"A treasure chest of happiness."

§ November 17th, 2006 § Filed under harvey, richie rich § 1 Comment

So we bought a large collection of ’70s comics, mostly humor books (Archie and Harvey and the like). It’s nice to have them, as while we’re pretty heavy on Archies at the moment, our Harvey selection is rather sparse. At one time we had well over three boxes of nothing but Richie Rich titles…one person came in and bought them all, and ever since you could probably count our RR stock on the fingers of both hands, and maybe a toe or two.

In this collection, though, are hundreds of Richie Rich comics, which should replenish our supply for some time to come…or, at least, until that guy who bought all the Richie Riches comes back and wipes us out again.

However, there is a downside to acquiring these Richie Riches, and that’s they’ve gotta be processed…put in bags, price stickered, etc. And that means looking at cover after cover after cover after cover celebrating Richie’s conspicuous consumption. Since I had the other employees otherwise occupied, it was up to me…and I’d only processed about 1/3 of the Richie Rich comics when I realized they were driving me insane. I was angry at the Richie Rich comics, talking back to them. “This isn’t real grass…it’s ast-dough turf!” Richie would say on the cover. “Oh, screw you, Rich,” I would reply.

I’ve noted before that one of the things that irritates me about Richie Rich is the constant rubbing of his wealth in the faces of his country bumpkin friends Pee Wee and Freckles. I mean, look at how they live:

“Oh, no, you couldn’t live with me,” Richie must tell them. “There’s just no space in my 500-room mansion…all the extra rooms are filled with money, you see. Plus, our robot maid Irona requires a multi-room suite for her privacy, my dog Dollar needs room to roam…you understand.”

And why Pee Wee and Freckles put up with this particular insult:

…I have no idea. The unseen conclusion of that particular scenario should be Rich being beaten to death by the pair with one of his own bags of money.

Sure, he does nice things for them, on occasion, like helping them mooch a free ball game:

…but are you telling me the richest kid in the world can’t spring for actual tickets? Okay, maybe the game was sold out, but would that stop someone of Richie’s wealth and influence? A bill or two dropped in the right hands, and Richie and his entourage are through the gate. Then again, maybe Rich owns the park, and is helping his friends circumvent admission out of some risk-free “flouting societal conventions” fantasy. “Oh, this must be what it’s like when the common people break the law and risk punishment!”

And, for God’s sake, what the heck is up with this tricked-out pogo stick:

Richie Rich is clearly incapable of feeling embarrassment. The Casper-head horn also raises questions I don’t want answered.

One Response to “"A treasure chest of happiness."”