BAMF, SNIKT, THWIP. If you can place any two of those words you’re probably a giant loser and you should probably jump off a cliff. All three of those words were onomatopoeia developed and made famous in the funny-books. Back in the good old days a scampering little child could frolic down to the local apothecary to paw over the latest offerings from the grand-masters down at Marvel and DC. Today a comic enthusiast has to scuttle into the seediest bookstore they can find and make the long walk of shame to that lonely back corner where they store the comics. The sad little rack past the dime-a-dozen sci-fi pulps and well beyond the bodice-ripper-romances, right next to the "EMPLOYEES ONLY" door that leads to a loading dock. The seedy back 
corner into which intellectuals dare not tread.
I was a late-comer to the genre, having not much cared for the color-drenched cacophony that "big kids" read. I was far more interested in the action figures. Loved the action figures, still do, probably always will. It was only recently that I even purchased my first comic book (or "graphic novel" as I called it at the time.) But that first one hooked me. It quickly got to be a bad habit. Soon enough I would blow through hundred-pagers in a single go, often needing two to get that same thrill. By the time I realized I had a problem, I had spent well over a hundred bucks on picture books (not to mention buying tickets to every comic book movie they could sling out.) I was a full scale junkie.
The next step in my journey was to reason my addiction away like a good little zombie. Here’s what I’ve got so far; comics are the only true American art form (jazz doesn’t count and few American authors are worth reading,) super heroes are the modern pantheon, and vigilantism is just seems so damn satisfying. I felt a little bit like I was tapped into some sort of mythos, like some pagan novice hunched over a giant fire listening to the old crones telling well-worn stories about familiar characters. It was like, for once, I had jumped on a ship while it was still sinking instead of jumping head-long into the water looking for wrecks. I may have missed the grand opulence of the Titanic, but I was damned well going to be there for the glorious plunge into history. I was among kindred spirits and we were having a grand old time.
It took a while before I made the other connections, like my love of B-movies (I keep Bruce Campbell’s Army of Darkness on my nightstand) and my rather niche wardrobe (I only own three non-black shirts, one of which is gray,) which led me t
o the realization that I was "that guy." You know; the one that spends every afternoon hunched over a keyboard, actually prefers Deadpool to Batman, and memorizes the family trees of people who never existed (and corrects people on the subject.) Now I just need to find a convention somewhere near here to go to in some sort of costume to connect with other people like me. Which brings us back to; BAMF, SNIKT, and THWIP. If you correctly identified; Nightcrawler’s teleportation sound, Wolverine’s claw extension sound, and Spider-man’s web-slinging sound, you may just be another "that guy" and we should hang out sometime and play a little Gauntlet, before you jump off that cliff.
corner into which intellectuals dare not tread.I was a late-comer to the genre, having not much cared for the color-drenched cacophony that "big kids" read. I was far more interested in the action figures. Loved the action figures, still do, probably always will. It was only recently that I even purchased my first comic book (or "graphic novel" as I called it at the time.) But that first one hooked me. It quickly got to be a bad habit. Soon enough I would blow through hundred-pagers in a single go, often needing two to get that same thrill. By the time I realized I had a problem, I had spent well over a hundred bucks on picture books (not to mention buying tickets to every comic book movie they could sling out.) I was a full scale junkie.
The next step in my journey was to reason my addiction away like a good little zombie. Here’s what I’ve got so far; comics are the only true American art form (jazz doesn’t count and few American authors are worth reading,) super heroes are the modern pantheon, and vigilantism is just seems so damn satisfying. I felt a little bit like I was tapped into some sort of mythos, like some pagan novice hunched over a giant fire listening to the old crones telling well-worn stories about familiar characters. It was like, for once, I had jumped on a ship while it was still sinking instead of jumping head-long into the water looking for wrecks. I may have missed the grand opulence of the Titanic, but I was damned well going to be there for the glorious plunge into history. I was among kindred spirits and we were having a grand old time.
It took a while before I made the other connections, like my love of B-movies (I keep Bruce Campbell’s Army of Darkness on my nightstand) and my rather niche wardrobe (I only own three non-black shirts, one of which is gray,) which led me t
o the realization that I was "that guy." You know; the one that spends every afternoon hunched over a keyboard, actually prefers Deadpool to Batman, and memorizes the family trees of people who never existed (and corrects people on the subject.) Now I just need to find a convention somewhere near here to go to in some sort of costume to connect with other people like me. Which brings us back to; BAMF, SNIKT, and THWIP. If you correctly identified; Nightcrawler’s teleportation sound, Wolverine’s claw extension sound, and Spider-man’s web-slinging sound, you may just be another "that guy" and we should hang out sometime and play a little Gauntlet, before you jump off that cliff.
4 comments:
"Soon enough I would blow through hundred-pagers in a single go, often needing two to get that same thrill."
first laugh ^^^
"If you correctly identified[...]"
last laugh^^^
how much do you want to write mine? ;)
Very funny concluding statement (dare I say I laughed out loud). My favorite set of lines , however:
"Here’s what I’ve got so far; comics are the only true American art form (jazz doesn’t count and few American authors are worth reading,) super heroes are the modern pantheon, and vigilantism just seems so damn satisfying. I felt a little bit like I was tapped into some sort of mythos, like some pagan novice hunched over a giant fire listening to the old ones telling well-worn stories about familiar characters. It was like, for once, I had jumped on a ship while it was still sinking instead of jumping head-long into the water looking for wrecks. I may have missed the grand opulence of the Titanic, but I was damned well going to be there for the glorious plunge into history."
You show great range in your writing. I enjoyed this thoroughly.
No ghost writers Nadia. That's only in AP Creative Writing.
It took you that long to figure out that you were that guy? Good god, and all this time I thought you had a working brain! :-P Anyway, this was very amusing! Good job!
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