We're gonna need some action soon, trapped....

Today, the swirly Paul sent me a link to a story about this guy who, while cleaning out his recently deceased mother's house, found his dead uncle stash of comic book from the 1930's and 40's....sorted, packaged, and in great condition.  He ended up selling some of them for like 3.5 million dollars, if I recall correctly.  And then Paul said he hoped Mama Polt had never thrown any away.

I wish to make two comments on this.

1) If I EVER found an Action Comics #1, in any kind of condition, I think I might have an instant orgasm and/or die right there on the spot.  Certainly I'd squeeee until my vocal cords ruptured.  And further, I would NOT sell them.  I mean there's less than 100 known to exist in the world, and possessing one of those, for a comic book geek like me, would be better than possessing...I don't know, an original Picasso, or a Willie Mays baseball card, or an antique car, or what have you.    I think I'd have to hold each and every day (inside the vacuum sealed container of course), and once a year, I'd take it out nad just hold it, just to feel it and smell it.  The Holy Grail of comic book collecting!

2) Mama Polt has never thrown any comic books out.  She knows better.  Although, there is a story I'll relate from when I was just a young Polt.  In the later 70s, when I was somewhere between 10-12, I'd go with mom every Thursday to get groceries.  She'd go to the grocery store at the strip mall and I'd go to the bookstore in the mall.  There, they had one of those old, wire, creaky, rotating racks of comic books, and with my dollar a week allowance, I'd pick out the three comic books with the coolest covers and buy them (yes, comic books were only 30 cents then...ah, the Good Old Days).  I wasn't officially collecthing them yet, but I still had quite a few of them by then.

This particular week, I had bought a Wonder Woman issue.  I don't remember the number, I but I remember the cover clearly: a red background and in the foreground, Wonder Woman was fighting some dragon or giant lizard thing.  I think there was also a tree with no leaves somewher behind them, but whatever. 

When we got home, mom told me to do...something.  I dont recall what.  But instead of doing it, I went to my room and started to read the comic book.  After a bit, mom yelled for me to come downstairs, and I did, comic book in hand.  She asked if I had done what she asked and I said not yet.  Now mom, yes Mama Polt, apparently wasn't in a very good mood, and she was pissed when I told her no.  She grabbed the Wonder Woman comic out of my hand and, in front of my eyes, ripped it in half, and then ripped the halves in half.  She said something about using this as a reminder to do what she tells me, or whatever.  I don't actually recall, because all I could see was tears.  And I went to my room and didn't talk to her for at least a day and a half.  Eventually she apologized for tearing up the comic, but said it was important I listened to her, and blah blah blah. 

But despite the emotional scarring this caused, I made it clear to her that destroying comic books was NOT the way to get me to listen to her.  And that's the only one she ever touched in such a manner.

I think we BOTH learned a lesson that day.

POLT