Customikey
Super Freak
mfoga said:
Wait till I get going!....Where was I?
Vintage Horror Stories
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Wait till I get going!....Where was I?
galactiboy
OT Preferist
Customikey said:
I actually found my Endor Leia crammed down the throat of my Rancor about 5 years ago... it was really pretty crazy!
My sob story involves weapons. As a kid (born in '78 and wildly hyperactive) I never really cared about keeping things in nice condition and would always loose accessories and scuff up my figures. But as I got older I did become more conscientious about weapons and even began to keep them in the little flaps in the carrying cases. I swear to this day, that at one point in a case I had a bunch of weapons for my figures stashed. But alas when I went to go look for them they had all disappeared... couldn't f'n find a single one of them
Customikey
Super Freak
I'm reposting this story with a new Epilogue. Enjoy....
Okay, sit down, kids. It's story time....
When I was three, I was playing Hide & Seek with some friends when I fell into some bushes (I was "IT" and on the hunt). Bushes and shrubbery may seem inocuous, kids, but every now and again a shaft of some branch or other may stab into one's leg, and break off inside, next to a major artery.
My screams of pain and anguish went unheaded for what seemed like hours, until finally a neighbor found me lying on the ground, blood gushing from my leg, and my so-called friends nowhere to be found (doubtless they were back at home eating icecream). I have no memory of how, but I came to in a hospital bed, where I was told of the 3" stick that was lodged inside my leg. 3" is a lot of foreign matter when you're only three years old.
I was operated on and the stick was removed, but for a week after I had to stay in the hospital on IV fluids and medications to insure that the stick hadn't infected me (I could lose the leg, or, if the infection went up into the artery, my life.)
During one visit, my parents set a little box down on the tray that hovered above my bed, where I usually would play with the toys that they had packed for me. I looked, and lo, the Rebo Band stared at me from out of their little package. I felt such joy because I had always been so fond of "the little blue elephant," and these three figures quickly became favorites. Max Rebo went with me to all my doctor meetings, and was always nearby when it came time to change the bandage (twice a day, no stitches, so the wound could drain properly).
I have little doubt that the Max Rebo Band was very important to my recovery. The bright, happy toys based on my favorite film got me through long, sterile nights in a hospital bed away from Mommy and Daddy.
Several years later, the Max Rebo Band went missing during a move from Korea to Hawaii (my Dad was in the military). In Hawaii, I met a kid who had his own set. Deeply desiring it, I asked if he still wanted his set. He said he was going to take them to a Flee Market, but I could ask his Mom. I asked. For some strange reason, she refused to sell them to me. She insisted they would be sold at a flea market. It was very upsetting. I couldn't understand her reasoning. It would be roughly ten years later that I finally bought a new set from a dealer.
Okay, sit down, kids. It's story time....
When I was three, I was playing Hide & Seek with some friends when I fell into some bushes (I was "IT" and on the hunt). Bushes and shrubbery may seem inocuous, kids, but every now and again a shaft of some branch or other may stab into one's leg, and break off inside, next to a major artery.
My screams of pain and anguish went unheaded for what seemed like hours, until finally a neighbor found me lying on the ground, blood gushing from my leg, and my so-called friends nowhere to be found (doubtless they were back at home eating icecream). I have no memory of how, but I came to in a hospital bed, where I was told of the 3" stick that was lodged inside my leg. 3" is a lot of foreign matter when you're only three years old.
I was operated on and the stick was removed, but for a week after I had to stay in the hospital on IV fluids and medications to insure that the stick hadn't infected me (I could lose the leg, or, if the infection went up into the artery, my life.)
During one visit, my parents set a little box down on the tray that hovered above my bed, where I usually would play with the toys that they had packed for me. I looked, and lo, the Rebo Band stared at me from out of their little package. I felt such joy because I had always been so fond of "the little blue elephant," and these three figures quickly became favorites. Max Rebo went with me to all my doctor meetings, and was always nearby when it came time to change the bandage (twice a day, no stitches, so the wound could drain properly).
I have little doubt that the Max Rebo Band was very important to my recovery. The bright, happy toys based on my favorite film got me through long, sterile nights in a hospital bed away from Mommy and Daddy.
Several years later, the Max Rebo Band went missing during a move from Korea to Hawaii (my Dad was in the military). In Hawaii, I met a kid who had his own set. Deeply desiring it, I asked if he still wanted his set. He said he was going to take them to a Flee Market, but I could ask his Mom. I asked. For some strange reason, she refused to sell them to me. She insisted they would be sold at a flea market. It was very upsetting. I couldn't understand her reasoning. It would be roughly ten years later that I finally bought a new set from a dealer.
