Because as soon as I finally get out of work tomorrow I'm heading straight down the road to Starbucks, and am going to sit in their comfiest chair and continually replenish my supply of horrifically calorific drinks until I finish reading:
See, I affect, these days, to be a bit above the X-Men, and their horrendously convoluted continuity that's constantly bogged down by giving Chris Claremont one of the books and letting him do his thing of continually recycling better ideas from other more talented people (in which category I include his twenty-five-years-ago-self) with his favourite characters, the net effect of which is that whatever interesting things other people do end up regressing to a rather impoverished mean.
And I pretend to be all sceptical about Joss Whedon, and I do sort of think Dollhouse is probably going to end up being hella skeevy.
But holy fucking hell everyone, it's JOSS, that bloke who made up Buffy and does snappy dialogue to die for ("Which stage of grieving is this?"), writing THE X MEN, who were like my first exposure to superheroes (hello, Fox cartoon, your version of the Phoenix thing is still the real one to me). And I OWN A COPY and I really really cannot wait to read it. (I am glad I waited for the trade, though, as I think the endless delays between issues would have been agonising.) It really is taking more self-control than I knew I had not to just crack it open right now.
And just to put the icing on the cake, who's that in the top left bit of the cover there between Reed Richards and Tony Stark? Is it Doctor Strange? I think it fucking well is.
Between having this and Campaign and the new Greg Egan which I bought the other day, it's entirely possible that I have died and gone to geeky heaven.
(Guardians of the Galaxy #2 was good. I shall have to do a big Cosmic Marvel Is Awesome pimp post at some point because some of you would really enjoy all the stuff they've done recently.)