My comic book world was almost shattered into bits this weekend by the aforementioned injustice at my local comic shop. Civil War 2? You probably heard about it on the news. Spider-man revealing his identity to the whole world? Yeah, that. Well, dipshits had been assigned to reserve all issues of civil war for me, and it would have been bad enough, idiotic enough, for them to forget this issue, but me, a guy that EVERY MONTH has pulled for him EVERY FUCKING spider-man title (ok, not ultimate, but pshaw) and they cannot, even with the breakdown in their fucking system, think to drop a copy of this thing in my inbox? While every tom dick & harry assfuck is walking in off the street and scooping up all the remaining copies like “well, uh huh, um, jeez, I hear about this spider-man thing, er der, and I ain’t been in a comics shop in like 10 years, but, well, lemme grab one of these,” and these fucks pander to these fucks while I lie in an isosceles triangle of degradation, seriously questioning why the fuck I buy 30 bucks or whatever the fuck it comes out to worth of comics every month from these fucks if they can’t even hold on to for me the most earth shattering comic and involving a character who I spend 10 bucks prolly alone on every month, they cannot get that through their thick fucking craniums? And I know I told holmes, cuz he was like “do you want all the civil war tie ins too?” and I’m like FUCK NO I don’t want all that crap, just the coffee, no cream no sugar, and they can’t even get me the fucking coffee!

All I wanted was a fucking metaphorical coffee, and they wouldn’t give it to me. Fuck pepsi, I wanted a caffeine implant, what I had paid for and pandered to and sold my soul down the river gangees for for God knows how many months days years, and a month goes by where the LAST fucking thing on my mind is comics, (hi junior) and they can’t watch my back? They can’t cover my bases? They can’t soothe the savage beast that waits by the door with gnarling & gnashing and gnome infested teeth? Well fuck them then.

Jimmy, get me Westfield on the line. I’d hate to make this shit a business, internet non personal crapola express, I like going to the ONE DECENT FUCKING COMIC SHOP ON THIS FUCKING ISLAND but if I cannot, like bruce willis in pulp fiction, get my father’s watch, the one thing I fucking actually gave a fuck about from that shop over the last year, if you can get me all that other shit, but you can’t get me the comics equivalent of my father’s passed down butt watch, well, then, you’ve jumped the shark harder than the expression jumped the shark has, haven’t you?