Just like the long-dead Autobot Impactor, in issue #84 of the Marvel UK imprint of the Transformers comic, I have good days and bad days.
Now I’m not saying I’m like Impactor in many other ways: I haven’t died twice, or even once; I don’t have a cannon on my shoulder; and I’ve never been leader of the Autobots ‘elite’ commando unit, the Wreckers. I don’t have a cool name like Impactor either. What’s more, I’ve never called Emirate Xaaron, the near-eastern-sounding Cybertronian Autobot leader, a ‘wily old buzzard’. I don’t even really know what ‘wily old buzzard’ means, although I’m generally suspicious of a 4 million-year-old robot calling another 4 million-year-old robot ‘old’. But Impactor and myself have this in common at least: we both have good days, and we both have bad days. And just like Impactor in issue #84, I’ve just suffered a really bad day.
Now I’m not saying I’m like Impactor in many other ways: I haven’t died twice, or even once; I don’t have a cannon on my shoulder; and I’ve never been leader of the Autobots ‘elite’ commando unit, the Wreckers. I don’t have a cool name like Impactor either. What’s more, I’ve never called Emirate Xaaron, the near-eastern-sounding Cybertronian Autobot leader, a ‘wily old buzzard’. I don’t even really know what ‘wily old buzzard’ means, although I’m generally suspicious of a 4 million-year-old robot calling another 4 million-year-old robot ‘old’. But Impactor and myself have this in common at least: we both have good days, and we both have bad days. And just like Impactor in issue #84, I’ve just suffered a really bad day.
Of course, Impactor’s really bad day (as chronicled in #84) involved squaring off against three Decepticon Triple-Changers. To be fair, I haven’t done that today. I mean, yeah, the three Decepticon Triple-Changers did actually turn out to be three Autobot Triple-Changers in disguise (you’d think a Transformer would look out for things like that), but it was still a really bad time for Impactor. Like issue #84 says, ‘welcome to one of his worst [days]!’. And sure, I think we can all agree that, as worst days go, it might not have been quite as bad as issue #88, where he got killed taking a bullet (okay, laser blast that went ‘Cham!’) for his buddy Emirate Xaaron. And it probably wasn’t as bad a day for Impactor as in issue #169, when following a brief resurrection he got re-killed saving Emirate Xaaron from the machinations of evil scientist Autobot, Flame. And, I think, not as bad as all the other issues, where he didn’t even get a mention, let alone some sort of thanks for dying twice. But still, yeah, in issue #84 he had one pretty bad day.
So look, my points here are twofold. Firstly, Emirate Xaaron is the worst Autobot leader of all time; secondly, I too have experienced a worst day. Now, on balance, my own worst day might not have been as bad as that time I got cut in two by the rotor-blades on Miles Mayhem’s plane-copter when he escaped my bunker (please come back, Miles). And, okay, if we’re being honest, it might not have been as bad a day as the day when [redacted], which I honestly will write about one day soon, when I get over the nightmare-inducing horror. And yes, on the whole, this worst day probably wasn’t quite as bad as all the days I didn’t get mentioned in UK Transformers #1 through #332, no matter how many nice messages I sent for possible inclusion in their letters page. But still, it was bad.
Why was it so bad? Well, if you’ll just shut up for a moment, I’ll go ahead and tell you. It’s nice to tell people about your troubles, you know. I mean, if you’ll let them get a word in edgeways. Just like it would have been nice had the Transformers letters page listened to me, and perhaps provided proof of having done so in print. Hell, I could understand Soundwave not replying when I wrote to him in his position as host of the letters page, or ‘Soundwaves’, as the page was cleverly entitled during his surprisingly lengthy tenure (issues #22 through #73, excepting issue #41). Soundwave is a dirtwad decepti-creep after all, and frankly not to be trusted at epistolary communication. He probably just turned the letters into energon cubes or something. Likewise, Dreadwind’s ‘Dread Tidings’ page (issues #184 through #299) couldn’t really be expected to dignify my missives with anything remotely like a deserving response.
And, you know, I could understand Grimlock not giving me the time of day when I wrote to him as host of ‘Grim Grams’ (issues #75 through #182). Grimlock couldn’t really speak beyond sentences like ‘me Grimlock smash brains’, so to expect him to compose a written response to my consistently erudite queries might have been a bit much. Similarly, Blaster can be let off the hook, I think. I’m fairly sure Blaster left most of the actual work to either Steeljaw or Ramhorn, his small cassette-tape friends. As highly advanced Transformer lifeforms, Steeljaw and Ramhorn had the ability to assume the form of either a cassette-tape or, respectively, a lion and a rhino. In neither shape, I imagine, would either of them be able to instruct anyone in the details of a response, let alone pick up a pen or hammer out an essay on the office Commodore 64.
But Ratchet. Ratchet really let me down. Picture the scene, if you will. It’s issue #41. It’s time for a change from Soundwave’s evil ignorance. It’s time to draw a line under the shadows of the past. It’s time for ‘Rat-Chat’, starring everyone’s favourite Autobot surgeon and all round good guy. A man (okay, robot) interested in helping people. A man (okay, robot) who prides himself on intellectual, moral conduct. A man (okay, robot) who, you might think, would be only too happy to reply to a letter from yours truly. Well, you’d think wrong. Because, frankly, Ratchet left me high and dry.
Yes, that day, that terrible dark day when Ratchet didn’t heed my keening call, was a pretty bad day indeed. But actually, and I’m just thinking aloud here, I think the day I’ve just had might have been even worse than that, bleak experience though that undoubtedly was. On the whole, then, it would have been nice if you’d let me tell you about it.
Notes: In all honesty, the onomatopoeic laser blast might not have been ‘cham’. It might well have been a ‘kazz-zap’ or even a ‘krrooom’. I don’t remember, and I couldn’t be bothered to look it up. Take that, academic referencing standards.