Hey, powers that be? It's me, Bobby. I just wanted to say thank you. Fucking THANK YOU.

Sometimes, you're a lucky sonnavabitch. You might be offered generous amounts of money, stumble upon unseen fortunes, fall into incredible wealth and fame. Whatever the scenario, your luck hits hard, hits quick and hits fast.

Today's my lucky day, bitch.

"Willow" is, and forever will be, one of the greatest films I've ever seen. I'm not gonna relay the entire movie as a general intro, rather, I'll assume you've seen it, and if you haven't, get on that shit ASAP. If the above box is any indication as to what the film is about and what you're missing...c'mon. It's more than enough of a tease to get you to go see it. Two-headed monster thing, a guy dressed as Skeletor and Val Kilmer before he turned into Natalie from The Facts of Life.

So get on it.

I found and bought what you see there, with your jealous, tear-filled eyes, last Saturday afternoon, which is a true testament as to how I like to spend my Saturdays, and most days in general -- in a dark, dusty comic book shop.

We went to Greg's Comics, which has been mentioned numerous times before, and is now fully revealed to you, my adoring public. I hate the idea of keeping such a wonderful store under wraps, but I also hate the idea of you ruining my Secret Happy Store. Easily, the place can be described as a garage sale for the confused, disturbed and mentally unstable. It's walls and boxes and shelves filled with the most inane junk you could never possibly care about. But you do care. And then there goes next month's rent down the toilet.

I've always been unsure as to who's actually working the joint, but from what I recently saw, it was about six dudes sititing in the back, shooting the shit and eating fast food. It's insane to think they'd have six guys employed at a comic shop the size of a taco stand, but I love it.

Also, Greg's Comics is owned by a guy named Howard, which makes the entire thing even more wonderful.


Are you in love? I'm in love.


Growing up, I had a few of the little figurines, completely unaware there was more playsets and vehicles and accessories to be had. Oh, you know, like a fucking demon dinosaur. I always hated the figures (they were set on a stand, didn't move, yadda) but I would have LOVED to have owned this. Before I go on...yeah, totally wish I had some more figurines to re-enact what's going on up above. That kid looks ecstatic.

In the film, the fictitious land of Willow-World was infested with trolls. These trolls played little part in the general plot of the film, but were proud and proper in scaring the shit out of you. They looked like skinny gorillas, were unbelievably hairy and demonstrated a fine knack for evil acrobatics. They jumped around, screamed and terrified everyone in the theater under eighty-six years of age.

Anyway, they popped in and out of the film, were mentioned in passing and then, phenomenally, were led up to some seriously weird stuff. You see, in one of the big battles in the film, Willow does the unthinkable -- he knocks a troll into a bog of water. It was all in self defense, so don't worry, gentle souls. Now, apparently, water is the catalyst to unthinkable troll-horrors. And when water touched the greasy fur of that diseased troll...you better run for cover.

If all was well and right with the world, they'd turn into the bad/semi-cute versions of Gremlins. Most people can deal with that. No one is that scared of a lizard with a white mohawk. In fact, most people might even welcome it. But nope. You couldn't imagine what they'd turn into. Unless, of course, you imagined they turned into eight-legged penis whales. And then, of course, you'd be right.

There is no false advertising with the box. What you see is what you get. And what I got is glorious.

It's official name is "Eborsisk," a post-film jab at the not-so-hot reviews from top critics around the globe, or the US, I dunno. I'm gonna on the fly, here. Basically, Siskel and Ebert (mash the names together) got mad punked. And I really doubt they ever gave a shit.

Completely accurate with the film, you're presented with everything from it's red-chin-mouth to the hard sack of football flesh on it's gross head. Don't even get me started on those mysterious six hind legs, which doubles as a neat way for something that big and monstrous to move around to just absolutely disgusting you.

The film doesn't bother showcasing these hind legs, I don't think. So it really is kind of shocking me right now. I don't like lobsters, I don't like spiders and I certainly don't like this. It was in the water, Madmartigan was stabbing it, lots of hustle and bustle going about and around to notice such details...if those details were even presented in the first place. Point is, I'm now even more repulsed by this thing than ever before. I hope my Rancor eats it.


To add fuel to the fire, it's back is covered in a bristly, brown moss. Again, this is something that isn't necessarily advertised, but I sincerely doubt they'd want to go ahead and add pubic back hair to the fold.

Also, note the purple hue. It reminds me of grapes and old ladies legs. Neither one particularly excites me at the moment, but I'm sure will make it's unique mark in the time to come. Amen.

Conclusion: I've inherited a masterpiece of rubber and plastic. It might not look to be that great to some, but for me, I'm the luckiest asshole in the world right now. I either have absurdly low standards or am just really that into...well, that. That animal abomination. That sack of troll-turned-dildo. Man, I love that thing.

Double Conclusion: It looks great on my desk and is even better looking on my nightstand, where me and my Eborsisk can read together before bedtime. Reading lulls me to sleep. Is that weird?