Maybe if I did, people would stop telling me how good the '300' movie and graphic novel is. Because obviously, I didn't know that ten years ago when I first purchased the bloody thing. And obviously, I also didn't realise it in the interim between the book being published, and the film being released.
Because that's what we do in a comic book store. Not realise things so that you can tell us instead, oh wise nerd with small nether regions and questionable body odour.
I almost leaped over the counter and choked a customer with his own butt fat today because he wouldn't stop talking about '300'. Guess what? I don't want to hear your 20-minute diatribe that connects your great-grandfather on your mother's side to King Leonidas' third cousin's slave girl twice removed. Really. I can do without. And no, you can't have the '300' action figures. Or the '300' bath sponge. Or the '300' bumper sticker that says "Madness? This is a Mazdaaaaaaaaa!". They've sold out you loud and obnoxious latecomer. Next time, don't let half a million people beat you to the punch. And yelling at me puts that crap further out of your reach and my caring.
And the next person that asks me for a copy of Captain America #25 will discover what it's like to eat their own elbow. He's dead. Get over it. He'll be back in a year and no one will care.
Feel the love.
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