was never released stateside, his Godbomber-less form was released here as Powermaster Optimus Prime. (In the Japanese Masterforce cartoon, Ginrai is a completely new character, and the fact that he bears an unmistakable resemblance to the legendary Optimus Prime is completely ignored. Optimus who?) I've owned Powermaster Optimus Prime since he was first released in 1988 -- probably one of the last Transformers I actually bought as a kid -- but since I acquired the reissue of God Ginrai a few years back, my old PM Prime has seemed a bit redundant. Even without the Godbomber armor, the Japanese version is simply a better toy, and since I don't like to keep duplicates on the shelf, my long-carried Powermaster Optimus Prime often sits in a drawer. And yet, I haven't been able to bring myself to actually sell him. I wouldn't get too much for him, true, but it's more that I can't easily bring myself to sell one of my original childhood toys, even when it's been supplanted by a newer, better model.

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Cosmos travels through the rarefied upper atmosphere of our apartment. It's a special privilege few of my Transformers enjoy. Heather thinks Cosmos is cute for several reasons. His "flying saucer" mode is so woefully outdated and antiquarian that it cannot help but make you feel sympathy for the little guy. He's tiny -- palm-sized, really -- and colored so non-threateningly. Without ever reading his tech spec, Heather said, "He just seems lonely." Of course, that's exactly what he is: lonely. Isolated. Exiled. So Cosmos moves from atop door moldings to windowsills to desks to bookcases. As of this moment he's currently docked on Fortress Maximus' landing pad, but that's only temporary. He'll be back peering down on us from a doorway molding by next week.

The nicely improved box art for Cosmos is another from the Japanese laserdisc box sets that was nailed by Nailbomb. (What a seductively Decepticon name!)

Just what is a reasonable amount of money to spend on collectibles? It's a question that I imagine most every collector must ponder at some point or another, and it's a difficult one for me to answer. By their very nature, collectibles are not necessary items. Whoever recently bought Action Comics #1 for $1,500,000 did not need to do so any more so than the collector who drops $10 at Walmart for the latest Star Wars figure. Toys seem to be considered important, if not essential, for children -- "play" is an important part of development -- but while that impulse transitions for most adults into sports or video games or fishing, some of us never outgrow our love of childish things. But even that explanation is too simplistic, since few adult collectors "play" with their collections; I don't know any adult Transformers fans that spend hours rolling cars and jets around making "vroom! vroom!" and "ptchoo! ptchoo!" noises. No, there are other psychological factors in play, like perhaps hoarding, or reclaiming lost childhood. Who can say? Everyone is different. But whatever reason compels a grown man (or woman) to continue buying toys (or stamps or coins or Elvis memorabilia), there remains for each one the simple question: How much money am I willing to spend on this?

Is there such a thing as a "reasonable" amount? If so, how do you calculate that? A percentage of one's income? Speculation on resale value (assuming one ever actually plans on selling one's collection)? How "in control" are you as a collector? The truth is I don't think that any collector can answer these questions completely, and the motivations behind toy collecting are especially nebulous. The reasonability of a superfluous purchase does seem to scale up or down based on one's amount of disposable cash, but that's a no-brainer: the more money you make, the more frivolous expenditures that you (and those who observe you) can justify.

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It's unsurprising that one of my all-time favorite Transformers comic book covers features my all-time favorite Transformer: SHOCKWAVE, the Decepticon Military Operations Commander. This was the first cover to appear after the original four-issue limited series was extended into an ongoing monthly, and was one of only two painted covers in the 80-issue run (the other being the debut issue). Here Shockwave reminds us that at the end of the previous installment he was the last Transformer standing, having incapacitated the remaining Autobots after their seeming victory over the Decepticons.

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It started back when we lived in NYC: the majority of our apartment was decorated and stylized by Heather, but I had a sanctuary, a space, a room that was filled with All Things Adam. There was my computer desk, my various musical instruments, and of course my bookcases of Transformers. I took to calling it The War Room in the spirit of Doctor Strangelove. By the time we left our railroad-style Brooklyn digs, the War Room was over-flowing.

When we moved to Portland I took the spare bedroom as my office and delighted in the wealth of breathing room my collection had gained. As the Classics line multiplied and the Animated line hit stores, I resorted to putting up shelves to host the figures, while off-setting the increased geekiness with more macabre imagery.

But my collection-displaying woes were not what was actually concerning me. Since my desktop computer was in that room, it meant that I was too often segregated from my roomie, my partner in life, my blushing bride. After all, what reason had she to join me in my plastic "man cave"? How can we share what we're watching or reading or playing if I'm ensconced and secluded in the War Room?

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We needed a dessert to follow the crustaceans at last week's drunken crab-fest. Something with a little Truth, some Justice, and maybe a touch of The American Way. This looks like a job... for Superman Cake!

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I cannot recall how my association with Botch the Crab began. As far back as March 1999 he had taken over this website and my online persona with his caustic wit and salty charms. But I cannot recall his invention. I never had an special interest in crabs growing up. When Botch comes up in conversation, the first thing people usually ask is, "Are you a Cancer?" To which I respond along the lines of, "Oh, definitely. Astrologically, too." Unsurprisingly, I've never given a shit about horoscopes and constellations. Nonetheless, I do feel a certain kinship with crabs. I like to armor myself against the world. I like leading with my claws. When given two choices as an ultimatum, I'll often move crabwise to the side instead. And crabs just look cool.

"So why would you eat crabs?" I was asked this over the weekend while sitting down with a bunch of friends to crack, scoop and dig in to some whole crabs. I'd never cleaned and eaten a whole crab before, probably because I don't like touching animals or insects or people or living things in general. (Give me a choice between lying on the sidewalk and lying on the grass and I'll probably take the former.) But crabs are really yummy, and I like to overcome my fears and aversions, so there I was, cleaning, cooking and consuming crustaceans. I would have done live crabs, but that would have involved keeping a half-dozen in my bathtub overnight, and that wasn't going to happen.

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I'm trying to finish my will. I'm not dying or anything, I just figured it would be a smart and easy thing to get out of the way. The basics are simple: cremate me, and all my money and possessions go to my wife, Heather. The unexpected difficulty I'm running into is the whole "if my wife does not survive me" part. We're blissfully childless, and I'm not especially close to my family. Who gets my money and stuff?

I tried thinking over my friends and relatives to see if there was someone who I felt most deserving of a sudden influx of cash, but nobody stuck out. I'm not even sure what criteria I should use. Someone who needs it the most, presumably because their situation in life is unfairly more costly than their means? Or whomever I like the most? Whoever is youngest and therefore has "their whole life ahead of them"? It all seems so arbitrary.

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