A good while back, a very very good while back – sometime around 1990, maybe ’91 – I was a comic-book collector. A collector, a hoarder, an enthusiast, all of the above. Ardent, and dedicated. I was 10-ish. I spent a whole bunch of money, time, and effort on all kinds of comic-books, first appearances, merchandise, collector cards, the whole deal. But somehow I never became the expert I should have been. I should have been Comic Book Guy , I could have been him. But at that point for me – and this is the first time I’ve admitted this to anyone – it all became more about the collection, the accumulation, and the digging. This is where the hoarder characteristics shine through everything else. I had a keen interest in the drawings and the characters but for some reason I never even bloody read the things. Seriously – even the characters that I was interested in like Lobo and Spawn – I didn’t read one of the comics, seriously. What’s that about? Who knows. All I know is I have a big box of mostly unread comics and a lot of sealed up special editions and unopened box sets. Come with me while I try and find out what the fuck I was doing with my time and money, won’t you…?