Ten year old me is pinching 30-ish year old me right now. I have a home office full of Star Wars action figures, comic books, 3D printers, video games, amazing artwork and possibly most importantly, giant robots so weathered up you KNOW they’ve seen some shiz.
Sometimes I sit here in awe at just how cool looking all this silly stuff is. Ten year old me wouldn’t believe his eyes… his little heart probably wouldn’t be able to take all the awesome, glorious, possibly toxic fume laced, plastic surrounding my desk right now. Ten year old me would also have zero clue as to what the majority of the things in my collection are.
“What’s a ThreeZero?” Ten year old me would ask. ” and why doesn’t that space girl doll have any pants on?”
“You’ll know, ten year old me… one day, you’ll know.”
But ten year old me doesn’t have to know a single darn thing about the big bot that landed on my doorstep today, because like current day me (also known as, “me”) he knows a badass big robot toy when he see’s one.
“Grab those Getter Tomahawks, ten year old self… we got a review to do”