Breaking the Silence

As of late, the comic book reading internet has been set ablaze with talk of sexual harassment against women in the industry. Ignited by a very courageous woman over at Buzzscope.com, it seemed like only a manner of seconds before everyone stood up and added fuel to what appears to be an ever growing inferno. Should the culprit ever be caught, it would surely break the internet in half, as there have been rumblings of an "old soldiers" involvement in this unspeakable act.

I have a confession. I, too, have been sexual harassed by an "old soldier" myself. That name of that "old soldier"?

Flash # 163.

It happened when I was eight years old. I was looking for back issues of G.I. Joe(namely, issue # 27, where, on the cover, Storm Shadow is kicking Snake Eyes out of a moving train while Scarlet follows them in a helicopter) at Super Hero Universe # 8 in my home town of Simi Valley, CA. Even though I was primarily a G.I. Joe and Punisher War Journal fan, I always browsed through all the bins to soke up as much as I could. Given the chance, I would have purchased everything in the store, but my meager allowance of 5 dollars a week only allowed for Real American Heroes and the only Vigilante with the stones to kill criminals. While going through the F section, I came across the Flash comics. I was never a huge fan of the Flash, so I tried to pass through his section of the comic bin as quickly as I could, only to stop for a moment when I came across Flash # 163. Flash urgently implored me to "STOP!" and buy that comic book right then and there or else he would suffer some dire, earth shattering consequence. I quickly took note of the fact that the comic was older than me and that the Flash was still coming out on a monthly basis, therefore it was just DC trying a cheap marketing ploy. Ignoring it, I finished browsing the rest of the comic bins and made my way to cash register to make my purchase. That was when the culprit made his intentions known:



Scared and confused, I ran for my BMX bike. With tears streaming down my face, I tried my best to outrun the damage that The Fastest Man Alive had done to my body, mind, and soul. I was hestitant to tell my parents what had happened at the comic shop for fear of having them ban comics from my life altogether. To lose out on the life lessons that came with reading about Real American Heroes and Psychopath Vigilantes would have been far more damaging than the Flash # 163 incident could ever be. With G.I. Joe, I learned about the horrors of fighting Snake Themed Terrorism, downed power lines, and befriending stray dogs by the likes of Snake Eyes, Roadblock, Lady Jay, and Flint. Punisher taught me the important lesson of commitment and how to pose as a taxi cab driver in order to catch a taxi cab serial killer. Without this insight, I feared for what kind of challenges the future could impose me and how I would confront them. Therefore, a vow of silence was made.

It is safe to say that my negative outlook towards DC comics was tainted from that day forward. DC no longer stood for Detective Comics. No, DC was known solely as Dirty Creeps. Whether it was their Boy Scout Super Heroes with their camp counselor big brother menacing air about them or their Caped Crusaders who froliced around dark caves with pre-teen boys in their underwear, DC comics were strictly off limits for years to come. All because the Fastest Man Alive was also the Fastest Pervert Alive.

Its been said on other blogs that I'm a sad Marvel cynic, however, I believe those bloggers did not understand the heavy burden that I carry with me every day. That is.....until now.

Damn you, Flash # 163....

Damn you all to hell.