Over the weekend I picked up a couple discount trade paperbacks of Chris Claremont’s New Exiles – during the phase in which Chris Claremont seemed to be quarantined further and further away from prime Marvel continuity, the end result of which was the gloriously onanistic X-Men: Forever – and there was just something so… comforting about it.  Everything you expect from a story in which Chris Claremont is given free rein, and nothing you don’t.  It’s like sitting down and having a visit with Grandpa.

“And so the Exiles encounter an alternate reality where the British empire never fell!”
“Oh hey, that’s a really cool trope, Grandpa, I don’t think you’ve ever done that one before.”
“And… and Psylocke finds herself once again assuming the role of Lady Mandarin!”
“Wow, you, uh… you sure were into it when Psylocke was brainwashed into a sexy Asian lady assassin for like three issues back in the day, weren’t you?”
“And the X-Men, led by a wheelchair-bound Emma Frost, are known in this world as Force-X!”
“What?”
“Force-X!”
“Grandpa, you realize it sounds exactly like you’re saying ‘For Sex,’ right?”
“What’sat?”
“Never mind, here, have some more soup…”