Well, I have the distinct honour of being the first official person to post on the Hoverboy fan forum. I'm going to put it on my resume.
I spoke briefly at last summer's Hoverboy press conference at Fan Expo in Toronto. For those of you who were not there, I will tell you of my deepest, most impactful Hoverboy memories.
It was the winter of 1976. Star Wars mania had yet to hit. Superman the Movie was still two years away and John Lennon could still buy cigars at the five and dime on Park Avenue without worrying abou the limited skirmishes in the Middle East.
I woke up that bitter Christmas morn, hoping to find a few baubles under the tree but expecting little. My father had lost his job and my Mom had run off with the guy who checked and refilled the ice cube trays.
Little did I realise that I was in for the surprise of my life. There, under the tree, was a virtual HoverBoy bonanza! I had it all. The HoverBoy action figures, the HoverBoy play set, the Hovermobile (which never made sense to me - Why did he need a car when he was the Boy Who Could Hover?), the HoverBoy bedsheet set . . . you name it. It was the most glorious day of my life. I didn't know where to begin. I tore into my presents, and then I tore into my stocking. And that's when I found it. What is now the Holy Grail of HoverBoy memorabilia - and I had it in my chubby little hands -- The Official HoverBoy Whisky Flask with genuine Tennesee Distilled 120 proof Whisky. I can still see it as clear as day. The smooth, silver flask. The shiny golden label. The little metal cap that was shaped like HoverBoy's helmet. Mmmmmmmmm. I can still smell the savoury fragrance of that New HoverBoy Whisky Flask smell. It's like crayons or Silly Putty or Peter Pan Puffed Rice cereal to some people - there's no other smell quite like it.
The cap didn't come off, of course. After all, it was intended to be a children's toy. I spent all of that Christmas Day playing with my HoverBoy stuff, pretending that My Covert Stealth HoverBoy Action Figure was on shore leave and sharing the whisky with a purloined Barbie with loose morals and questionable personal hygene. Ahhhhh, memories.
Well, soon dinner came and it was my turn to open the katsup packets, so I set my things under the tree and got ready for dinner. I tell you, Kentucky Fried Chicken just isn't the same when it isn't served on a paper plate on Christmas day.
Anyway, with dinner over and my sister and I on clean-up duty, my father retired to the lounge (that's what he called the bathroom) for his annual purging. You can bet that I hurried though clean-up and back to my stash under the tree.
And that's when it happened. My Official HoverBoy Whisky Flask was gone! I looked high and I looked low. I looked high again because I'm not really a stickler for detail. I even looked wide, but it was nowhere to be found.
Oh, how I cried myself to sleep that night.
Next morning I woke up, sheets soaked with tears and found a note pinned to my chest. Not my pajama top, my actual chest. It was from my father. He had run off with the new guy who filled our ice cube trays (hey, it was the 1970s, people were more experimental back then). What hurt the most, though, was that the note smelled so familiar. Not the regular familiar note smell that we can all associate with. No. It smelled distinctly of . . . you guessed it . . . Official Tennesee Distilled 120 proof HoverBoy Whisky. And then I found the flask, its cap broken off and laying on the bathroom floor. Empty save for a few measly dribbles that stained the linolium tile like so many tear drops stain my heart.
We never saw my father after that. My sister and I survived on the good will of neighbours and the meager carcasses of a few small woodland creatures who wandered into the yard. But I guess I understand. He had to *sob* He had to go on with his life *sniffle snort*
Why doesn't he call? *gaflog*
Was it *glurk* Was it something I did? *gurgle snort*
Why? Whyyyyy? Oh GOD WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?
I spoke briefly at last summer's Hoverboy press conference at Fan Expo in Toronto. For those of you who were not there, I will tell you of my deepest, most impactful Hoverboy memories.
It was the winter of 1976. Star Wars mania had yet to hit. Superman the Movie was still two years away and John Lennon could still buy cigars at the five and dime on Park Avenue without worrying abou the limited skirmishes in the Middle East.
I woke up that bitter Christmas morn, hoping to find a few baubles under the tree but expecting little. My father had lost his job and my Mom had run off with the guy who checked and refilled the ice cube trays.
Little did I realise that I was in for the surprise of my life. There, under the tree, was a virtual HoverBoy bonanza! I had it all. The HoverBoy action figures, the HoverBoy play set, the Hovermobile (which never made sense to me - Why did he need a car when he was the Boy Who Could Hover?), the HoverBoy bedsheet set . . . you name it. It was the most glorious day of my life. I didn't know where to begin. I tore into my presents, and then I tore into my stocking. And that's when I found it. What is now the Holy Grail of HoverBoy memorabilia - and I had it in my chubby little hands -- The Official HoverBoy Whisky Flask with genuine Tennesee Distilled 120 proof Whisky. I can still see it as clear as day. The smooth, silver flask. The shiny golden label. The little metal cap that was shaped like HoverBoy's helmet. Mmmmmmmmm. I can still smell the savoury fragrance of that New HoverBoy Whisky Flask smell. It's like crayons or Silly Putty or Peter Pan Puffed Rice cereal to some people - there's no other smell quite like it.
The cap didn't come off, of course. After all, it was intended to be a children's toy. I spent all of that Christmas Day playing with my HoverBoy stuff, pretending that My Covert Stealth HoverBoy Action Figure was on shore leave and sharing the whisky with a purloined Barbie with loose morals and questionable personal hygene. Ahhhhh, memories.
Well, soon dinner came and it was my turn to open the katsup packets, so I set my things under the tree and got ready for dinner. I tell you, Kentucky Fried Chicken just isn't the same when it isn't served on a paper plate on Christmas day.
Anyway, with dinner over and my sister and I on clean-up duty, my father retired to the lounge (that's what he called the bathroom) for his annual purging. You can bet that I hurried though clean-up and back to my stash under the tree.
And that's when it happened. My Official HoverBoy Whisky Flask was gone! I looked high and I looked low. I looked high again because I'm not really a stickler for detail. I even looked wide, but it was nowhere to be found.
Oh, how I cried myself to sleep that night.
Next morning I woke up, sheets soaked with tears and found a note pinned to my chest. Not my pajama top, my actual chest. It was from my father. He had run off with the new guy who filled our ice cube trays (hey, it was the 1970s, people were more experimental back then). What hurt the most, though, was that the note smelled so familiar. Not the regular familiar note smell that we can all associate with. No. It smelled distinctly of . . . you guessed it . . . Official Tennesee Distilled 120 proof HoverBoy Whisky. And then I found the flask, its cap broken off and laying on the bathroom floor. Empty save for a few measly dribbles that stained the linolium tile like so many tear drops stain my heart.
We never saw my father after that. My sister and I survived on the good will of neighbours and the meager carcasses of a few small woodland creatures who wandered into the yard. But I guess I understand. He had to *sob* He had to go on with his life *sniffle snort*
Why doesn't he call? *gaflog*
Was it *glurk* Was it something I did? *gurgle snort*
Why? Whyyyyy? Oh GOD WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?
Last edited by GilliganFonzarelli on Thu Apr 30, 2009 7:30 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : Seemed like the right thing to do.)