I’ve never been accused of being particularly smart with money. For the longest time I thought having an “addictive personality” was a good thing, like people really couldn’t get enough of you, which I thought was applicable, but it turns out the real definition is just as apt. You see, I have always been a collector of things. All sorts of stuff. If I liked it, not only did I want it, but I wanted all of it. Whether it was a complete run of the original GI Joe comics (I ended up with around 130 of the 155), a complete run of The ‘NAM, vending machine toys, or movies, I had to have them. I had to own them. As a born sucker, apparently, I was the perfect target for “Collector’s Editions,” “Special Editions,” and everything else you can call a release to convince someone that it’s part of a larger whole. Sometimes, it was worth it. Sometimes it was really worth it, like getting the Evil Dead films in Book of the Dead format. Awesome. But often, it was just a sham – and things have gotten worse. Much worse. What’s so special about these editions anyway?

When Special Editions aren’t so special, Robert Fure boils over.