“It’s gooey, drippy, oozey, cold ‘n clammy!”
Someone at Mattel was a genius. Oh, that’s not what our parents would have called him. As the inventor of Slime, the poor bastard would have probably been hit with every profane name in the book and then some — after all, his product was responsible for more ruined furniture, carpeting, and clothing than any toy before or since. Seriously, I’m guessing a fully grown bull octopus in heat would cause less damage to the family room than 8 ounces of this stuff. Now, if you’ve never experienced Slime for yourself, you can be forgiven for asking “How could it be that bad? I mean, they sold it to children!” Ah, that’s where the “genius” part comes in.
Slime was exactly what it claimed to be, a neon-green gelatinous ichor sold unironically out of miniature garbage cans starting in the winter of 1976. The product’s main ingredient was guar gum, a plant-based compound that gave Slime its viscous, mucus-like quality. Guar gum is a highly versatile product, used in such diverse industries as food processing, cosmetics, and explosives. This same viscosifier is used in the process of hydraulic fracturing, or fracking. But I’m guessing that stuff isn’t as much fun to play with as Mattel’s version.
I mean, check this out:
I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun playing with a toy. In fact, I don’t think anyone has had that much fun doing anything ever. That kid looks like he’s found his soulmate — he’s not just playing with this stuff, he’s communing with it. I’d be envious if I wasn’t justifiably terrified.
My hat is off to him. Slime-Child is in the moment — we should all be so Zen. He has mastered reality, and manipulates it like taffy. You know, as long as reality is a green and featureless ooze. He masterfully conveys the message that Mattel was attempting to convey, that slime is for us, the kids, and it was everything the grown ups didn’t want you to have. Young Anthill had an uphill battle on his hands getting a can. I can hear my Mom’s voice now, cutting through the department-store clamor and piped muzak: “Put it back. I am not buying you that garbage.”
I try to explain it only looks like garbage, but my point is moot. Mom knows the score. We’ve been down this sticky and stained road before, and I know a losing battle when I see it. A few weeks later, however, my fever for this mucilaginous substance increases a ten-fold when a classmate brings a can of new purple Slime to class. And here I didn’t think it could get any better! Little did I know that the best was yet to come. In short order Mattel would release multi-colored Slime with worms, insects, skeletons and eyeballs. Whoever worked in their marketing department certainly understood kids!
Check out Mattel’s 1977 Slime Monster Game. Yep, the Slime-Child is back, and he’s as into it as ever. And who could blame him? He’s actually allowed to play with this stuff! Way to rub it in, Matty! Slime-Child belongs to that special caste of well-dressed, hyper-privileged children who only exist on game boxes, in an idealized pastel-hued youth crafted by salesmen and focus groups. Still, you have to give Mattel props for expanding on the concept in a way that made sense. Giving their product a purpose other than being fake mucus for children to dangle from their nose helped justify it’s existence, not to mention make said product indispensable for playing the game . . . Also, that slime monster is a slice of pure 1970s goodness. Looking like a cross between a frog and a cold-sore, one could easily believe in it’s disco-era slime-producing capabilities.
Slime faded from the limelight a bit by the early 1980s, but came roaring back in full force by the end of the decade. You may have played with something similar in your Hordak Slime Pit from Mattel’s own Masters of the Universe line, or enjoyed its variants like Kenner Toys’ Ecto-Plazm play gel in the Real Ghostbusters line. And of course we can’t forget Playmates Retro-Mutagen slime, which made the viscous mess an integral part of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles play-pattern. Then there was the Nickelodeon compounds version, Green Slime, which replicated the ooze frequently dumped over the heads of the show’s players. Not to mention the quarter machine knockoff version sold in the little plastic balls . . . It seems that, no matter the decade, kids and toy manufacturers both went for this stuff in a big way.
You can still find variants of Slime in your local toy aisle, although they often lack the consistency of the original formula. As the song says, “There’s nothing like the real thing, baby!” But unless you are remarkably lucky, your chances of finding an original container that hasn’t dried out are pretty slim. As for me, eventually I did score a can by trading a few Star Wars figures to a friend. Heresy, I know, but the power of want is far greater than the satisfaction of have. I enjoyed it while it lasted, but the empty can was around far longer than what was sold in it, so whether or not it was a worthwhile trade lies in the eye of the beholder. i remain fine with it — after all, there are almost 100 vintage Star Wars figures, but there’s only one Slime.
Want to make your own slime? Check out this recipe here. Just don’t let your Mom know it was me who told you!