LJ Idol, Week 5
It was a hot summer day, which meant that we were hanging out in front of the gas station on Main Street. And because we were hanging out at the gas station on Main Street, it meant that we were most likely in a heated argument about something that only a 13 year old boy would care about.
“Why would the Transformers automatically win against G.I. Joe? Just because they’re robots? That’s ridiculous,” said Brett.
“I mean, sure, Joe has amazing technology and weapons for being a bunch of humans. But that’s just it. They’re humans! The Transformers are not just robots, and they are not just robots that can turn into vehicles…”
“And dinosaurs,” chimed in Reggie.
“Right, and dinosaurs,” I continued, “but they’re also ALIEN robots from that can turn into vehicles and dinosaurs. I just don’t see how there’s any force on Earth that could compare.”
“That’s a pretty good point,” said Brett, biting off a large chunk of his Slim Jim.
It was about this time that a large, unmarked, white can pulled up to the curb. A balding sweaty man wearing wearing a white t-shirt sat in the driver’s seat and he was rolling down the window.
“Hey, you kids.”
“Yeah?” I answered. Everything our parents had taught us about talking to strangers seemed to be occupying a space of our brains that we weren’t using today.
“You kids like comic books?” he asked, wiping sweat off his forehead with a rag.
“Do we look like we like comic books?” asked Reggie. It was a pretty good question, seeing as how he had a Bat Signal on his t-shirt and Brett was wearing his Wolverine wristwatch (though, admittedly, the man might not have seen the watch).
“Yeah, whatever. Do you want some comic books or not?”
“For free?” I asked. This was key, considering how I had already used my allowance on a possibly lethal amount of chewing gum and Sprite.
“Yeah, just take the damn things. I gotta get rid of them.” He quickly leaped out of the van and ran to the back of it where he opened the doors and reached in. After shuffling some things around, he procured a box and threw it on the sidewalk.
“If anyone asks,” he said, nervously looking around, “I didn’t give you these.” Just as quickly, he got back into the van and sped off, squealing the tires and leaving behind a cloud of dust in his wake. We just stared at each other for a few moments, wondering if what had just occurred really had occurred. There was a box sitting there, though, so it must have.
We dragged the box to the park, debating what the contents of the box might be.
“Maybe it’s, like, old issues of Superman and Spiderman,” Brett suggested.
“No way,” Reggie retorted. “There’s no way that some guy is just going to give valuable comic books to a bunch of kids for free. They’re probably things he’s just that ashamed of owning. Like a complete collection of Archie comics or something.”
“God, I hope not,” I said, not wanting to admit that I actually had a rather large collection of Archie comics in my closet, inherited from my uncle.
Once at the park, we sat around one of the benches and slowly lifted the lid off the box. We all eagerly awaited to see what we had gotten. The Avengers? Batman? Spawn?
“The…In…con…ceivables?” Reggie said as he pulled the first comic out of the box. “Who the hell are the Inconceivables?”
We all shrugged and he it set aside, figuring that it might have just been a fluke. But no, comic after comic, they were all from a series that we had never heard of called The Inconceivables.
There was nothing even remotely familiar about this comic book. Even the publisher was one that we had never heard of. Instead of being something familiar like Marvel, DC or even Image or Dark Horse, this was published by Front Lawn.
“Front Lawn?”
Cautiously, we started leafing through the pages of The Inconceivables, only getting more baffled. These were easily the worst comics we had ever read.
“In a world of danger and crime,” I read from the description on the title page, “sometimes the most likely heroes are the most…unlikely.”
“What? Why?” asked Brett.
“I don’t know. That’s just what this thing says.” I continued reading: “The titans of The Inconceivables are here to save the day! Flying Dog! The Plumber! Mrs. Periwinkle! Malt Man! Punk Rock Drummer!”
“Malt Man?”
“Mrs. Periwinkle?” Reggie held up his comic, pointing out a woman wearing a traditional Victorian dress.
“What’s her power?” I asked. “Maybe she’s cooler than she looks.”
“No,” he said. “She just seems to be complaining about how she wishes she had some tea.”
“Oh man, in my comic, Punk Rock Drummer is kidnapped by…Bad Tripp and Homeless Bear?”
We stared at each other once again, silently communicating about what we were going to do with these comics.
“Want to, like, leave them here?” I finally asked.
“Better than anything I can think of,” Brett said.
