Tozzer - the kid, the comic, the movies, the mayhem.

Birmingham, November 26-27 2005. Have you ever found yourself teleported to the heart of the biggest toy shop in the world, and were you forced to spend an entire weekend there, while little blue bastards from outer space busily invaded your planet?

Toys 'R' Us

Then you’ll sympathise with our plight. What happened? Who were those little blue bastards? And how did I get a photo of the publicity-shy Francis Lee?

Let us travel back in time, to that warm, sunny day in November...

Whoa! Flashback!

So me and Pete, known collectively as “The Tozzers”, were driving up to Birmingham, culture capital of the world. We were looking forward to the Memorabilia event, as Poet Laureate and Nobel Prize winner Leilani would be there, giving a talk on free will versus determinism and the place of compatibilism in the modern age.

“And if she gets her baps out, that’s fine too,” said Pete.

Naturally, I was outraged by this chauvinistic remark, but before I could respond, a spaceship appeared up ahead, accompanied by the sound of a small child doing an impression of a racing car. We skidded to a halt. A hatch opened in the spaceship, and a cloud of dry ice wafted out.

When we saw the occupants, our screams shattered every piece of glass within a three mile radius.

"We bring greetings from our planet. And ring tones"

The little blue bastards looked at us, and the leader of the group explained their purpose. “Our intellects are vast, cool and unsympathetic. We’ve been regarding your planet with envious eyes, and have been slowly, surely, drawing up our plans.”

“Your… plans?” I stammered.

“Oh, yeah. Those ring tones, pop songs and associated merchandise? Tip of the iceberg, mate. The next phase involves the installation of a little blue bastard in every human home. We will irritate you, day and night, until one by one you blow your brains out, resulting in the swift extermination of your species."

The little blue bastard chuckled malevolently, producing a torch and shining it into his face. “Now, look into my eyes. You're feeling very sleepy, and when I click my fingers, you will forget that you ever saw us and wake up in the biggest toy shop in the world…”

Click.

We were surrounded by action figures, furry animals and bobble-headed cartoon characters. Luckily, the little blue bastards hadn’t quite perfected their memory-wiping technology, but the teleportation thing was most impressive.

Adrian, a cuddly toy seller. His toys were cuddly too

So there we were, trying to survive in this strange, hostile environment. Then... a miracle! The Poet Laureate appeared, bringing with her an ambience of culture and sophistication.

Leilani, dazzling the crowd with her fascinating anecdotes

In a decidedly better mood, I explored the many nooks and crannies of the toy shop, and who did I discover, drawing in the crowds like a black hole? Yup, you know who - Tales of Midnight creator Francis Lee! His booth was the size of a Scotland. It had its own currency, legal system, and, of course, a highly-trained ninja-style police force. They wore skin-tight rubber outfits and patrolled the booth, battling crime, injustice, and persistent yeast infections.

“Hey, Francis!” I smiled. “How about I take a shot of us holding up our comic books?”

“You mean, like… gratuitous promotion?” he gasped. “Do you seriously expect me to dilute the Tales of Midnight brand with some kind of cheap, tacky marketing ploy?”

“You’re right,” I replied, hanging my head in shame. What a fool I was! I should have known he’d never sacrifice the integrity of his product by resorting to such tactics. So I apologised profusely and left the booth, carefully stepping over the piles of Tales of Midnight lunchboxes, key rings and collectible toilet roll holders. Then, with lightning speed, I grabbed Francis, threw my camera to a passer-by and shouted “Quick, take a picture!”

Me and Francis Lee involved in shameless self-promotion (EXTREMELY RARE PICTURE)

After my paparazzi-style episode with Mr Lee, my confidence grew, and I decided to go fishing for minor celebrities. So I set off into the depths of the toy shop, armed only with my digital camera - and a fishing rod...

Claudia Christian. I’m standing to the right, slowly reeling her in

Bill Johnson, AKA "Leatherface", after 7 hours in the makeup chair

Hunt Emerson. It’s easier than hunting deer.

When there’s no more room in hell, the dead will queue for autographs

Tired of my celebrity-spotting excursion, I figured I deserved some serious R&R. As if by magic…

The local pimp, with a piss-poor selection of girls

"She's giving me head, har har"

Ok, ok, enough of the cheap sex gags.

I said enough!

And now, a few of the other delights that were on offer…

"I have you now, puny customer. You are putty in my hands"

If you’re gonna be mental, ya might as well be fuckin' mental.

Tales of Midnight? Hmm, I’ve not heard of that

The Tozzer table, as viewed from space

Like I said, if you’re gonna be mental…

After a long, satisfying, toy-themed weekend, the Tozzers retreated to a seedy alleyway and counted up the dosh.

“Bleedin’ ‘ell,” said Pete. “You know how many books we sold?”

“Enough to kill a little blue bastard,” I replied, daring to be optimistic, “if we were to drop the books onto its head from a distance of, say, seven feet?”

“Exactly!”

“Nice,” I smiled. “Let’s go put it to the test.”

“Hey! I heard that!”

Thanks to everyone who came along. See ya next time!

Rob

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