toyboxdx toy blog brog: is graceful art of daily expressing japanese toy  

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.

Takatoku Bibyun diecast

Weird noises come out of his place at all hours and the windows are almost always dark. Some nights you can see little, flickering lights moving around in there like he’s maneuvering about the place with tea lights in his hands and plenty of shochu in his veins.

Oh, yeah he drinks alright. Sometimes alone, sometimes with what sounds like a million angry ghosts but always the next morning: the clatter of glass and aluminum out the back door, down the steps, and into the recycle container, often to overflowing.

He bangs that porch door a lot and, if you look over, he sometimes waves his little, plastic swords menacingly in your direction.

We turn our heads when this happens, politely sucking on our cigarettes, pretending we aren’t amused, interested, or even aware of his bizarre, red costume with the bumpy blue eyes.

You don’t fuck around with a guy like that. Not in San Francisco. Not when he’s … the neighbor.

I mean, who doesn’t? Well…

In the interest of research and all, I guess it might just be appropriate. I’ve slowly but surely amassed some very quintessential historic toy related info, yet… Some of it has been absolutely ruined…. BY CHILDHOOD IDOCY!!!

POCKY disaster circa 1981….

I know, I know… Who busts a wad of Pocky brilliance on a Gatchaman 11 cardboard book?? Well, let me tell you. A 5 year old kid. Doh!!

All good. I really “loved” these pages.

Can you even imagine what I’ve done to these other books over the years? And this is only the tip of the iceberg.. Mmmm Mmmm Mmmmm…..

Alps – Japan – 1975.

Bandai Chogokin 1985.

Bullmark. 1974. Kamagira, Denjin Zaboga, Satan-Bog.

Butanohana Chibull Ningen