Some builders bring MOCs to Skaerbaek Fan Weekend. Others arrive with swaps, badges, or small gifts tucked into their bags for trading with friends. And then, every so often, someone brings an experience that becomes part of the shared memory of the weekend.
Jason Briscoe, known to many as Skaerbaek’s unofficial “King of Merch,” has spent years contributing to that side of the event’s culture. This year, his contribution didn’t come in a custom kit or a display case, but inside a glowing capsule prize machine that drew crowds, lovers of chance, and more than a few raised eyebrows. This is the story of how it came to be, as told by Jason…
“These are the capsules you’re looking for…”
In the dusty corner of a bustling intergalactic bazaar, a peculiar creature stood out among the gleaming stalls of exotic wares. It was a creature of stoic beauty, with fur that shimmered like a thousand stars and eyes that held the wisdom of countless light-years. Its name was not known to the chattering aliens and humans who passed by—but to those who knew, it was simply called the Space Goat.
Hi. I’m Jason. I’m an AFOL and a long-time attendee of Skaerbaek Fan Weekend (SFW). Over the years, some people have taken to calling me the “King of Merch,” which is probably fair. I’ve always gravitated toward the quirky and the slightly unhinged, and that fits in perfectly with Skaerbaek’s long-standing tradition of mini-builds, tokens, swaps, candy, badges, keychains, and all the other strange and wonderful trinkets that fans bring to trade each year. If you’ve been to SFW, you know exactly what I mean.
Because of that culture, my brain is always turning over ideas for the next year. In previous years I’ve made exclusive little sets for the event, and they’ve always been well received. This year’s idea, however, didn’t start in Denmark… or even in Europe.
A Japanese Detour
In July, I attended Japan Brickfest. While the event itself was fantastic, what really stuck with me were the vending and gashapon machines that seem to exist everywhere in Japan on street corners, in malls, and tucked into quiet hallways. They’re endlessly fascinating, each one promising a small moment of surprise for a handful of coins. They are a lot like a big version of the LEGO’s prize machine with mystery balls promising fun.
Japan Brickfest even had a small gashapon machine for attendees to try. I gave it a spin and received an exclusive printed tile sealed inside a small clear capsule. It was simple, fun, and memorable. At the time, I didn’t realize that experience was quietly drip-feeding my brain.
A few days after getting home, I found myself casually browsing eBay UK to see what the used market for gashapon machines looked like. The answer was: not great. There were a couple of well-used machines around the £100 mark, but they all looked tired, Most were sun-bleached, scuffed, and clearly survivors of long lives outdoors.
I wasn’t even seriously shopping at this point; it was more curiosity than commitment. Out of idle interest, I searched to see what new machines cost instead, and that’s when I found Tongru, a custom prize machine maker. Browsing their site, I fell straight down the rabbit hole and into something that felt suspiciously like Wonderland. People who know me well would tell you that was the exact moment a crazy idea was about to take flight.
Briscoe It Up
Fueled by excitement and a very sketchy plan of “maybe I can get one of these to Skaerbaek this year,” I started chatting online with the supplier in China. They were incredibly helpful, walking me through the available options and configurations. I knew I wanted flexibility, so I opted for a machine capable of dispensing larger 80–100mm capsules.
In the end, I chose one of their higher-end models. Unlike most gashapon machines, it doesn’t display the prizes inside, which was important to me. The mystery is part of the fun. Then I discovered the screen. This machine has an LCD display, and after some digging I learned you could upload an MP4 file to it “to advertise your brand or showcase the prizes inside,” the supplier explained.
At that point, my idea plane was airborne! As the so-called King of Merch, I knew one thing for certain: whatever I did, it had to be quality. Do or do not. There is no try. I’ve carved out a small niche for myself at Skaerbaek over the years, and I have standards (and hopefully a reputation) to maintain. As the Dutch like to say, I had to “Briscoe it up.”
Just a small sampling of the potential prizes.
Cue many months of work prepping, finding prizes, editing videos, and getting ready for the big event. Following up on the Chrome Goat, this year was going to be all about the Classic Space Goat! I worked with so many different people and companies to prepare all the prizes.
Then all of a sudden it was time, and we were off to Skaerbaek!
