Hello Kitty Hell

If you have a “superfan” in your life who obsesses over something, take heart that it could probably be worse than you know: Hello Kitty Hell.

You may have heard about the infamous Hello Kitty vibrator personal massager (ifyouknowwhatImean), but did you know you can get Hello Kitty belly button rings, a $164,000 platinum Hello Kitty figurine, HK scooters with or without Louis Vuitton seat cushions, HK toasters (eat Kitty’s adorable little beribboned head for brekkers), HK iPod docks, HK HP computers (with matching mousepad and mouse), several types of HK DVD players, HK plushies the size of ponies, HK brassieres, HK boo-boo plasters, HK SARS masks, HK Converse hightops, HK loo paper, HK yarn, HK sewing machines, HK boxer shorts (because men are huge fans of wearing HK across their personal areas), HK sake (rice wine), and much, much more?

For the true Yo Kitteh fanatics, there is a How’s It Cat airline with air hostesses in Wotcher Moggy uniforms serving you ‘Sup Puss-shaped food on an airplane decorated from tip to tip with giant Hey Puddytat art.

For those that can’t live without HK, you can now manage not to die without her, too: there are HK tombstones. Cuteness uber alles!

Get yo’ KITTY on. More Kat tat than any one human needs.

My Hello Kitty collection is as follows: a stuffed Chococat, which isn’t even the right Sanrio cat.


My Chocokitteh, let me sho u him. Along with approximately 1/4000th of my personal library.

You know, there comes a day when you look around at your complete set of Austin Powers action figure collection, your “Yellow Submarine” Beatles action figures, your 200 pinback buttons, your old Topper Dawn dolls, your LEGO sets and God knows what other shizz (and “look around at” sometimes translates to “are aware that, in storage, you have”) and despair at what happened to your retirement fund.

Not that I’d know anything about that.

It isn’t that bad, to be honest, but who knew I’d be so poor now? I begrudge my past self for buying anything I can’t eat, use, or wear now.

You’ll also note that I did not mention the entire media library occupying much of my domicile. I have more CDs than several branches of the local library, and when I used to shop at used CD stores to get MOAR MOAR MOAR, I often had more CDs than did the store. It’s a sickness. At some point, I’m going to own more music than I could ever manage to listen to again before I die. I might be at that point now, where if I played every cassette, vinyl album, 45, CD, and so on end-to-end from now until I join the choir invisible, I would have a mess of music left over that time simply would not allow me to listen to before the bucket was kicked.

This realization did not stop me from getting MOAR.

Sickness. It was one.

Nowadays I realize that I haven’t bought a CD since the 90’s. (That isn’t to say I’ve stopped keeping up with music. I just don’t buy CDs.)

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