I remember when I was a kid I used to “collect” comic books. I say “collect” because I only had like 10. I remember reading a “Richie Rich,” or “Green Lantern” comic book (I still have them) and in the back of it were a bunch of small ads. One ad had X-ray glasses where you could see through clothes, another was a “Whoopee Cushion,” and then there was the object of my desire. “Sea Monkeys.” Remember those? In the advertisement the Sea Monkeys looked like little people. If I remember correctly, one of them was even carrying a brief case. I knew one thing at this young age. I HAD TO HAVE SEA MONKEYS. I wanted a little world of my own. Where I could watch them go to and from work. They would love me as I sprinkled food to them, and, if they ever made me angry, they would incur my wrath as I violently shook their jar. I BEGGED my Mom for sea monkeys. Finally (probably to get me to shut up) she bought me my coveted prize. I sprinkled the dry contents of the packet and waited. In a few days I saw movement. I was thrilled. A short time later, things were swimming around. The “little people” I was so excited to watch and love, looked like a jar full of “BACK WASH.” Not only was I devastated, I was kinda grossed out.
Up to that point, in my young life, it was the most blatant form of false advertising I had run into. That is, of course until the movie “The Never Ending Story.”