by Dr Terrific

Last summer, it was announced that MATTEL would release a popular wave of DCUC action figures via limited distribution through WAL-MART.  Three things happened at once: MATTEL patted themselves on the back, for thinking a job well-done in making little plastic men increase in their collectibility by reducing their availability; Scalpers grinned and licked their lips, imagining the profit margins on yet another 2009 money scam, and; the average toy collector shat bloody chunks of Gleek and Atom in the traumatic memories of the last two times this fucking happened.  Big promises, little options, big price tags.

Well, to that we said "Fuck you".

Fuck You, Mattel, for making me drive to 8 WAL-MARTs 18 fucking times in one fucking week, trying to figure out which ones were carrying these fucking things.  And Fuck you again for making it WAL-MART, of all the god-forsaken places in the world.  At least these fuck-wit toy managers can handle the 5 Dollar Footlong.

Fuck You, WAL-MART, for being the industrial giant that you are.  I'm so glad that there are states in this Union that count you as their major employer.  If Obama's healthcare plan gets passed, I'll rest easy, knowing that WAL-MART can keep screwing over minimum wage employees without decent benefits.  I was so happy to help you guys keep going on strong.

Most of all, Fuck You Mr. Scalper.  In what drug-addled state of mind is a 6 inch POWER GIRL action figure worth $60?  What dick is in your mouth that makes you think I would even consider paying $300 for all of these little things?  Fuck you.

Fuck all of you.

Instead, a bunch of guys with meager social skills, poor hygiene, and inappropriate eye contact started an internet listing of more like-minded men.  Grown men - with fucking important things to do like jobs, paying child support, and court-mandated therapy - grown men helped grown men.  Instead of keeping the fat fucks rolling in the dough, The Men of The Mess just passed on whatever they could.  Find one, buy one, send it along.  Pay for shipping and cost.  

137 times.

All over the fucking world.

Two Men conducted themselves with distinction, each buying and shipping 32 of these plastic cases of toy heroin.  For you, we present the high distinction of the CRITICALMESS "IN GRATITUDE":

Shamelessly swiped from ALAN MOORE and DAVE GIBBON'S comicbook THE WATCHMEN, this award is a lovingly and cheaply-made recreation of a tribute to a Golden Age hero.  True to the story (at least in the comic, they skipped it in the WATCHMEN movie because director Zack Snyder is squeamish about blood), this trophy is dripping in the blood of a fallen hero as society nears the brink of nuclear extermination.

While that's a sad thought, I tend to think of this award as a happy thing.  Not so much dripping in the blood of an old man passing out Halloween candy, but rather dripping in the blood of every Toy Exec, Industrial Slave Wager, and Scum-Of-The-Earth Toy Scalper who thought this was a brilliant idea.  

Thank you, to everyone who participated in this event.  We had gaffes and communication snafus, BUT NOT ONE FUCKING SCALPER.  And that's because of all of you.

Thank you especially to G-man and titansfan, for taking these awards and figuratively smashing them into those aforementioned heads, over and over again.  I'd like to remind you that these awards were made in a way such that they can not actually smash anything in the head, so please do not try this.  Your fingerprints are on them, not ours.

G-man and titansfan, you made it possible for all of us to have these fucking things.  You made it safe to laugh again.  You made it possible to love America again.

And now, please stop posting.  We tolerated you long enough to get all of these kick-ass figures and that's been fucking long enough.  Jesus, but you'd think the post office was open once a month.  Christ, can't you see that I'm hurting?  Fuck what you need, where's my Man-Bat?      

Fuck You.

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