I realize he made it to 95, which is a damn impressive run, especially for a life as colorful as his. But I'm still heartbroken, and I have a hard time putting into words how very much the work of Stan Lee informed my childhood.
Life will be significantly less fun without him. Both my inner 12-year-old and my actual 12-year-old (Oliver) are crestfallen. This cover depiction of the mighty Ghost Rider pretty much sums up how I'm feeling.
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