I’ve been debating whether or not I should do a write-up for this year’s Comic-Con.  Many friends of mine are spaced out around the country and I consider you, my kick-ass readers, part of my extended family, so I decided to kill a couple of birds with one stone and share my blood, sweat, tears and semen with all of you.  Since the Con is being exhaustingly covered by every news outlet and internet site, I figured I’d take a different tact and just report on the shit I’ve seen…the majority of which doesn’t involve panels or previews.  So, what the fuck am I going to write about?  Well, just read on…

Through the kindness of friends, I was able to obtain a pass for Wednesday’s preview night, as well as a pass for opening day on Thursday.  On Friday night, I didn’t go, but I was downtown (trying to get into a screening of Pineapple Express…it didn’t happen), so my girlfriend and I decided to drink.  And drink we did.

Anyway, here’s a breakdown of my experiences so far:

Preview Night:

Already there were thousands of flaming dorks crowding the Convention floor, the air redolent with their potent, flavorful smells.  I’ve come to realize that, no matter how much cool air you pump into a building, thousands of sweaty nerds can conduct more heat than the massive chasm that resides between Delta Burke’s legs.  Nothing too special went on here, just the usual displays and crap that you take pictures of, then wonder later why the hell you even bothered.  I actually took a picture of my overpriced coffee.  I figured I should document the damn thing since I stood in line for about forty minutes to get it.  You’d think Neil Gaiman was behind the counter makin’ lattes and shit.  Anyway, after wandering around the floor absorbing smells and hoping somebody would shoot me, my girlfriend and her friend and I decided to bail and head over to a nearby hotel to get some much-needed sustenance.

After getting properly lubricated, I looked up from my seat at the hotel bar and noticed a group of about six guys passing by.  In the middle of this swarm was none other than Glenn Danzig.  If any of you have read my previous Comic-Con blog, you know that Danzig and I (and his crotch) have a long, sordid history.  Being the drunk, respectful jackass that I am, I immediately pointed at him and exclaimed “Holy shit!  It’s Danzig!”  Thankfully, he and his entourage didn’t hear me and I still have feeling in my legs.

After whoring myself out, selling blood, selling sperm, washing windows and signing over my power of attorney, I had enough money to cover the bar tab.  With this paid, we headed back to the parking garage and strolled passed Hall H.  Hall H is a big-ass room where all the studios line up panels to pimp the sometimes horrible, sometimes great movies they have in the pipeline.  There were already nerds waiting outside the Hall; many of whom were re-reading their “Twilight” books.

I know nothing about this series, but I do know that lots of girls read them (including my girlfriend) and that they involve vampires, werewolves and were written by a Mormon.  This gives me hope that someday I can read a book about elves and dragons written by a Hare Krishna.  Anyway, these “Twilight”-reading nerds were flipping through the pages of their books in the damp night air, which only proves that nothing truly brings out the emotional depth of a good novel quite like squinting in the pitch black darkness.

With my buzz wearing off, I confronted the stark knowledge that I would have to be up in a mere five hours to make the trek back down for opening day.  Which brings me to…


Stumbling out of bed at six in the morning, I lazily slipped on my crotchless Spiderman underwear and made the half-hour drive to downtown.  I was stuck in traffic outside the Convention Center, where it took me an agonizing 45 minutes to move about thirty feet.  It also didn’t help that the old, haggard broad behind me was riding my ass the whole time, periodically punching her car horn.

Then a bunch of retards kept cutting in line, blocking traffic every which way, causing the veins in my head to pop and throb and all I wanted to do was get out of my car and start punching people in their throats.  But then I did some David Carradine Tai Chi moves in the driver’s seat and slowly calmed down.  After finally finding a parking space, I hiked past Hall H again, noticing that the “Twilight”-loving hordes had grown to epic proportions.  I immediately decided that I would not be visiting Hall H that day.

I decided to hit up the “Masters of the Web” panel, featuring CHUD’s own Devin Faraci!  By this time, it was a little after 8:00 A.M. and I got a prime place in line, with about ten people ahead of me.  Two long hours later, we were ushered inside the room, where directors Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor (who made the Crank films and the upcoming The Game) immediately warned everybody that there was going to be massive amounts of profanity spewed forth, so small children and the easily offended should take heed.  This perked me up.  During the panel, lots of laughs were had and a bunch of clips from The Game were shown (looks fun and violent) and some behind-the-scenes footage regarding the re-editing of the formerly ill-fated Fanboys.  Towards the end of the panel, Robert Sanchez from IESB.net started asking the audience questions (and the winner’s received passes to a party at the Hard Rock Hotel on Saturday night).

