My brother and I may not see eye-to-eye when it comes to my collecting life, but there’s one thing we had in common when we were growing up: we loved watching WWF Wrestling. Since we grew up in the ‘80s, we were able to bear witness to the greatest collection of superstars that have ever graced the ring. I don’t care of anyone out there thinks that the “Attitude Era” of the ‘90s reigned supreme. Nothing beat the likes of Hulk Hogan, Rowdy Roddy Piper…and “Macho Man” Randy Savage.
Randy Savage died on Friday after suffering a heart attack while behind the wheel of his car. I was truly shaken when I heard the news from my brother. While most of the wrestlers from the ‘80s had catchphrases and mannerisms that will never be forgotten, Randy Savage was, perhaps, the most unique of them all. His grating voice, his outlandish costumes, and his manager (the absolute hottie, Elizabeth—may she also rest in peace) put him a step or two above everyone else. Savage was also extremely talented in the ring, as he was one of the first superstars to have a finishing move that involved jumping off the top rope. While Andre the Giant vs. Hulk Hogan dominated the attention of everyone at Wrestlemania III, it was Randy Savage vs. Ricky Steamboat that stole the show entirely.
Savage’s entrance theme (Pomp and Circumstance) has been my cell phone ring for a few months now. His soundboard also graces my phone. So, yes, I have remained a huge fan of his all these years. May the Macho Man rest in peace. His kind will never grace the ring again.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Somebody Save ME…from Smallville
So regardless of whether or not you’re all about Superman, if you’re a TRUE fanboy, it’s a pretty safe bet you’re aware that Smallville is ending its ten-year run on Friday. Based on the mere notion that it was, in fact, based on some way, shape, or form on good ‘ol Supes, it must come as no surprise to learn that I used to watch this show religiously. But let’s be honest, homeboys and homegirls, this show was as close to being Superman as I want to be to Meredith Vieira’s crotch. I mean really. You can have all the ingredients in the world you want… you still have to bake the freaking cake. And ten years later, the dough has still yet to rise.
I had quite a case of denial about the whole thing, by the way. So much so that it took me literally eight entire seasons to finally throw in the towel and call it quits. Prompted by the anger and frustration that could only result from a show that called itself Smallville, all the while taking place in freakin’ METROPOLIS for a large chunk of the series, I had finally had enough. And really, if they were going to set Clark Kent up in Metropolis, and finally have him graduate out of the whole “fighting freaks-of-the-week on the Kent Farm” phase, it seemed only fair (and perfectly reasonable) that the dude would actually become Superman. I mean really. Here he was working for the Daily Planet. No cape. Here he was bumping uglies with Lois Lane. No flying. Here he was battling Doomsday for Peter Parker’s sake. No Man of Steel. The headlines were there, of course. But they didn’t read “Superman Saves the Day!” They didn’t read “Man of Steel Cops a Feel!” Oh no, we couldn’t have that now, could we. Instead, they read “Bum Saved by Mysterious Red-Blue Blur!” “The Blur to the Rescue Again.” “WHO IS The Red Blue Blur!?” Really, what nonsense.
All the Blur basically amounted to was Clark Kent rocking a black jacket and black shirt with the white-colored ‘S’ symbol, only to finally be upgraded this past season to a red leather jacket with the ‘S’ symbol embedded in the leather! At least when he was still on Ma and Pa Kent’s farm sporting a blue jacket-red shirt-blue jeans ensemble, he had an excuse. He was busy shucking corn all day. He couldn’t pull that off in a cape. But now that he’s been out on his own for, I don’t know… like, five seasons already, it seems perfectly sensible to me that this dude would get started on branding his image without any more senseless delay! And that's to say nothing of all the other countless plot holes and ridiculous story twists that we've been forced to deal with since 2001.
I could go on, but what’s the point? Bottom line, I am a fanboy who finds a Superman show BORING. And it’s just something I’m going to have to deal with for another two days or so. But even with all of that said, I will tune in for the finale. Why? Well, I can wax poetic about being curious if they finally show him flying or if they finally have him marrying Lois or if we finally get to see him full on in red/blue tights. But really, it’s because, dammit, this is my way of life. Somebody save me.
