Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Star Wars

Dweeze reminded me of something.

Mr. Wheezus was a collector of toys and action figures from the time of the original Star Wars movies. Yes, yes he was. He was seven when the first movie came out. He began to collect the toys one at a time, working summers with his dad (picking up nails on dad's construction site) to earn money for the next great thing.

He kept all the tiny pieces. Played with his Star Wars toys very carefully. Reverently, even. And put them away in their boxes when he was finished playing. Then filed them alphabetically in his specially contracted humidor created for quality toys such as these.

Twenty years passed.

And one day, when we were young marrieds and Wheezyboy was a mere babe, and we were so poor we couldn't buy macaroni and cheese, Mr. Wheezus saved us from finacial disaster. He drove 150 miles to his parents house in the rusty '86 Chevy Nova, collected his babies, and returned home. He carefully went through each toy, lovingly and thoughtfully, dusting off their boxes and trying out each one, putting in fresh batteries (removed from various flashlights, boom boxes and smoke detectors around the house) to ensure the items still worked. They all did. It was an amazing sight to behold. Landspeeders upon Att-Atts upon Boba Fetts upon wookies upon talking Yodas and crawling wompas, all moving or buzzing or standing or speaking wise things around and about a new galaxy known as Our Basement. After a while, he packed them all up as carefully as ever, and loaded them back into the Nova.

And then? He brought them to a collector and came home with nearly two thousand bucks. HA!

The end.