The Skaerbaek Reveal
It was Wednesday evening, just before the weekend officially began. The long drive from the UK to Skaerbaek was finally over, and my slightly mad plan was almost complete. Getting to that point had involved quite a lot of work, all squeezed into a relatively short and very tight timescale. As confident as I felt that my fellow AFOLs were going to love it, there was still that tiny shred of doubt lingering somewhere in the back of my mind.
With some assistance, I unloaded a large, plain cardboard box from the car. It didn’t take long before passersby started to gather. People were naturally curious. “Is that your MOC?” someone asked.
“No,” I replied. “Not a MOC in the truest sense of the word, but it was something I’d brought to life for the fan weekend.” “Cool. Cool,” came the reply, as we lifted the box into position and I began unpacking and setting everything up.
At that point, the machine was still inert. It was just a large object wrapped in potential, and until it was powered on, everything I’d imagined about how it might land was still theoretical. That uncertainty was part of the fun, but it was also part of the risk.
Let There Be Light
As darkness fell (as late as 8 pm in Denmark in September), the moment arrived. Power was switched on, and just like Mary Shelley’s creation, the thing came to life. It glowed. The screen lit up. The air felt electric. A crowd that had been loosely orbiting suddenly coalesced into something more focused and expectant.
The animation began. For three minutes, the video I’d slaved over for weeks played out on the screen. An AI-generated voice filled the air, unmistakably channeling Sir Alec Guinness: “Skaerbaek Cabin One… you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy…”
That was the moment I knew the idea had landed. The relief was immediate. I heard chuckles ripple through the crowd and saw smiles spread across faces. People leaned in closer. That reaction alone was reward enough, and it gave me a genuinely warm feeling. Mission accomplished.
Once the animation finished its inaugural run, it was time to let someone else take the controls. I gave my good friend (and self-appointed “Prince of Merch”) Wes Royer, founder of BlackLUG, the honor of the first pull.
He inserted the token and turned the knob. There was a click, then a whir, and finally the prize capsule rolled into view. Wes reached in, pulled it out, looked at it for a second, smiled, and said, “Man, you’ve got to be shitting me.” We both burst out laughing.
Take Off
What happened next surprised me because of how quickly it took on a life of its own. At the cabin party, a line began to form. At first, it was just a handful of curious onlookers waiting their turn, but before long, word began to spread. Someone cracked open a capsule and a few minutes later I’d spot them showing their prize to someone else. Then another person would appear asking, “Is this the machine?” or “Is this where you get the goat?”
Before I knew it, I was loading prize capsules as fast as I could. All of a sudden, little AFOL treasures were popping up everywhere around the convention: pins celebrating classic LEGO themes, goat magnets, or even a coupon for a t-shirt. And then there was the prize: the Space Goat.
Some people would get it on their first pull and walk away grinning like they’d won the lottery. Others… not so much. I watched more than a few people come back for another try. And then another. “Just one more,” they’d say, convinced the next capsule would be the one. When someone finally did pull a Space Goat after a few attempts, the reaction was always the same: laughter, triumph, and immediate photo documentation.
Somewhere along the way, I don’t know when, Goatpon stopped being my thing and started being a Skaerbaek thing. Refilling capsules and watching it all unfold, I realized all the work was worth it. Every late night, every moment of doubt, and all the weeks spent working on that animation and sourcing all the prizes were paying off in real time. It was creating a community moment, and it was a delight to see all the Classic Space Goat swag appear in so many people’s con haul photos.
The Goatastic Goatpon
And that’s how the Goatastic Goatpon capsule machine made its debut at this year’s Skaerbaek Fan Weekend. Watching something I’d brought to life ripple outward like that was more rewarding than any single capsule prize could ever be.
Later, Dave from BrickNerd asked me the obvious question: “So… how much does all this cost?” I hesitated for a moment before answering. “That’s a good question,” I said. “Honestly, I don’t really know. It’s not about the money—it’s about having fun and making memories.” Dave smiled and said, “I know exactly what you mean.”
We all bring different skills to this hobby. I’ve built a few decent MOCs over the years, but I’m hardly a prolific A-class builder. What I have found is a niche—being the King of Merch in this little subculture—and I genuinely enjoy it. I love being an AFOL, I love this community, and I love being active within it.
If Goatpon added even a small spark to someone else’s Skaerbaek weekend through a golden capsule mystery prize, then it did exactly what it was meant to do.
What’s the most memorable non-MOC experience you’ve encountered at a LEGO fan event? Let us know in the comments below.
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