Loaded only with beer, bottled water and active Manuka honey for the dime-sized splotch of staph infection on my face, I Face the demon of the ages - Comic Con. Every year this scene seems to get worse. Degenerate geeks celebrating their geekiness by harnasssing the collector mentality into an Exclusives Only mania that would make my Plantation Owner Forebears giddy with discriminatory glee. I refuse to let this poopheaded subculture Get to me this year. Almost every year its some life-altering disaster and the day has already plunged into chaos - the signing sheets have not been printed, Shawn is staying (though that may be a blessing - less to worry about as I Descend into the underbelly) and the staph has still not subsided. It rages under the skin, pustulating like the sweaty throngs outside the convention center. I am unworried. I have beer enough to drink through it - god willing.
T-shirt of the day:
Winners train, losers complain.
To which I might add, Fate continues to Refrain.
More later.
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