Retro Roots. Modern Obsessions.
I used to build ads that floated across your screen and made you curse. Now the ads don’t just annoy you—they study you. They know when you’re whispering to Alexa about Dunkaroos at 2am, and they never let you forget it.
We were the chosen ones once, our childhood stories, our heroes, our franchises. But they kept going without us. This is a personal farewell to Ghostbusters, Marvel, wrestling, and all the icons that shaped us… then left us behind for the next generation. And that’s okay.
We all grew up thinking The Karate Kid was about honor, balance, and personal growth. But if you rewatch it with grown-ass eyes, it starts to look less like a coming-of-age tale and more like a training video for delusion, entitlement, and poorly disguised emotional manipulation. These are the lessons I (unfortunately) learned.
My geek vault holds treasures: Hot Toys, comics, vintage gear. But as a Gen X collector, I'm facing the looming fear that my passion might become a massive burden for my daughter. It's time for "Swedish Death Cleaning" – not to purge the magic, but to turn a lifetime of collecting into a clear, story-tagged legacy.
Since listicles do big numbers, Genex Geek is proud to present the most important ranking in Disney history: how much each princess probably stank. Medieval hygiene? Nonexistent. Indoor plumbing? A fairy tale. We’re pulling back the curtain on the musk and must of happily ever after. Spoiler: birds braiding your hair doesn’t count as a shower.
Funko Pops are the McDonald’s of collecting—cheap, stackable, and everywhere. They’re choking out real collectibles with their vinyl tombstone aisles, turning what used to be a hunt for artistry into a wasteland of plastic placeholders. When did we trade craftsmanship for convenience?
A meditation on South Park’s Member Berries, Gen X nostalgia, and how collecting became my ritual, my refuge—and my way of passing on a disappearing world.
A nostalgic journey through a lifetime of body slams, promos, and pyro—from watching Pedro Morales with my father to cheering Cody Rhodes in the Triple H era. Wrestling may be absurd, but for fans like me, it’s the most beautiful ballet in the world.
Before reboots and timelines, He-Man was our mythology—plastic heroes, after-school battles, and the Power of Grayskull. This is a love letter to the toys that ruled our shelves (and imaginations).
I was a teenage superhero wannabe—fighting crime with foam nunchucks and Punisher delusions. No villains were harmed, but a lot of lamps were. This is what happens when comics meet karate in the Bronx.
Life’s a grind. Figures aren’t just toys—they’re time machines, therapy, and middle fingers to the mundane. This is why I collect: not for nostalgia, but for the pieces of me the world forgot.
Before capes and CGI, we had The Fonz—cool in a can of Brylcreem. This sixth scale figure isn’t just a toy, it’s a leather-jacketed time machine back to jukeboxes, swagger, and simpler days.
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