Wednesday, February 16, 2005

Up, Up, And Out of My Fucking Way

Going to the comic book shop is a lot like going to a porn shop. There aren’t any women and there’s always some weird smell assaulting your senses. It’s usually musty and a little dark, so you can’t see how they haven’t cleaned the place up in the ten years it’s been open. The only real difference in the two is that instead of DVD boxes and magazine covers of big-breasted naked women, dildos, and blow-up dolls lining the shelves, you have comic books with drawings of big breasted women and action figures for grown men.

More and more, I’m finding myself wanting to get into the comic book shop and get out just as quickly as possible. I try not to speak to anyone because the person who runs the local comic book shop says things like, “I’m really loving the new Space Ghost. I knew it was going to be good, but I didn’t know it was gonna be THIS good.”

Seriously, fuck Space Ghost. I liked it when I was a kid, but even then I knew it was as corny as Iowa.

And then there’s the one nerd with the bottle thick glasses who asks me the same question every single time he sees me, all creepy like he’s trying to pick me up or something, “So, what comics do you collect?”

If there was a glory hole to suck superhero dick in the bathroom this guy would never leave the place. “Oh, Green Lantern. Mmmmm. Mmmmm. Give it to me, big guy. Come in my mouth.”

He’s like that pervert who follows you out of the porn shop when you’re just there to get a movie to take home and masturbate to in private; only he’s there to pick up some other lonely desperate guy and do some serious cuddling, so he follows you into the parking lot and propositions you.

If I were to tell this nerd what I read, and I did make the mistake of doing that the first time he asked me, he would look at me all confused. “Sleeper? Promethea? Planetary? Don’t you read Green Lantern?”

It’s like I speak a different language than the other nerds who frequent the comic shop. I listen to them talking sometimes while I’m perusing their shitty selection of books and when they’re not talking about the WWE, they’re talking about comic book characters like they’re real. The last time I got into a serious discussion about who would win a battle between the Hulk and the Thing I was twelve years old. I think that’s the last year I bought action figures, but I can’t be certain of that.

These days when I talk comics, I talk about the creators. I talk about the craft. I discuss shit like the quality of the artwork and the writing. I don’t give a flying fuck about Wolverine’s latest fight with Super Gonorrhea which his healing factor cured in less than two minutes. That doesn’t interest me. But if you want to talk about Joss Whedon writing the X-Men, I’m more than willing to talk about that with you.

And, yeah, that makes me a huge geek, but that’s okay, because I have a girlfriend and I don’t smell like I haven’t bathed in a year.

This one guy I work with, he’s into comic books. He’s around thirty years old and I try so hard to get him to read the good stuff. I bring books like Sleeper: Out in the Cold to work and hand it to him and say, “Here, check this out. Tell me what you think about it.” He brings it back to me after about five minutes and says, “I don’t think I like this.” Then he goes back to reading Thundercats and Transformers and playing with his GI Joe action figures. And I’m not making this shit up.

I mean, Jesus, what is wrong with these fucking nerds? It’s no wonder these bastards never get laid. It’s okay to geek out on the stuff that makes you all nostalgic for your childhood. I do it sometimes myself. But my tastes have really evolved over the last decade or so. The stuff I like is mostly written for adults, not children. That goes for everything from books to film to comics. Sometimes you have to grow up.

Here’s a little pointer for you nerds trying to get lucky on a date. Hide your fetishistic love for Star Wars. Girls don’t give a shit. They never did and they never will. Sure, they might enjoy watching the movies because Harrison Ford was hot twenty years ago, but they don’t want to spend more than say five minutes talking about which lightsaber battle was the best. They want you to talk about them. That’s all you have to do to get in a girl’s pants. Talk about her, not your comic book collection. Make her the center of your universe, at least until you get laid. Either that, or just ignore her. Girls hate being ignored.

Back in high school I never could figure out why girls didn’t want anything to do with me. I didn’t smell bad. I wasn’t completely unattractive. What didn’t I have that every other guy had? Now I’ve finally figured out it wasn’t what I didn’t have, but what I did have. I had comic books. I was always reading a comic book in class. No wonder no one ever fucked me.

After I graduated I discovered drugs and the girls started coming in droves. So there’s another pointer for the nerds. Keep a steady supply of weed and/or cocaine and you will get laid no matter how ugly and dorky you are. Sure, the quality of girls is questionable, but at least you’re not beating off to Penthouse Forum and pictures of Kitty Pryde anymore.

But I jest. This piece was supposed to be about how much I hate the local comic shop. It was supposed to be about how I want to wear a disguise every time I walk in so no one will recognize me and I’ll be able to make my escape from, “Hey, man, have you read the new Wolverine?” But I have a short attention span, probably from reading too many fucking comics.

I love comics and I love superheroes. I really do.

But I swear to Christ, I’m going to going to beat the shit out of the next guy who I see reading Green Lantern. He’ll thank me later.

1 comment:

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