Sunday, March 14, 2004

I almost forgot. I walked twice past a comic book store last night. The first time I didn't stop. But the second time, I looked carefully at all the action figures in the window.


There was a Krazy Kat doll and an Ignatz doll.

So now I am bound to purchasing them, along with that Krazy Kat tin box beside them.

I thought Krazy Kat was a death knell for companies dabbling in anything Krazy. I was thankful that I didn't have to become an obsessive collector like those Star Wars freaks. I could continue living my life as a normal human being. I didn't have to clear out my kitchen cupboards to display my collection because there was nothing to collect. I didn't have to learn Klingon or paste alien prosthetics to my forehead. There were no clubs to join where annoying idiots knew more about Krazy and/or medieval folklore than I did.

All that I had of Krazy was a 1987 calendar, the closest thing to a definitive Krazy Kat book, the Krazy Kat postcard book and a copy of archy & mehitabel (not by the Master but illustrated by Him).

Recently I bought the two-disc 1960s Krazy Kat DVDs. Despite my lack of DVD player (which you-know-who got custody of), I justified that purchase by telling myself that the next time there will ever be any Krazy Kat merchandise on the market my yellow fever vaccinination will have expired.

Some company marketing Krazy merchandise has thrown my placid life askew. With the singleminded purpose of a faulty android, I must collect.

I want to say "Damn you, Krazy!" but you know I can't. I love you too much.

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