You know, I reread some of my reviews on this site where I complain that the writing on some comic book sucks, or that the plotting is hamfisted, or that the writer’s betrayed the characters and sometimes I forget that there was a time in my life when, if you’d told me that someday I’d be able to get thirty comic books a week, or that I’d be able to have a place where I could spend all my time just talking about comics, well… I’d have shrieked “Stranger danger!” and run like hell. Seriously: have you looked at yourself? You must have a van.
But seriously: it’s easy to forget how much this stuff has meant to me over the years, or how seriously some of it has affected me. Partially because I’ve simply gotten older, partially because I’ve reached legal drinking age, and partially because I’ve decided that if they diagnose me with cirrhosis while I’m in a blackout, it doesn’t count.
But sometimes I see something that reminds me why I love this shit so much, and why it hooked me from when I was a kid. Something like this video of a four-year-old boy discovering the horrible truth behind the parentage of Luke Skywalker for the first time:
Ahh, enjoy it, my boy. In fifteen years, the only thing that will put that look on your face will be gaping anus porn.
(via Gamma Squad)