There've been certain moments in history when it seems the very fate of the world has pivoted on one event; D-Day, the defeat of Napoleon, Pilot getting to Number 1 on the UK chart. And, today it sees another, as I must announce that Steve Does Comics has run out of old comics to review.
Admittedly, this isn't strictly true. I could review Weird Mystery Tales #14 which stands less than ten feet away from me right now. But, despite its doubtless charms, I can't be bothered.
I could of course buy some more comics but I have in recent weeks decided it's time for me to knuckle down and spend more time on my fiction. This of course means less time for other writery stuff. The confluence of these two events means it seems as good a time as any to give this blog a break.
Fear not. Steve Does Comics isn't dead. It's merely comatose, like Aunt May in all those Bronze Age scenes where she'd be spark-out on a hospital bed as Peter Parker sat by her bedside mithering about all the times he hadn't been there for her. This blog shall be Aunt May. I shall be Peter Parker. My wardrobe shall be Mary Jane Watson. I've sellotaped a sheet of paper to it, with the words, "Face it, tiger, you've just hit the jackpot," on it. I can tell you, right now, that wardrobe's looking mighty sexy. In fact, I don't know if I don't like it even more than my chest of drawers which is doubling up as Gwen Stacy.
Thanks for visiting this blog over the last couple of years, and thanks for commenting.
Well, unless you're that spambot that dementedly goes on and on about ugg boots every day in my spam folder. In which case, go away, you terrible spambot. Your ugg boots are the work of Satan.
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