I was the Jim Jones of the Lorne Greene Clones

I remember one Christmas as a child of about five, all kinds of relatives I'd never met before came out of the woodwork to present me with a dozen or so Commander Adama action figures.
Man, did this suck.
A young boy wants some Cylons, or at least one of those green Ovions with the four arms, y'know, creatures with a little whimsy to `em, something cool, damnit, but back then nerd culture wasn't mainstream like now, and my family was convinced there was something disturbing and, worse than that, fruity about wanting to play with "dolls" and not, say, a football, so they balanced their raging homophobia with my wanting action figures by giving me the manliest possible choice : Ben Cartwright from Bonanza.
"We know you like the science fiction, dong, so, here's fistful of old men to play with."
Seriously, what the fuck was I supposed to do with a dozen very grim, pissed off looking Lorne Greenes?
"I'll distract the Cylons by not having any cartilage left in my joints. While this is going on, you other Adamas sneak around them, cutting ahead of them in line, and waste 20 minutes trying to pay for a cartload of groceries in the express lane with a library card."
I ended up playing "Mutual of Omaha's Wild Clone Ranch", which I seem to remember somehow involved a lighter. There were no survivors.