Cheepnis

Halloween orange means cheese. Not the kind that comes in a brick, or as a wheel, or in individually wrapped slices that may at one time have been in the proximity of a dairy product. Halloween means cheese of an entirely different sort, as in cheaply manufactured yet heart-tuggingly tacky novelties. One thing the two kinds of cheese do have in common is that they are both likely to cause constipation.

It’s been a long time since I’ve picked up a comic book – I believe they were under fifty cents last time I purchased one – but when I was a twisted tot, comic books were the source of All Things Cheese, by virtue of the ubiquitous ads. Let’s face it – no one’s ever gonna advertise Seamonkeys in Forbes. I never actually knew anybody who had ‘em, but that didn’t stop me from beggin’ Mom on several occasions to let me be the master of my own little colony of the Royalty of the Fishbowl (did you see the little crowns they wear? Royalty, I tell you, and I won’t be convinced otherwise by anything like facts).

The comic book ads that got the most attention in our house, though, were the full-page cheese splashes for the Johnson-Smith catalog. If you don’t know what I mean – and I pity you if you don’t – think X-Ray Specs, the crappy little drawing with the guy wearin’ these swirly glasses and seein’ the bones in his hand. Because, of course, nobody who bought these immediately tried to see through everyone else’s clothing. That would be wrong. Tardist, Timmy and I devoted entirely too much of our attention to all things Johnson-Smith. Naturally, the first time an order is placed from the pages of a comic book, the catalogues begin to arrive, and they never stop.

I was always allowed to peruse The Catalogue when Timmy and Tardist had already had a thorough look through its cheap little pages. It was always a thing of wonderment to pore over the latest edition, which generally didn’t vary much from the older edition. There was so much crap to be had, and so little time and money with which this crap could be had. The joy buzzers, the strobe lights, the plastic dog poop, the itching powder, the exploding cigarettes - there it was, gathered in one place for the delight of the child and the childish. For just a little of Mom and Dad’s hard-earned jack, one could have a tiny hovercraft, or a Phi Zappa Krappa poster, or a coffin bank with a hand that grabbed your change, or a “realistic-looking” ghost on a wire, because everyone would spot a fake ghost right off the bat.

Make no mistake, it was all junk. And the copywriters at Johson-Smith recognized that and embraced it like a happy drunk hugs everybody in the room before he wets himself. The most frequently used phrase in The Catalogues was, hands down, “GENUINE PLASTIC!” Not some shitty, false plastic. The real deal, baby. Even as kids we knew how hilarious that was, but it did not deter our lust for the shiny, useless trinkets that filled the pages.

Alas, when I checked Johnson-Smith's website, they have now split into several distinct catalogues/websites. I suppose the closest one to the spirit of the original is Things You Never Knew Existed, where you can find such heartwarming delights as Fart Guy, Scrolling Belt Buckle (and you know if I got one, the first thing I'd set it to say would be "Lick me"), Singing Bible Key Chain, and the leg lamp from Christmas Story.

Still, it's just not the same if it doesn't come from the back of a Richie Rich comic book.