The blog of Luther M. Siler, teacher, author and local curmudgeon
I put myself on an RSVP list for this enormous bastard today, which just means that they’ll let me know when it’s for sale, which will be good, because it’ll take a while to sell the house so that I can afford it.
Be sure to note the tiny FF members and the Silver Surfer, for scale.
I’m in trouble.
I am moving inevitably into my Elder Nerddom, and while there have been perhaps more statues in my house for several years now than one might expect from a random sample of homes, I have, until now, managed to avoid purchasing anything from Hot Toys. There are a billion reasons for this, but perhaps one of the biggest is that the damn things can run anywhere from $250-500 if not more than that and I knew good and fucking well that there was no way I was ever going to stop with one. My recent disenchantment with the MCU has helped; a lot of the appeal of Hot Toys to their fans is their unearthly skill with facial capture, and as I’ve grown tired of the movies, I’ve grown less interested in the idea of having Chris Evans or Robert Downey, Jr. on my shelf as opposed to a more Platonic, comic-based Iron Man or Captain America.
And today that beautiful bastard up there showed up under the Christmas tree, and I’m fucked now. My wife actually stopped me after I unwrapped the box but before I opened it, telling me that she and the two owners of my local comic shop had gone through a process in trying to decide which one to get me, and that they’d warned her that if I actually opened the box, collectors being who they are, they’d be unable to take it back. She asked me if I wanted her to tell me who was in it (the outside box of a Hot Toys figure has all the brand information but does not actually name the figure inside for some reason) and I told her that if the three of them had managed to guess wrong— my wife has been married to me for nearly sixteen years and I have spent money at the comic shop on a weekly basis for slightly longer than that– I was going to get so much mileage out of making fun of them for it that it would be worth it. Truth be told, I was fully expecting one of the many Iron Mans available.
Moon Knight? Fuck yes, and made even better by the fact that even though that’s Moon Knight’s MCU/Disney+ costume, that costume isn’t really much of a departure from his traditional comic book look and, even better, it’s not Oscar Isaac, since there’s no headsculpt featuring his face. So, yeah, this is perfect and I love you but this is going to cost me so much money, because he’s gonna need a friend, and then they’re gonna need a third, because who are they gonna talk to if they get tired of each other, and by this time next year I expect to have a full glass-front cabinet in the house somewhere with $6000 of these things in it(*) and I plan on regularly reminding my wife that it’s her fault.
(*) I may or may not have just inquired about pre-ordering an Iron Man that didn’t actually ever appear in the films but looks like the Silver Centurion, my favorite Iron Man suit ever.
This isn’t tonight’s post, but it’s not going to fit with tonight’s post, so it gets its own entry: the Gelatinous Cube is probably my favorite D&D monster of all time, and if it isn’t it’s super close, and the fact that the absolutely fantastic Gelatinous Cube Funko Pop is virtually impossible to get one’s hands on without expending ruinous amounts of money has been and continues to be deeply depressing. But yesterday? Yesterday I discovered of the existence of this beauty, and today it’s in my office, where it belongs. (Forgive the messy desk. Or not. I guess I don’t actually care what you think of my desk.)
Fun fact: I got this from GameStop, where it’s apparently an exclusive product, and they offered either free 3-6 day shipping or $10 for overnight, which would have been same-day if I’d ordered when it wasn’t already nighttime. Normally I don’t worry about shipping speed, but for some reason I shrugged and went ahead and paid for it, only to discover that what they mean by “overnight shipping” is that they look to see if they have any at the stores in your area, and if they do, they fucking DoorDash the thing to you. Only they don’t tell you that right away, and there’s no way to tip the driver, nor is there any real indication of how much of that $10 goes to the driver who, in this case, had to drive all the way across town to bring me my stupid Gelatinous Cube statue. So I got her CashApp from her and tipped her that way.
But anyway. I now have a Mimic and a Gelatinous Cube in my office. Now I need a Hook Horror and I’ll be all set.
I finally broke down and bought a new bookshelf for the office, so I’m rearranging a few things. I think it needs some LED lighting. The statues are too dark right now.
(The rulebook on the shelf that you have Questions about is a real thing that exists and I bought it for novelty value. It is exactly as ridiculous as you think it is.)
IMPORTANT NOTE: Spoiler alert; I don’t die at the end, and neither does anyone else.
Also, I’m literally making dinner while typing this, so I may be slightly less coherent than usual. I’ll be stopping every couple of sentences to stir and it may distract me a bit.
Also also: the last time I made this dish I forgot the goddamn avocado. Don’t let me forget the avocado!
Anyway. Every Wednesday, without fail, I go to the comic shop after work, because Wednesday is New Comics Day and us nerds need our comic books. I left work today kinda weak and dishevelled; it was a pretty damn good day for the most part (needed, after Monday, and I even have another nice story or two I might type out later) but I wasn’t feeling well again this morning and I needed something to eat. I found myself with the rarest, but hardest to deny, of cravings: Chicken McNuggets.
So I got some. I’m a grown-ass man; if I wanna play to stereotypes by buying Chicken McNuggets to eat in my car while I drive to the comic shop, that’s what I’m gonna do. Also, sweet tea, because why would I pass up sweet tea? No damn reason at all, that’s why, and you’re a filthy Communist for even asking.
(This kind of thinking may be one of the reasons my ass is… well, grown.)
(Before I get any farther: yes, I know exactly how stupid every part of this is, especially the part where I deliberately eat Chicken McNuggets and french fries as a fucking mid-meal snack like some sort of animal, and I’m making a goddamn vegan dinner to make up for it.)
So, yeah, picture this: I’ve dumped the fries and McNuggets out of their original packaging and into the bag to make them easier to eat while I drive. The bag is in my lap, and my tasty beverage is in a cupholder to my right. I scarf a McNugget or two and a couple of fries and then, pulling out into traffic on what I should point out is a fairly busy road, reach down and to my right and pick up my beverage. By the rim of the cup, around the lid.
Note that I have performed this maneuver dozens, nay, hundreds of times in my life without incident. No more!
I lift my delicious iced sugary beverage to my mouth to partake of its loveliness and the fucking lid falls off. Well, not quite: the lid stays where the fuck it is. The cup falls off.
A number of things, as they say, happened very fast.
I may have said a swear.
I yanked my knees up to catch the cup and leaned forward. Now, this seems as if it should be impossible, as I’m typing it, but if I’m lying to you at least the lie is entertaining: I somehow pinned the cup in between my upper body and the wheel before it hit my lap and exploded, losing only a miraculously small amount of liquid. Of course, this wasn’t terribly helpful, as the car was moving and the act of yanking my knees up removed my foot from the accelerator and also took it away from the brake.
This is bad. There was traffic.
Somehow– in a feat requiring either ninja reflexes or the will of God or incredible bloody-arsed luck or, most likely, at least two of the three, I managed to get the cup away from the wheel, into the cupholder, and my car out of oncoming traffic and flowing properly with no more than a couple of tablespoons of liquid ending up on my coat and in my lap. I decided to stop pressing my goddamn stupid luck and waited until I got to the comic shop to eat the rest of my disgusting, fat-laced calorrific “snack.”
And then had to text my wife to be talked out of buying the incredibly awesome Hulk statue pictured above, where– I swear to God this is true– part of my justification process for trying to talk myself into it was “Fuck it, I already spent a grand on the cat this week; I may as well blow some money on myself.”
I educate your kids, folks.
Welcome to infinitefreetime dot com 
