There’s a wonderful, almost certainly apocryphal story about a guy who went to a comic book convention some number of years ago, and started thumbing through a box of old Disney comics. One by one, he pulled the mylar-snugged books that caught his attention from the box and piled them beside him. Finally, satisfied with his choices, he presented the stack of books to the dealer.

“So, how much to I owe you for these?” he asked.

The dealer carefully went through the pile, added up the prices,then turned back to the potential buyer.

“That’ll be three hundred fifty bucks,” he said. “Plus tax.”

The buyer’s chin practically bounced off the floor. “Wh-wh-what?” he stammered. “B-b-but how …?”

So the dealer went through the musty stack book by book, trying to explain. “Well, this one here is Uncle Scrooge #23,” he said. “It’s worth forty bucks these days. That one there is Disney’s Comics and Stories #32. It’s $150 in near-mint.” And so forth and so on. And with each price named, the buyer’s jaw dropped lower and lower.

Finally, with what little verbal capacity he had left, the stunned buyer managed to mutter, “Th-th-three hundred fifty bucks for a bunch of comic books? B-b-b-but it’s … it’s just ducks!”

And that, gentle reader, is sort of how I feel about the X-Men.

After two successful animated series, two top-grossing live action features—with a third coming late this spring and a fourth already in development—and, frankly, more toys, games, action figures  …