At What Point Do You Stop Collecting Things?

I mean, really, at what point do you stop collecting things? Is it when you can't even rationalize it to yourself anymore, or is it when the A&E film crew comes banging on your front door? Shit, who is knocking on the door? False alarm. It was just my subconscious mind playing tricks on me in an attempt to make me see how dangerously close I hover to hoarder status. Screw you, subconscious, that ruse ain't gonna work. Right now I'm staring at four turntables in various states of disrepair, heaps of albums and laserdiscs, no less than three typewriters, and boxes upon boxes of comic books, most of which I have never and will never read. There might even be a flat cat under all this mess. *elbow nudge to all the Hoarders watchers (inside joke y'all). Ugh. I've fallen under the spell of the unwanted and forgotten. I have to remember that just because no one else wants this shit anymore, it's not my job to provide it safe quarters. But for realsies, this shit is pretty fucking cool. I got a German made Dual CS-431 turntable that just needed a needle for a measly five bucks. Gimme, gimme, gimme. Another Dual, a CS-1257 that is a fucking mechanical conundrum, for another five bucks. Aaaaand it has an intact Ortfon stylus, I might ad. Gimme that, too. And albums? Yep, tons of 'em. All cheap, all in fair condition, and mostly jazz and big band. I'm in a jazz and big band mood as of late, me thinks it's due to my love of trombones and stand up bass. Daaaaaaaaammmit. I forgot about the VHS tapes. Did you know that they are like $.75 apiece and on some straight up BOGO status most of the time? Yup, rocking some Ninja Turtles, Ghostbusters, Monty Python, all that back in the day shit on VHS. Fuck netflix. It's too instant. Analog4lyf, son! Anyways, I guess the point I was trying to make was that, to answer my own question from before, you never stop collecting. Never stop until you die beneath an avalanche of pointless garbage. On a related note, you want comics? I got you. Mountains of mid-eighties commons. You pay me for a flat rate box, I fill it with bagged and boarded comics, I send them to you. Free. Of. Charge. (other than flate rate shipping, that is) Holla atcha boy. I'll be in the junk dungeon poking the insides of this Dual turntable with a screwdriver.

Go ahead audiophiles, cry about it. I replaced an Ortofon cartridge with a NuMark. I'm a rebel. 

One day, I'll figure out how to fix this one. Stabbing its guts with a screwgie* ain't working.

I use this typewriter to keep my precious Laserdisc collection from toppling over.

Yeah. VHS. Killin' it with this shit. I'm always kind, and I always rewind.

Ninja Turtles #2-5. Mint. Jealous? Don't be. They could be yours for the cost of postage.

Boxes of this shit. C'mon man, just say you want some fucking comics!

*elbow nudge to all the No Country For Old Men watchers.