Jonny Numb

When it comes to the collector sphere, there’s a lot of nerds.

And where there’s nerds, there’s a lot of inexplicable snobbery.

And where there’s inexplicable snobbery, there’s irony.

And where there’s irony, there’s jokes.

It doesn’t matter what’s being collected…there’s always jokes.

For instance, this one’s popular with folks who hold a passionately condemnatory attitude toward Funko and their rubberized Pop! empire:

“When someone turns out to be a serial killer, the cops’ll find a closet full of ’em, haw haw!“

I myself have wondered just what is so compelling about those big-headed, tiny-bodied, black-eyed figures that come in the square boxes with the transparent plastic wraparound window.

Funko Pops once filled a partial wall in my old office cubicle, but were transposed to boxes and a Rubbermaid tub when I promoted to a supervisory role a year ago.

I thought the infatuation was dead – out of sight, out of mind – but upon stepping into a downtown curio shop, discovered a cache of Pops (beyond the overstock junk that populates the clearance racks at FYE and Books-A-Million). On top of this, said shop runs a perpetual B2GO that has swayed some of my purchases.

So, while my Pop collection expands once more, I am still at a loss as to where to put them all…