By Richard Benjumea, and a quart of Whiskey
A strong showing of social awkwardness at the Baltimore Comic Con this weekend. They came in droves and Baltimore residents once again were unfazed by the roaming bands of storm troopers, fully grown men dressed as cartoon characters, and scantily clad women filling the local Quiznos.
Ah, the Baltimore Comic Con, the middle child of the Con families. Never as popular as his older, hipper brother San Diego, nor as cool and quirky as his cousin Pittsburgh. No, in lieu of A-list celebrities plugging their latest fan boy's wet dream in San Diego, Baltimore gets to host the lead animator for Zorro Rides Again and Archie Comics (yes, it's still around.) But the main attraction of course was Stan Lee, who, with his appearance at this Con, proves my theory that he literally needs money to survive after having replaced all the blood in his system with liquified dollars (which constantly needs to be replenished as inflation grows...obviously). It's either that or he has a severe gambling addiction. Whatever his enigmatic reason for coming to Charm City, he was greeted as both God and the Devil incarnate by the Convention attendees (as geeks don't have much of an emotional middle ground)
But of course that would come later, for first we would be buttered up by several informative panels on how to start your comic business, complete with bi-quarterly business strategies and innovative distribution options...Hot Damn! The excitement of the panels was getting to be too much for me, so I made my way to the merch booths, that's when things got interesting.
As my flask full of whiskey and I walked through the never ending sea of original Variant-Wolverine art, I noticed a brouhaha forming. A corpulent fellow in a shirt that read “Ras-a-gul is my Homeboy” was arguing with a booth merchant. As I got closer I overheard the reason for the squabble. The fat man was claiming that the Aquaman #17 he bought from the merchant was really rated CGC 7.5 and not the advertised 8.5. To this the merchant replied with a slew of insults to the man's mother. My attention is then briefly drawn to a group of teens cat calling a passing Mystique, By the time I turn my attention back to the men, the entire floor had erupted into full blown chaos.
The two gentlemen had commenced a bout of fisticuffs, replacing the fists with effeminate slaps and purple nurples. Everyone seemed to seize the opportunity to unleash their pent up rage. To my left, a man was beaten to a pulp after expressing that the Silver Surfer's adaptation to the big screen was more than adequate. And to my right, a full scale brawl broke out between two rival Comic Con chain gangs: “Miller's Boys” and “Logan's Army.”
Explosions proliferated near the action figure tent, so I sought shelter near the desolate Christian Comics section. I took a swig of whiskey and picked up a bust of “Evangel Man” in case I had to beat my way through a ravenous horde of prepubescent swag jackals. I passed the kids comics corner,where the man from Archie Comics had sequestered himself inside the Spiderman ball pit with a handful of children as hostages. He was making demands to a squadron of Storm Troopers that had decided to try and negotiate.
The situation was getting hairy and I was running dangerously low on Wild Turkey. By luck I saw the Exit and made a break for it, but was immediately surrounded by a group of wild-eyed Marvel fiends with Hulk Hands. They demanded to know which one I thought to be superior, Silver Age or Bronze Age Jack Kirby. Before I had time to realize they weren't talking about Kirby's Dreamland, I was inadvertently saved by a poor bastard that yelled out “ Firefly was a mediocre show!” Their attention now drawn to him, I made my escape. Never was I gladder to breathe the grimy harbor air than at that moment. Walking past the line of parked cars with waiting mom's, I saw Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn run in terror as Slender Man chased them in his White Ford Econoline.
The ruckus died down as the police on Segways arrived. With only reports of scattered lightsaber battles still raging, it seemed like the worst was over. On the roof I saw Stan Lee leave in his solid gold helicopter towards the hospital, for another money blood transfusion no doubt.
Realizing that my ride had wisely abandoned the sinking Con ship an hour prior, I decided to walk to Charles Street to thumb a ride. After several minutes of trying, I got a ride from a Geo Metro, sharing a ride with chubby Wonder Woman, East Indian Superman and his mom. We listened to the Final Fantasy VII OST and I shared the last of the whiskey with chubby Wonder Woman as we took I-95 South, leaving the smoldering wreckage of the Baltimore Convention Center in the orange sunset behind us.
Fin.