Needless to say, I didn’t win anything.

The rest of the day was spent on the convention floor perusing the booths, watching artists work and trying to get as much free crap that I possibly could.  Then I strolled around the autograph area, where I was able to snap a couple of photos of Thomas Jane.  The line waiting for him was insanely long and from what I could tell, he was extremely nice to the fans, chatting them up and posing for pictures.

I wandered around some more, ate some cheese, played with myself and rested.  After awhile I felt that my inner geek had been appeased, so I decided I would make a final sweep of the autograph area and then race back home, preferably before rush-hour.

Standing in the wide, open-spaced autograph area, I, for some unknown reason, had the sudden urge to head outside.  The rear of the Upper Level faces the bay, which is a pretty beautiful sight.  So, I went for the back doors and, before I could get out, ended up in the middle of about eight people.  I have no idea where they came from and I was momentarily confused.  Then somebody said something about “being in the wrong place” and I looked directly in front of me and there he was…Stan Lee (this was eerily similar to last year’s Con, where, when at the Marriott hotel, I left the bathroom in a drunken daze and inadvertently ended up in Stan Lee’s posse.  History was repeating itself).

Deciding to take advantage of the situation, I started digging for my camera, at which point security began leading everybody outside.  So, here I am in the middle of this crowd, side-by-side with Stan, when a tall dude approaches and makes us all halt.  The tall guy shakes Stan’s hand and they start shooting the shit, acting as though nobody is around.  Always looking for a good photo-op, I wrapped around the tall dude and began snapping pictures of Stan.  Then I hear the tall man say something about “making Red Sonja” and I realize that it’s director Robert Rodriguez.  So I turn and start snapping pictures of him, at which point I feel a presence behind me, so I whip around and lo and behold, it’s actress Rose McGowan.  What do you know; I begin taking pictures of her.  She then stands beside me and I’m snapping photos like a fucking maniac, nearly shoving my camera up Rose’s nose and feeling like a complete asshole.  The three of them then gather together and start posing for photos…and I’m right next to them.  If any of these photos show up anywhere, chances are I’ll be in them too, since I was practically riding on top of Rose’s shoulders.

Good times.


I didn’t go on Friday, but I did head down to the Gaslamp area to catch a free screening of Pineapple Express.  My girlfriend and I arrived too late, so we were shit out of luck.  We decided to get some food and drinks and after we were full, we decided to get some more drinks.

We made our way to another hotel and took a load off in the lobby.  Ted Raimi cruised by a couple of times and I, quite wisely, held back my geek urges.  Then some dude sat across from us and told us that he was a “celebrity babysitter” and that his job consisted of getting celebrities from point A to point B; shuttling them to and from their hotel rooms to the Convention Center.  This dude seemed cool and before he left, he introduced us to his co-workers (the other “babysitters”) and let slip that Johnny Depp was supposed to make an appearance at the Con.

Anyway, a couple of beers later we were feeling pretty loose and I looked up and saw a dapper-dressed man standing before me.  It was Ken Foree, who starred in one of my favorite films of all time, the original Dawn of the Dead.  I said “Ken!” and he came over and shook my hand, then talked to us for about 10 minutes, before being led away to attend a party.  He was the coolest person I’ve ever met.  Ever.  A true gentleman.

At this point, I was pretty happy, sippin’ my beer and whatnot, when my girlfriend excused herself and disappeared into the Ladies Room.  Moments later, she came back, relating to me a story of an encounter she had with the “celebrity babysitter” guy, who was exiting the Men’s Room.  Apparently, he told her not to tell me that he missed her…the motherfucker was hitting on her!  She’s gorgeous, so I understand the interest, but fuck man, the dude was married.  Whatever happened to the code amongst guys not to fuck around with another man’s woman?  If you’re out there “celebrity babysitter” guy, you can go fuck yourself.

After that, we had to get back to catch a train home and I saw Ken again and he waved goodbye.

Did I mention that he was the coolest person I’ve ever met?

So, those were my Comic-Con experiences.  I go again this Sunday, but I have a feeling the most exciting stuff has already occurred.