I did something crazy on this 1st April!
My toys got the chance seeing the sun for 10 minutes.
Probably the value of my collection had been decreased for several hundred bucks…who cares ;-)
edit/ I even touched my toys without gloves
Brog No.4 in a row. My new personal record ;-)
It’s time for my first serious Rockbat Brog this year.
I bought a very special toy last year, that I want to show you today!
Not only the toy is very special, also the way it was packed when it arrived in germany.
Well protected in finest japanese Tupperware. Nice!
My first thought when I opened the box and looked at the toy.
“Rockbat looked much bigger on the auctions fotos on yahoo!”
Second thought: “Did I really paid so much for THAT! I must be crazy!!”
No, this wasn’t an “under the radar auction”. A few other crazy idiots really wanted this little sucker.
At the end I won it and I better don’t talk about the price.
Mint in bag. No cool artwork, not painted, nothing. That’s how a holy grail should look like.
Attention>Rockbat-NERD-Mode>activated>
This piece really is unique in my eyes. In all the years I collect Rockbat related
toys and scan Yahoo and ebay regular, I never seen this toy before.
>Rockbat-NERD-Mode>deactivated
Most likely this toy isn’t special at all. Maybe it’s such a cheap shit that nobody
wants to list it on yahoo, because it’s impossible to sell it. Who knows…
Again I destroyd the C-10-holiness of a toy. I opened the bag and removed the staples.
Shit…what have I done! Now I have to find another mint specimen in bag.
Rockbat has a Bullmark copyright marking on his forehead and a Cisco marking
on the back of his head. I couldn’t find out anything about Cisco. If anybody has informations
about Cisco, please let me know.
Rockbat is ready for some skydiving!
Here you could see the little blue guy with some sofubi brothers.
That’s it! I think everything is said about this awesome vintage collectible.
If another Rockbat will ever pop up on Yahoo, I’m pretty sure the price will
be astronomical…with the help of this Brog ;-)
Oh yeah, did I mention I’m into real dolls…
Image compliments of Paul Kaiju
Photo by: Trevor Tang
My collection of Mach Barons. Most were given a custom makeover. It took much time and a steady hand to paint them but the effort was well worth it!
Bullmark Blazer diecast
They said he was from Japan and that accounted for his funny accent but it was clear to me he weren’t no Japaner. They said his metal body was the result of wounds he’d received in a war or some such but I never believed that, not for one minute. Who ever heard of such a thing; a metal body?
He wasn’t a this earth, I tell you, not even this time, maybe. Sell my mother if it aint true.
What kind of a name is “Brayza,” anyway? It aint Japanese, that’s for sure. If he was a real Japaner they would’na never let him open up that restaurant a his, never woulda let him sign the lease. Oh, no, he wasn’t from here, that’s clear as the nose on m’face!
That crawly voice a his! All raspy and metallic like a giant insect with a spring, scrapin’ up the insides of a tin box. And him always tryna talk to motorcars and machines and the like as much as to people. You call that normal?
I tell you, that restaurant a his was a waitin’ place for his unholy friends! Why else would he a-called it the “Electric Lunch?” And the food! Good god almighty, who’d a-thunk a-such stuff? Green slimy weeds you never heard of all mashed up with fat, wormy noodles and stinkin’, sticky sauces with gaggy, fishy meat he got from who the hell knows where – it was enough to make you sick. Some claimed t’like it, if you you can believe that. He actually had reg’lars but I never trusted any that’d dine in there more than once.
He just weren’t cookin’ fer humans. Nossiree.
I don’t know as many people know this but he’d sit in there at nights sometimes, after hours and back in the dark, all kinda glowin’ and a-hummin’ and a-bip-boop-beepin’ along by himself. Just bidin’ his time, bidin’ his time. War wounds my puckered butt …
I tried to tell people, tried to warn ‘em, but they jus’ laugh’ me off even though not a-one of ‘em felt too sure around him themselves, if you pressed ‘em on it. Why the hair on yer neck would go up just from his passin’ you on the street, sometimes when you weren’t even lookin’ to know he was there. Him and his wheezy clank, clank, clank. There weren’t a dog in town who would stand him without barkin’ and growlin’ without end, and he *never* went t’church. Not once.
Well, one day the Electric Lunch just didn’t open up. It never did again ’til the bank took it and the works. What I would’n a-paid t’poke around back there in his dinky little room but they weren’t brookin’ no nosin’ around. No sir, it was all business and the next thing you know it’s a shop durn fulla gew gaws and what-nots fer gussied-up dudes and little, frilly girls, run by that ol’ Jew fellah, whatshisname. Not a bad sort for all that, to tell the truth.
Anyway, some say ol’ Brayza got tied up in shady dealin’s and hadda take it on the lam. Others like to joke that we’ll find him rusting away in the woods some day, or that he made a durn-fool attempt at swimmin’, him with all that metal on ‘im, an’ he’s at the bottom a some lake somewhere but not me, no sir, not me. An’ you can see by my hand a-pointin’ where I knowed he gone: up, an’ I don’t mean t’his jus’ rewards.
I look up nights, when it’s cool and clear, and I wonder when that sumbitch is gonna come back, come back here with his danged army when we’re all fast asleep. You mark my words: watch the damn sky!
Bullmark Rockbat diecast
I thought he was just a kid goofing around. Just another bozo-button at large and awash in adolescence. You’ve seen ‘em; teens, sans supervision in the supermarket, making public fresh for their friends.
But this was different.
For one thing he was on his own. No giggling gaggle of onlookers applauded his tomfoolery. No, he worked alone – and, looking back on it, I do think it was work.
He tottered in goofily enough but made a beeline for the produce and, upon reaching that section of the market, tongue out (in concentration or anticipation I can’t say), leapt directly into the bananas and burrowed in.
My jaw must’ve darn near hit the floor when he did it, too. I don’t know who else saw him but the act was performed in such a perfect, fluid motion it had to’ve been practiced. Had to’ve been. You don’t just do that on a whim without hurting yourself, you know? Not that silently. It was stunning.
Anyway, I don’t know if he was foraging for food or looking for cover under there but he stayed under, muttering and rustling about, until the store officials showed up and asked, rather politely given the circumstances, just what he thought he was up to.
Oh, all hell broke loose then.
He burst from the banana bin and evaded the shouting scramble of store employees by leaping from display to display, havoc in his path. Peaches, mangoes, grapes, and cantaloupes were squitched, kicked and, in some cases, hucked. We onlookers ducked behind whatever we could find. I took to the floor behind the bulk-nut cart and thought I’d gotten away scott-free until I ran my fingers through my hair sometime afterwards and discovered a mass of orangey pulp there from some fruit or another. Even helpless, fuzzy little kiwis were not spared as the kooky intruder made his explosively circuitous and sticky escape.
One minute he’s mid-leap and pelting the cowering store manager with an endless fusillade of bing cherries, the next he’s a blur shooting out through the store’s advert-plastered, automatic doors.
That was the last we saw of him.
