When I first heard about this thing called "Comic-Con" many years ago, I was told that it wasn't just a great place to get back issues of The Amazing Spider-Man. It was also a nexus for the entire sci-fi/fantasy nerd culture. San Diego was one of the few places where a nerd could comfortably walk around town dressed like Mr. Spock without someone asking you where your spaceship was parked. Fuck those people, because you don't park spaceships. Everyone knows that! Duh.
You can still dress up, but Comic-Con isn't as much about that misfit community as much as it's a five-day costumed orgy, sort of like Eyes Wide Shut, but with everyone dressed like Harry Potter, Luke Skywalker, or the legendary character, Mexican Goth Batman.
People are constantly feeding me drinks, trying to get me to take mystery pills, and pitching me their screenplay ideas. It's like Los Angeles got in the car with me and came to San Diego. Unfortunately, Los Angeles never pays for gas and is always making me pull over for snacks like I'm made of money or something.
Comic-Con parties have hot go-go dancers, open bars, and the faint, pungent scent of sexual desperation; an odor I know too well. Actually, the name of the cologne I was wearing last night is "Sexual Desperation." It's a combination of fish oil and vanilla extract, which is just the kind of signature scent I'm looking for.
I discovered what I thought was the best party of the night, and hunkered down for five hours of thumping bass and tight bodies searching for something to rub on. What I really wanted to see was an actual nerd romance blossom amidst all the sweaty, drug-fueled mania. It didn't dawn on me until much later that I was looking in the wrong place.
When I arrived at the party, Scorpion from Mortal Kombat was already texting furiously with his agent, or trying to double-check if Sub-Zero was "coming to the party too, and could he bring some molly?"
The club paid zombie go-go dancers to constantly be twerking for the audience's approval, and to stoke their libidos. Nothing is more erotic than seeing a woman in heavy, grotesque make-up flash her ass in your face. I certainly raised my hand and asked for more, thank you very much. What really nailed it for me is that this lady was not only a zombie, but as you can see from her hat, she was also a sheriff. I find law enforcement very erotic.
I guess everything had to be zombie-fied at this party. Even the shitty DJs. I refrained from screaming, "this party is dead" all night.
Some people at Comic-Con parties are more clearly looking for love than others. Last night might have been this woman's last chance to settle down with the man of her dreams, though if her shirt is any indication, she might be setting the bar a bit too high. Lesson to all you gals out there, sometimes, Superman doesn't wear a cape, you know?
Ladies, can I interest you in some of this hot, male beefcake action? He's a SWAT team member, so he has a steady job. He clearly works out. He's very social. Oh, also he drinks blood and wears novelty contact lenses. As I said above, sometimes Superman doesn't wear a cape.
Surprise! Your friend is drunk!
An alien was serving some sort of red liquid in vials. I guess it was supposed to be "cool" and "futuristic," but it just made me think she was trying to poison me. My guess is she was cosplaying as the apothecary from Space Romeo & Space Juliet.
You're probably wondering if a Jedi showed up. My answer is, "what the fuck do you think?" There's always a Jedi.
Nothing is more embarrassing than when your dad spots you at the club. Here, you can see the dad telling her that he accidentally deleted Catfish from the DVR and that her step-mom wants to have dinner next Tuesday. What followed was a heated exchange.
Sub-Zero showed up, but he brought a random girl, and Scorpion was pretty pissed about that. I mean, there are no plus ones at parties like this, especially when you don't even know the host. It's bad form, Sub-Zero. Maybe you could have asked ahead of time? What if she trashes the place? Plus, now Scorpion is a total third wheel and he's not great at mingling. He was kind of counting on Sub-Zero to wingman for him. I heard a fatality in the new Mortal Kombat game is the "Party Foul."
Most of the hook-ups last night were sleazy, backroom make-out sessions that made me reconsider having physical contact with another human being ever again. Then, there was this. Nothing warms my heart more than seeing interspecies love. The classic kitty and the weird horse/walrus/unicorn-man from the wrong side of the tracks story. It's like Romeo & Juliet for whimiscal forest creatures.
Love is like that, though. It's confusing, complicated, and fraught with danger. It's even more complicated when you try to kiss through a giant cat mask. Oh, and speaking of Romeo & Juliet, I'm pretty sure I saw these two drinking those mystery vials the space alien was handing out before I left the party. For never was a story of more woe than this of Kitty Lady & Horse Man.
More awkward entertainment industry gatherings: