So have you forgiven me yet? Or are you completely and forever numb to the sound of my voice? Has my inexcusable ignorance of mighty mighty giants like John Romita, John Romita Jr., and Sal Buscema completely blacklisted me from your bloggy wiles? Or do I live to fight another day as you turn a sympathetic mouse toward my tenuously temporal and peevishly personal writeuppery?
I suppose that, either way, I’m still just that Yahoo From Nowhere who gets up here from time to time and starts spouting about mildly strange and unassuming stuff. At least, I guess, when you take into account that I’m in my thirties.
And so fear not! Love or hate (ho ho), slice or grate, here I am on some super-duper Niche Fetish bullstuff, son. Back at ‘em.
A couple weeks ago, my wife came home and dropped a couple of foil packets in my lap. I thought they were poprocks or something. She had been at Target, plumbing the depths of their baby department for diapers and such. Oh, and, by the way, for clothes for 2-year-olds as our 8 month old kid is in beast-mode. #beastMode.
They were not pop rocks, friend. They weren’t even trading cards. They were random chase LEGO minifigures. I’ll save you the suspense: even though you will very much want to, you cannot put them in a pipe and smoke them. You will want to.
So went my addiction. Aw shit dog, gotta go to Target to get socks. And some minifigs.
Damn girl, gotta go to Target and get some Ghost Dots. And some minifigs.
Yo pahtnah, boutta jump out to Target and stock up on Armorall and some Ni-Cads.
And some minifigures.
Then I found out that while Target had Series 5 (of which I was starting to get dupes), there was a Toys R Us in the next town over that had some Series 3 shits. It was on.
Fast Forward a week and I was on Amazon Marketplace #primeSteeze straight creeping on the hazmat dude. And Mr. Mariachi. And Small Clown. Cheating. I’m not even sorry about it.
Blackout. Lose a day.
I’m up in my attic, digging through bins of LEGOs looking for all the Star Wars dudes that I KNOW I have somewhere. How did I get up here? Where did these brand-new minisets of Pharaoh mummies and space aliens come from? Who assembled this motorcycle?
You get it. These little photographically-confounding, shiny-faced bastards were haunting me. Full time. So I worked through my issues. I stole their souls. Dropped ‘em in a hotbed of microzags and glow bugs and creepy as fuck #lurkers.
So yeah. It’s not my best work, but I had fun playing with these little dudes, and I hope you have fun watching. Enjoy.
Until next time, friendz. Love, Your Friendly Neighborhood Hateball.- Hateball