Daredevil #12 (1966) (VG)

A Brief Note on the Narrative Nonsense Within

There is something deeply comforting about the mid-1960s, an era when a sightless attorney from Manhattan could justify traveling to an uncharted Antarctic tropical valley full of dinosaurs simply because a man in a loincloth was having a bad week.

In this particular installment, “Sightless, in a Savage Land!”, our hero Matt Murdock—a man whose primary legal strategy appears to be putting on red spandex and leaping off cornices—finds himself face-to-face with Ka-Zar. Together, they must thwart Ka-Zar’s estranged brother, a man inexplicably named Parnival Plunder. Parnival, having been burdened at birth with the name of a Victorian butler, naturally turned to a life of international piracy and high-tech weaponized burglary. If you have ever wanted to read twenty pages of a blind lawyer dodging prehistoric fauna while lecturing a jungle nobleman on maritime law, this is the literature you have been searching for.

Historical Significance (Or: Why This Paper Matters)

Beyond its inherent narrative dignity, issue #12 occupies a cozy, distinct notch in Silver Age Marvel lore:

• First Appearance of The Plunderer: This issue marks the maiden voyage of Parnival Plunder, a villain who proved that evil brothers are always slightly more fashionable and significantly worse at family reunions.

• The Romita/Kirby Nexus: Featuring story layouts by Jack Kirby and early pencils by John Romita Sr. (just months before Romita was reassigned to draw Peter Parker’s endless adolescent heartbreak in The Amazing Spider-Man), the art possesses that glorious, kinetic energy where every jawline looks capable of crushing a walnut.

• Early Ka-Zar Crossover: Solidified the Savage Land as Marvel's preferred dumping ground for plot lines that had nowhere else to go.

Condition Report: A Study in Honest Physical Decay (Grade: 2.5 GD+ to 3.0 VG)

If we are being completely honest—and at my age, lying takes far too much stamina—this comic book has aged much like the rest of us: structurally intact, visibly weathered, and holding onto its youth with a quiet, dignified panic.

• Front Cover: The top right quadrant features a impressive web of color-breaking stress creases radiating through the Comics Code Seal like a tiny, frozen lightning storm. The spine exhibits a pronounced roll and a generous collection of stress lines, indicating it was read by a child who possessed immense enthusiasm but very little respect for archival preservation.

• Edges & Corners: The corners are soft, blunted, and slightly tired of maintaining a ninety-degree angle. Minor color flaking decorates the outer margins.

• Back Cover: The rear ad for the Dynaflex Method—which promises a "magnificent body" in ten minutes a day without weights—has taken on a lovely, vintage patina of age-toning, foxing, and faint margin grime. (Spoiler: the Dynaflex course did not work in 1966, and it will not work now).

• Interior: The pages are complete, supple, and a charming shade of off-white to cream. No missing panels, no clipped coupons, and no discreet scotch tape repairs hiding in the gutter.

It is a solid, honest mid-to-lower grade reader’s copy that looks magnificent in a bag and board, provided you don't inspect it with a jeweler’s loupe or a heavy heart.

About Grumpy Comics & Our Free (Snail’s-Pace) Shipping Policy

Grumpy Comics was founded on a very simple premise: I buy large, dusty boxes of 1960s pop culture from basement hoarders so that you don't have to make awkward small talk with them in person. We evaluate every issue with painful, unvarnished honesty so you never open a package only to realize "Very Fine" was a creative writing exercise.

Shipping is 100% FREE. However, you should know that "Free" in our vernacular means your comic book will travel through the United States Postal Service at the contemplative, unhurried pace of a tired tortoise carrying a brick. It will be packaged with industrial-grade rigidity—boarded, bagged, and armored against nuclear fallout—but it will arrive in its own sweet time. If you require overnight gratification, I suggest visiting a newsstand in 1966. Otherwise, sit tight, track the package obsessively, and enjoy the wait.