Every once and a while, my aged mother makes a comment to me that I’d better start making the Benjamins to support her in her old age. This is a perfect opportunity to remind her of the fact that she threw out all of my original Star Wars figures, which would now be worth tens of thousands of dollars by now if they weren’t rotting in some Massachusetts landfill. “You only have yourself to blame,” I’ll cackle one day as I wheel her up to the Octogenarian Castle and give her a running push through the door.
If I sound bitter, it’s because I am. Those Star Wars figurines could have paid for college or a hot tub full of floozies. Added on top of the whole “circumcision” debacle, my mother can not expect any dole-outs from her son for the foreseeable future. Some must be paid for.
So whenever I see someone about my age with a truly astounding Star Wars collection, I sigh and think of what might have been. I could have been like Rob Foster and, to a biologically lesser extent, his girlfriend, privileged to make my home a museum to the largest collection of Star Wars toys known to man. My toy shelves could be worth millions. Rob Foster must have had a very good mother.Read More