What I've Done To My Mother's House

OK, so I moved back in with my mother, in my eternal quest to fully become the 40-Year-Old Virgin. It's going along swimmingly, for the most part. My problem is that I have a lot of comic books and trades. I have A LOT.

The books I'm not so embarrassed about, because it's not just a collection, I'm running a business, a side hustle. I produce an income off the damn things, so they have a reason to be there in considerable number. So if some jackass wants to know why I have so many books, I can explain to them I just paid $30 for an Astonishing X-Men Omnibus and then turned it straight around for $129.99, and what does your hobby do for you, again?

But the comics.....oy vey. They're just sitting there. And some of them are classics, and some of them are valuable. But half of those comics I don't even know I have, will never read them again, and serve no purpose other than to take up space.

I thought I had between 6-8 long boxes of the bastards. No. I have twelve of them. TWELVE. And there just isn't space in my tiny little new room for that stuff, so instead I have turned my poor mother's basement into the most absurd spectacle of 4-color glory the world has ever seen.

Just to clarify, by the way, why wouldn't I place a Duraflame log up against my DC hardcovers? That's just classy.

And don't worry, I've got more than what's pictured. I have two more bookcases and another dozen short boxes of comics tucked into my bedroom. And no, I'm not setting a world record collection here by any stretch. But it's pretty goddamn absurd, you have to admit.

- Ryan