Xander
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"the little blue elephant"
I used to call him that too! Heck, that's what he was! I think if Sideshow made the band I'd buy the entire ensemble just for Max Rebo, then it would make up for my not ever ownin him prior. Please Sideshow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I used to call him that too! Heck, that's what he was! I think if Sideshow made the band I'd buy the entire ensemble just for Max Rebo, then it would make up for my not ever ownin him prior. Please Sideshow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Bonehead15
Super Freak
The one story that sticks out in my mind is when I threw my Slave1 from our upper deck into the pool to do battle against my FLAGG. The ironic thing is that when I threw it into the pool Starscream and Ramjet fell off the FLAGG.
I didn't realize that the chlorine in the pool would ruined them all.
I didn't realize that the chlorine in the pool would ruined them all.
Captain Faramir
Super Freak
Yeah, well my story is more tragic than all of yours:
I was born in 1983. I have never owned a vintage figure in my life, nor had the chance to play with them. I have tons of the new ones, and I love them as much as most love the vintage. But I've never had an original one. Ever.
I was born in 1983. I have never owned a vintage figure in my life, nor had the chance to play with them. I have tons of the new ones, and I love them as much as most love the vintage. But I've never had an original one. Ever.
I don't have any 'vintage' stories, I was born in '88 so vintage for me is like Episode I. But anyways, for some reason I'm cursed against any type of skating, when I was really young I went ice skating at the Galleria (really big mall in Dallas) and skated through a puddle, slipped and fell and split open my eyebrow and had to get stitches (made now I have a cool scar through my eyebrow) then in middle school I went roller blading with a bunch of church people, and slipped and fell down and broke my arm, so no I don't do either (not like I would now anyway) but I remember getting some Star Wars mini vehicles after I got my arm set (that HURT, and I couldn't feel or move my arm for the rest of the day) and they were really cool. I lost one of the ships (How? I don't know) but I've still got some of them---somewhere...
Besides that, the only other horror stories is that people aren't really careful with my Lego stuff and they break them, which is really annoying because then you might loose pieces somewhere. And my older brother would do it all the time, he would walk in and knock a piece off something and then I'd have to spend 15 minutes trying to find the pieces.
Besides that, the only other horror stories is that people aren't really careful with my Lego stuff and they break them, which is really annoying because then you might loose pieces somewhere. And my older brother would do it all the time, he would walk in and knock a piece off something and then I'd have to spend 15 minutes trying to find the pieces.
Customikey
Super Freak
As a kid, I liked to pull the heads off my figures and put them on different bodies. Boba Fett took the abuse well. Ree Yees did not.
Memnoch
Lt. Vulture
Mikey, did ANY of your vintage stuff actually survive?
Customikey
Super Freak
Memnoch21 said:
My brother's Boba Fett. I know it his be the innitials on it's feet.
And my Jabba, though he smells funny.
I PLAYED with my toys!!
DarkArtist81
Super Freak
You know Mikey... It's interesting to see the similiarities between the two of us. My parents too used Star Wars as a healing tool for me in my youth...
I was about 9 years old and our town is built around a sinkhole, that we so lovingly called "The Pits". It was really dangerous and at the time, totally accessable to anyone who wanted to brave it's alligator infested water or high edged cliffs. My stepbrother used to jump his bicycle into the water from the high cliffs and swim back to the one area of the circle that was graded enough to walk back up.
I was always scared of the place, and thought it was haunted or something. We actually had a kid die there before I was born.... He was fishing and fell in, tangling his leg on the bottom and drowning. So needless to say, I never went into the water.
My step-brother liked to torment me, especially with my beloved toys. So one day when I refused to jump in with him, he snatched my vintage Darth Vader (with his goofy little push up saber) and tossed him into the pits. Now luckily, it landed on a dry area and not in the water... but the only way to get to that dry area was to walk around to the backside of the pit and climb down the wall.
I loved that damn Vader and was determined to go and rescue him from becoming Gator food.... So I walked around and climbed my little chunky butt down that wall. Now thankfully, the wall was only about 15 feet high and not 100% vertical, so not too much of an insane thing for a kid to do.... so I started scaling.
I got about 5 feet down before I lost my grip and fell down the rocky walls and hit the ground. I was all cut up and scraped, crying... and regretting my bravery for climbing down there. Sobbing and bleeding, I grabbed Vader and started climbing back up. When I got home, my Mom saw the caked dirt and blood all over me and had me shower... nursed my wounds.
And when I got out she told me to sit on the couch... I thought I was going to get scolded, but instead she pressed play on the VCR and I saw those familiar Yellow letters coming down the screen as ROTJ began. Slowly the tears went away and my wounds didn't hurt as much. Mom made me Grilled Cheese sandwiches and gave me one of those little "Juice barrels". She didn't yell at me, but later she asked me to explain to her what happened....
