I collect fake skulls. This ruined my chances with at least one woman who came over to my apartment, saw the (undersized) ceramic one with the candle drippings all over it who, and, I guess, assumed I was a non-gay Jeffrey Dahmer. Alas.

Manufacturing and plastics have turned the corner where highly realistic Halloween props and decorations are concerned. Used to be if you wanted a plastic skeleton, you had to know a doctor or biology professor who could connect you with an anatomical model company. Even then, you could expect a full-sized human skeleton model to cost a pretty penny. If you wanted a real skeleton—for whatever reason, I do not judge—forget about it.

When I published a zine called Evil® in the early 90s, I found myself becoming a marketing loci for folks who dealt in weird shit. Most were selling true crime books and magazines, 20th generation VHS copies of grindhouse slasher/monster/mondo films, and on one memorable occasion a husband and wife team who dealt in serial killer memorabilia. No kidding: you could buy John Wayne Gacy paintings, letters from Ted Bundy, clips of hair from Charles Manson, and doodles from assorted lesser known killers from them. Nice enough folks, actually, considering their business—and believe me, I've met some pigs.

One of the other unforgettable merchants was a guy who sent me money to run an ad for his mimeographed catalog of gross-out videotapes, medical models, and, as he plugged them *REAL*HUMAN*BONES*! I assume he purchased the models through anatomical supply companies legally enough, but how he managed to broker human remains, I don't know. I didn't ask, which seemed wise. No policemen ever turned up on my doorstep though, except when they were looking for the felon who lived in my apartment before me. All this was done pre-Internet and by mail. How they reached other people in the pre-zine days, before idiots like me made serial killers campy and cool for the "I hate mommy and daddy" crowd, I don't know. Horror conventions, I guess.

Then, I'm guessing, some salesman at a place like Anatomy Warehouse said (probably well before the zine days), "You know, we could probably expand into the theatrical and haunted house markets. Our stuff looks more real than that papier-mâché crap, and we could probably cheapen the manufacturing process and sell them at lower cost. It's not like they'll come under heavy use by hundreds of med students all year round." Then came the Internetseses, and they realized they could sell all sorts of goodies to the Goth crowd and general-purpose weirdoes, again, like myself. Eventually, old-fashioned ideas of good taste flew out the window, and they started dealing in Jell-O brain molds.

And yet, they still find ways to take my breath away. No longer do you need to feel restricted to decorating with ordinary old human skulls. No, now you can deck the cobwebbed halls with freaking malformed microcephalic/hydrocephalic skulls!

It is a good time to be alive.





Halloween Month Entry #3!