And I got sick, because that's what happens when you cram a planet's worth of unwashed, socially retarded nerds together and force them to breathe each other's air. It's bullshit. I had to call out of work Monday just because they don't teach hygiene in fucking dragon camp. The Women In real life, you can just approach a chick and say, "Hey, I want to buy you dinner. I have a car," and everything always works out fine.1 But at Comic-Con, it's different; no one's impressed by the usual tricks. It's all about how much Life Mana you have, or if your Spirit Animal has the same flavor of palsy as her Spirit Animal and, frankly, it's difficult to keep track of all the weird fetishes that are supposed to be attributed to everyone's respective characters.
-"Two cruisers against a star destroyer? More like two boobs against... Against some other boobs."
"Romulan? More like Ramulan, right? Because I want to ram you. And I'm not sure where the 'lan' part fits in. I guess 'lan' could- OH! No, wait, OK, I got it, here it goes: Romulan? More like Ramuhard, because I want to ra- What's that? You're a Klingon? Oh... Oh OK, then, no, carry on, I've got nothing for Klingon, I won't take up any more of your time, you've shown remarkable patience already."
-"Yeah, I'm gonna fuck you... Amelia Earhart. Yes."
No One's Buying Comics
Some folks might be surprised that Comic-Con recently added a section about comic books. Those folks would be so surprised, they may even completely ignore the artists. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of booths dedicated to both mainstream and independent comics, they're just not exactly swamped with customers, and