It was one of the greatest memories of my Mother that I ever had... I remember when I went to her funeral I put a picture of me and some Star Wars cards in her casket.... She got me into the saga and always used it to cheer me up. I wanted to put Vader in there, but lost him before she died....
Star Wars will always have a place in my heart, and mainly because of my Mother. She was a closet geek, and never made me feel bad for being one. I'll never forget that for as long as I live..
Anyway.... That's the story... Kids, stay away from Pits...
I was about 9 years old and our town is built around a sinkhole, that we so lovingly called "The Pits". It was really dangerous and at the time, totally accessable to anyone who wanted to brave it's alligator infested water or high edged cliffs. My stepbrother used to jump his bicycle into the water from the high cliffs and swim back to the one area of the circle that was graded enough to walk back up.
I was always scared of the place, and thought it was haunted or something. We actually had a kid die there before I was born.... He was fishing and fell in, tangling his leg on the bottom and drowning. So needless to say, I never went into the water.
My step-brother liked to torment me, especially with my beloved toys. So one day when I refused to jump in with him, he snatched my vintage Darth Vader (with his goofy little push up saber) and tossed him into the pits. Now luckily, it landed on a dry area and not in the water... but the only way to get to that dry area was to walk around to the backside of the pit and climb down the wall.
I loved that damn Vader and was determined to go and rescue him from becoming Gator food.... So I walked around and climbed my little chunky butt down that wall. Now thankfully, the wall was only about 15 feet high and not 100% vertical, so not too much of an insane thing for a kid to do.... so I started scaling.
I got about 5 feet down before I lost my grip and fell down the rocky walls and hit the ground. I was all cut up and scraped, crying... and regretting my bravery for climbing down there. Sobbing and bleeding, I grabbed Vader and started climbing back up. When I got home, my Mom saw the caked dirt and blood all over me and had me shower... nursed my wounds.
And when I got out she told me to sit on the couch... I thought I was going to get scolded, but instead she pressed play on the VCR and I saw those familiar Yellow letters coming down the screen as ROTJ began. Slowly the tears went away and my wounds didn't hurt as much. Mom made me Grilled Cheese sandwiches and gave me one of those little "Juice barrels". She didn't yell at me, but later she asked me to explain to her what happened....
It was one of the greatest memories of my Mother that I ever had... I remember when I went to her funeral I put a picture of me and some Star Wars cards in her casket.... She got me into the saga and always used it to cheer me up. I wanted to put Vader in there, but lost him before she died....
Star Wars will always have a place in my heart, and mainly because of my Mother. She was a closet geek, and never made me feel bad for being one. I'll never forget that for as long as I live..
Anyway.... That's the story... Kids, stay away from Pits...
Memnoch
Lt. Vulture
Yep, add me to the list of those that Star Wars was used as comfort. I remmeber being small and going out in the snow to play/shovel snow. I ended up frozen to the bone and so my mom yelled at me to come in and see what was on tv. Lo and behold it was Empire Strikes Back on HBO. She made me something warm to drink...had me lay on the couch and I was happy as could be the rest of the night. Ahh to be a lil kid again.
DarkArtist81
Super Freak
Yeah, I still kinda do it... If I get sick... I have this urge to watch Star Wars on the couch again...
Memnoch
Lt. Vulture
Ha, another thing I remembered... another time I was home sick from school. Popped in A New Hope, I was out before Alderrann went boom. Man, so many memories from 3 movies.
Customikey
Super Freak
It has been my tradition since college to watch one of the films while I fold laundry. So I get a little Star Wars in every week.
DarthRamuk
Super Freak
Captain Aldeggon said:Yeah, well my story is more tragic than all of yours:
I was born in 1983. I have never owned a vintage figure in my life, nor had the chance to play with them. I have tons of the new ones, and I love them as much as most love the vintage. But I've never had an original one. Ever.
Me too.....
......but I made up for it by buying tons of vintage stuff at flea markets and that was my existence until I discovered Sideshow......and then, I realise that paradise do exist...at least in the SSC world!
Memnoch
Lt. Vulture
well thats an interesting tradition.. may i ask how that started? My usual thing is trying to get my clothes done between commercials when watching either Heroes, Lost or the Thursday ABC line up (but i dont watch that stupid Anne Hache show). 4 more years of that to go... ugh. :emperor
Customikey
Super Freak
It started when I had to do my own laundry!!
Memnoch
Lt. Vulture
I've been doing my own laundry since I was 13. 21 now and just getting into the mystery and danger that is bleach for whites.
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