I had quite a case of denial about the whole thing, by the way. So much so that it took me literally eight entire seasons to finally throw in the towel and call it quits. Prompted by the anger and frustration that could only result from a show that called itself Smallville, all the while taking place in freakin’ METROPOLIS for a large chunk of the series, I had finally had enough. And really, if they were going to set Clark Kent up in Metropolis, and finally have him graduate out of the whole “fighting freaks-of-the-week on the Kent Farm” phase, it seemed only fair (and perfectly reasonable) that the dude would actually become Superman. I mean really. Here he was working for the Daily Planet. No cape. Here he was bumping uglies with Lois Lane. No flying. Here he was battling Doomsday for Peter Parker’s sake. No Man of Steel. The headlines were there, of course. But they didn’t read “Superman Saves the Day!” They didn’t read “Man of Steel Cops a Feel!” Oh no, we couldn’t have that now, could we. Instead, they read “Bum Saved by Mysterious Red-Blue Blur!” “The Blur to the Rescue Again.” “WHO IS The Red Blue Blur!?” Really, what nonsense.
All the Blur basically amounted to was Clark Kent rocking a black jacket and black shirt with the white-colored ‘S’ symbol, only to finally be upgraded this past season to a red leather jacket with the ‘S’ symbol embedded in the leather! At least when he was still on Ma and Pa Kent’s farm sporting a blue jacket-red shirt-blue jeans ensemble, he had an excuse. He was busy shucking corn all day. He couldn’t pull that off in a cape. But now that he’s been out on his own for, I don’t know… like, five seasons already, it seems perfectly sensible to me that this dude would get started on branding his image without any more senseless delay! And that's to say nothing of all the other countless plot holes and ridiculous story twists that we've been forced to deal with since 2001.
I could go on, but what’s the point? Bottom line, I am a fanboy who finds a Superman show BORING. And it’s just something I’m going to have to deal with for another two days or so. But even with all of that said, I will tune in for the finale. Why? Well, I can wax poetic about being curious if they finally show him flying or if they finally have him marrying Lois or if we finally get to see him full on in red/blue tights. But really, it’s because, dammit, this is my way of life. Somebody save me.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Howard Stern Wants to Drive Me Into the Lake
So a couple of weeks ago, I attended a toy and collectible show out in New Jersey. Big surprise, right? It was a pretty standard affair, which is to say I enjoyed finding many reasons to spend money, many nachos to consume, and many trips to the bathroom to soothe my aching bowels as a result of said nachos. But as a Hasbro exec once said of a sentient race of robots known the world over as Transformers, there was more to this specific show than had met the eye. Turns out that Howard Stern had sent one of his errand boys to survey the convention hall and interview some of their attendees. Problem was, those interviewed were not mere random selections. They were targeted. Targeted for a *very* specific sign of embarrassing nerdy behavior. I’m talking about something way more off-putting than your usual garden variety fanboy. I’m talking about a unique breed of nerd, one that doesn’t particularly enjoy (or wish to partake in) society’s current concept of reality. An uber-nerd the likes of which few have seen, and even fewer have understood. I’m talking about cosplayers, yo.
For the uninitiated, cosplayers are fanboys who take the lifestyle to the next level by dressing as their favorite heroes and villains, roleplaying according to said hero or villain’s personality traits, and refusing to break character, regardless of how ridiculous the situation ends up being. There people are like nothing even I have seen before. My tighty-whities don’t even come close to matching this level of commitment. Granted, my “costume” isn’t an act, so much as it’s a statement on my way of life. But even I wouldn’t stoop to the depths that some of these cosplayers go to.
Now, just to be clear—the cosplayers I’m referring to are those of the male variety. The girls who do this, on the other hand, well… they’re just plain hot. The semi-attractive ones, at least—not the 450-pound ones who sport wedgies that rival couch cushions in the lost change department and give new meaning to the term “muffin-top.” The thinner ones however—the ones that clock in at under 120 lbs—they’re the reason I go to these shows. Well, not really. Spending money, that’s the real reason. But these girls, they’re the reason I stay even after I’ve emptied my wallet out on the latest Vader swag. But do you think that Stern’s douche assistant wanted to focus on the hot females? Hell, no. There’s no fun for Stern in that. There’s no opportunity to manipulate facts, exploit innocent fanboys, and use the male cosplayers to make a complete mockery of our alternative lifestyle. Have a listen yourself to see what I mean:
(Right click the link below and save it as a file on your computer (like on your desktop) then use your mp3 software to play it back.)
