Pop-art psychoanalysis, pt. II: Sigmund Freud vs. Arthur Curry

Last week I came up with this really bright idea which was customizing my DC Direct Aquaman action figure, the one from the “Justice” series which is based on painter Alex Ross’s work. I decided I would paint Aquaman’s classic silver-age black trunks over his green tights to give him more of a retro look.
Regardless that the whole enterprise was eventually called off before it even began due to it being, well, some f*cking dumb idea in the first place, I later realized the whole concept of it would probably be rather unexplainable to anybody else. Such as in the following example:

Somebody: “Dude, did you just paint black trunks over your Aquaman action figure?”
Me: “I have lots of unresolved childhood issues.”

Now, that wasn’t even the worst bit.
The worst bit of course was calling my mother from the office and asking her to bring the Aquaman action figure to my place whenever she dropped by for a visit.
The conversation below is a veritable, true-to-God excerpt from our dialogue:

Me: “Say mom can you please go to that place in my wardrobe where I keep my comics and stuff?”
Mom: “There’s no way I’m touching that crap.”
Me: “C’mon, please.”
Mom: “Okay, what do you want me to do?”
Me: “Could you please, like, bring me one of those action fig… I mean, male dolls and bring it over the next time you drop by? It’s like, broken and I need to fix something…”
Mom: “Which one?”
Me: “Aww, okay: That one in the back with the orange shirt with the fish-scales, and the green tights… who’s sort of holding on to that golden trident… pitchfork… thing…?”
Mom: “Doesn’t look broken to me.”
Me: “Jesus Christ, mom, please, just bring it over, will ya…”

And if you think that was bad, consider then that for the oddest of reasons all managers from the national Sales department were holding some impromptu meeting just behind my desk, standing up and etc., at that same moment.