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All the world wants an Elastic Hulk
And all the men and women merely speculators:
They have their Armstrong's and their Monsters;
And one man in his time own's many stretch figures,
His stretch collecting being in seven stages. At first the Armstrong,
Stretching and puking on his stretchable arms.
And then the Stretch Junk Yard , with his chain
And stretching arms, stretching like a dog
Unwillingly to break. And then the stretch Superman,
Stretching like a morning stretch, with a wonderful Chris Reeve head
Made to never break or rip. Then the Octopus,
Full of stretchie arms and stretching like the bard.
Pink in colour, filled with corn syrup
Seeking his stretchable capacity.
Even in a childs hands. And then the collector,
A fairly strechable figure with just interior cardboard.
With rubber not rotted out and box close to "good",
Full of poop and modern estimates;
And so he keeps stretching his part. The sixth stretch shifts
Into the lean and tight 2000's
With speculations on tongue and price guide on side,
His youthful Stretch Hulk well saved, a world too small
For his Stretch Hulk dried; and his big stetching arms,
Turning into dried rubber and hard goo.
And boasts in his sound. Last stand of all,
That ends this strange eventful history of a Stretch collector,
Childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans Hulk, sans Monster, sans Armstrong, sans everything.
And all the men and women merely speculators:
They have their Armstrong's and their Monsters;
And one man in his time own's many stretch figures,
His stretch collecting being in seven stages. At first the Armstrong,
Stretching and puking on his stretchable arms.
And then the Stretch Junk Yard , with his chain
And stretching arms, stretching like a dog
Unwillingly to break. And then the stretch Superman,
Stretching like a morning stretch, with a wonderful Chris Reeve head
Made to never break or rip. Then the Octopus,
Full of stretchie arms and stretching like the bard.
Pink in colour, filled with corn syrup
Seeking his stretchable capacity.
Even in a childs hands. And then the collector,
A fairly strechable figure with just interior cardboard.
With rubber not rotted out and box close to "good",
Full of poop and modern estimates;
And so he keeps stretching his part. The sixth stretch shifts
Into the lean and tight 2000's
With speculations on tongue and price guide on side,
His youthful Stretch Hulk well saved, a world too small
For his Stretch Hulk dried; and his big stetching arms,
Turning into dried rubber and hard goo.
And boasts in his sound. Last stand of all,
That ends this strange eventful history of a Stretch collector,
Childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans Hulk, sans Monster, sans Armstrong, sans everything.
Haha. I love it Mike. 
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