Originally published on BrightestYoungThings.com: http://brightestyoungthings.com/articles/i-got-drunk-and-imagined-how-baltimore-comic-con-went.htm
A strong showing of social awkwardness at the Baltimore Comic Con this weekend. They came in droves and Baltimore residents once again were unfazed by the roaming bands of storm troopers, fully grown men dressed as cartoon characters, and scantily clad women filling the local Quiznos.
Ah, the Baltimore Comic Con, the middle child of the Con families. Never as popular as his older, hipper brother San Diego, nor as cool and quirky as his cousin Pittsburgh. No, in lieu of A-list celebrities plugging their latest fan boy's wet dream in San Diego, Baltimore gets to host the lead animator for Zorro Rides Again and Archie Comics (yes, it's still around.) But the main attraction of course was Stan Lee, who, with his appearance at this Con, proves my theory that he literally needs money to survive after having replaced all the blood in his system with liquified dollars (which constantly needs to be replenished as inflation grows...obviously). It's either that or he has a severe gambling addiction. Whatever his enigmatic reason for coming to Charm City, he was greeted as both God and the Devil incarnate by the Convention attendees (as geeks don't have much of an emotional middle ground)
Stan Lee and his Agent
But of course that would come later, for first we would be buttered up by several informative panels on how to start your comic business, complete with bi-quarterly business strategies and innovative distribution options...Hot Damn! The excitement of the panels was getting to be too much for me, so I made my way to the merch booths, that's when things got interesting.
As my flask full of whiskey and I walked through the never ending sea of original Variant-Wolverine art, I noticed a brouhaha forming. A corpulent fellow in a shirt that read “Ras-a-gul is my Homeboy” was arguing with a booth merchant. As I got closer I overheard the reason for the squabble. The fat man was claiming that the Aquaman #17 he bought from the merchant was really rated CGC 7.5 and not the advertised 8.5. To this the merchant replied with a slew of insults to the man's mother. My attention is then briefly drawn to a group of teens cat calling a passing Mystique, By the time I turn my attention back to the men, the entire floor had erupted into full blown chaos.
Pictured: Chaos
The two gentlemen had commenced a bout of fisticuffs, replacing the fists with effeminate slaps and purple nurples. Everyone seemed to seize the opportunity to unleash their pent up rage. To my left, a man was beaten to a pulp after expressing that the Silver Surfer's adaptation to the big screen was more than adequate. And to my right, a full scale brawl broke out between two rival Comic Con chain gangs: “Miller's Boys” and “Logan's Army.”
Explosions proliferated near the action figure tent, so I sought shelter near the desolate Christian Comics section. I took a swig of whiskey and picked up a bust of “Evangel Man” in case I had to beat my way through a ravenous horde of prepubescent swag jackals. I passed the kids comics corner,where the man from Archie Comics had sequestered himself inside the Spiderman ball pit with a handful of children as hostages. He was making demands to a squadron of Storm Troopers that had decided to try and negotiate.
The situation was getting hairy and I was running dangerously low on Wild Turkey. By luck I saw the Exit and made a break for it, but was immediately surrounded by a group of wild-eyed Marvel fiends with Hulk Hands. They demanded to know which one I thought to be superior, Silver Age or Bronze Age Jack Kirby. Before I had time to realize they weren't talking about Kirby's Dreamland, I was inadvertently saved by a poor bastard that yelled out “ Firefly was a mediocre show!” Their attention now drawn to him, I made my escape. Never was I gladder to breathe the grimy harbor air than at that moment. Walking past the line of parked cars with waiting mom's, I saw Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn run in terror as Slender Man chased them in his White Ford Econoline.
The ruckus died down as the police on Segways arrived. With only reports of scattered lightsaber battles still raging, it seemed like the worst was over. On the roof I saw Stan Lee leave in his solid gold helicopter towards the hospital, for another money blood transfusion no doubt.
“Enjoy your Spiderman reboot bitches!” – Stan Lee
Realizing that my ride had wisely abandoned the sinking Con ship an hour prior, I decided to walk to Charles Street to thumb a ride. After several minutes of trying, I got a ride from a Geo Metro, sharing a ride with chubby Wonder Woman, East Indian Superman and his mom. We listened to the Final Fantasy VII OST and I shared the last of the whiskey with chubby Wonder Woman as we took I-95 South, leaving the smoldering wreckage of the Baltimore Convention Center in the orange sunset behind us.
Fin.
Originally published on BrightestYoungThings.com: http://brightestyoungthings.com/articles/i-got-drunk-and-imagined-how-baltimore-comic-con-went.htm
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