And, so, we left them there in the park and wandered off to see if there were any girls at the swimming pool. The fate of those comics, and the weird guy who practically threw them at us, remained a rather unimportant and mostly forgotten mystery.
“Why would the Transformers automatically win against G.I. Joe? Just because they’re robots? That’s ridiculous,” said Brett.
“I mean, sure, Joe has amazing technology and weapons for being a bunch of humans. But that’s just it. They’re humans! The Transformers are not just robots, and they are not just robots that can turn into vehicles…”
“And dinosaurs,” chimed in Reggie.
“Right, and dinosaurs,” I continued, “but they’re also ALIEN robots from that can turn into vehicles and dinosaurs. I just don’t see how there’s any force on Earth that could compare.”
“That’s a pretty good point,” said Brett, biting off a large chunk of his Slim Jim.
It was about this time that a large, unmarked, white can pulled up to the curb. A balding sweaty man wearing wearing a white t-shirt sat in the driver’s seat and he was rolling down the window.
“Hey, you kids.”
“Yeah?” I answered. Everything our parents had taught us about talking to strangers seemed to be occupying a space of our brains that we weren’t using today.
“You kids like comic books?” he asked, wiping sweat off his forehead with a rag.
“Do we look like we like comic books?” asked Reggie. It was a pretty good question, seeing as how he had a Bat Signal on his t-shirt and Brett was wearing his Wolverine wristwatch (though, admittedly, the man might not have seen the watch).
“Yeah, whatever. Do you want some comic books or not?”
“For free?” I asked. This was key, considering how I had already used my allowance on a possibly lethal amount of chewing gum and Sprite.
“Yeah, just take the damn things. I gotta get rid of them.” He quickly leaped out of the van and ran to the back of it where he opened the doors and reached in. After shuffling some things around, he procured a box and threw it on the sidewalk.
“If anyone asks,” he said, nervously looking around, “I didn’t give you these.” Just as quickly, he got back into the van and sped off, squealing the tires and leaving behind a cloud of dust in his wake. We just stared at each other for a few moments, wondering if what had just occurred really had occurred. There was a box sitting there, though, so it must have.
We dragged the box to the park, debating what the contents of the box might be.
“Maybe it’s, like, old issues of Superman and Spiderman,” Brett suggested.
“No way,” Reggie retorted. “There’s no way that some guy is just going to give valuable comic books to a bunch of kids for free. They’re probably things he’s just that ashamed of owning. Like a complete collection of Archie comics or something.”
“God, I hope not,” I said, not wanting to admit that I actually had a rather large collection of Archie comics in my closet, inherited from my uncle.
Once at the park, we sat around one of the benches and slowly lifted the lid off the box. We all eagerly awaited to see what we had gotten. The Avengers? Batman? Spawn?
“The…In…con…ceivables?” Reggie said as he pulled the first comic out of the box. “Who the hell are the Inconceivables?”
We all shrugged and he it set aside, figuring that it might have just been a fluke. But no, comic after comic, they were all from a series that we had never heard of called The Inconceivables.
There was nothing even remotely familiar about this comic book. Even the publisher was one that we had never heard of. Instead of being something familiar like Marvel, DC or even Image or Dark Horse, this was published by Front Lawn.
“Front Lawn?”
Cautiously, we started leafing through the pages of The Inconceivables, only getting more baffled. These were easily the worst comics we had ever read.
“In a world of danger and crime,” I read from the description on the title page, “sometimes the most likely heroes are the most…unlikely.”
“What? Why?” asked Brett.
“I don’t know. That’s just what this thing says.” I continued reading: “The titans of The Inconceivables are here to save the day! Flying Dog! The Plumber! Mrs. Periwinkle! Malt Man! Punk Rock Drummer!”
“Malt Man?”
“Mrs. Periwinkle?” Reggie held up his comic, pointing out a woman wearing a traditional Victorian dress.
“What’s her power?” I asked. “Maybe she’s cooler than she looks.”
“No,” he said. “She just seems to be complaining about how she wishes she had some tea.”
“Oh man, in my comic, Punk Rock Drummer is kidnapped by…Bad Tripp and Homeless Bear?”
We stared at each other once again, silently communicating about what we were going to do with these comics.
“Want to, like, leave them here?” I finally asked.
“Better than anything I can think of,” Brett said.
And, so, we left them there in the park and wandered off to see if there were any girls at the swimming pool. The fate of those comics, and the weird guy who practically threw them at us, remained a rather unimportant and mostly forgotten mystery.