Howard Stern Clip
Now I don’t know about any of you, but the last time I checked, some of us fanboys did indeed have real jobs. How the hell else are we supposed to earn the paychecks we end up blowing at these shows (which believe you me, is completely beside the point!)? Stern completely manipulated the course of events on this, and he totally got it wrong by generalizing what a fanboy really is (that’s MY job!). Anyway, whatever… this was still funny as hell. After all, if you can’t laugh at yourself a little… well, you might as well. Everyone else is laughing at you anyway. Ride into the lake indeed.
For the uninitiated, cosplayers are fanboys who take the lifestyle to the next level by dressing as their favorite heroes and villains, roleplaying according to said hero or villain’s personality traits, and refusing to break character, regardless of how ridiculous the situation ends up being. There people are like nothing even I have seen before. My tighty-whities don’t even come close to matching this level of commitment. Granted, my “costume” isn’t an act, so much as it’s a statement on my way of life. But even I wouldn’t stoop to the depths that some of these cosplayers go to.
Now, just to be clear—the cosplayers I’m referring to are those of the male variety. The girls who do this, on the other hand, well… they’re just plain hot. The semi-attractive ones, at least—not the 450-pound ones who sport wedgies that rival couch cushions in the lost change department and give new meaning to the term “muffin-top.” The thinner ones however—the ones that clock in at under 120 lbs—they’re the reason I go to these shows. Well, not really. Spending money, that’s the real reason. But these girls, they’re the reason I stay even after I’ve emptied my wallet out on the latest Vader swag. But do you think that Stern’s douche assistant wanted to focus on the hot females? Hell, no. There’s no fun for Stern in that. There’s no opportunity to manipulate facts, exploit innocent fanboys, and use the male cosplayers to make a complete mockery of our alternative lifestyle. Have a listen yourself to see what I mean:
(Right click the link below and save it as a file on your computer (like on your desktop) then use your mp3 software to play it back.)
Howard Stern Clip
Now I don’t know about any of you, but the last time I checked, some of us fanboys did indeed have real jobs. How the hell else are we supposed to earn the paychecks we end up blowing at these shows (which believe you me, is completely beside the point!)? Stern completely manipulated the course of events on this, and he totally got it wrong by generalizing what a fanboy really is (that’s MY job!). Anyway, whatever… this was still funny as hell. After all, if you can’t laugh at yourself a little… well, you might as well. Everyone else is laughing at you anyway. Ride into the lake indeed.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Let My Wallet Go!
In True Confessions of a Fanboy (www.truefanboy.com -- *ahem!* shameless plug), one of the many subjects that I touched on happens to qualify pretty high on the list of worst vices known to fanboys the world over: DVD/Blue-ray collector boxed sets. You know what I’m talking about. Those over-produced, over-hyped, re-packaged editions of video compilations that seem to deliver high on style and low on substance every time out.
Needless to say, I’m a sucker for these types of collector editions of movies/ television shows/etc., that in truth are nothing more than glorified versions of content that I’ve already seen literally dozens of times and wouldn’t even feel like sitting through ever again. In fact, many of these sets are ones in which I *already* own the movie or show in question from the first three or four times it was offered to a mass market audience (it’s just that the hologram cover on that last one I got looks sooooo cool standing next to my newest sterilyte shelf). Now I don’t know about any of you out there, but, for example, I personally have completely lost track of the number of different versions of Superman I’ve got hiding in the deepest corners of my room. I mean, just off the top of my head, there’s the regular DVD, the 8-disc complete Christopher Reeve collection, the Director’s Cut, the one with the Margot Kidder audition, the one with the extended scenes that ended up in the sequel, the one with the pig who got really mad and “squealed” before Zod, the one where Ursa kicks the astronaut in the nuts before taking his Nasa patch, and on and on and on from there. Suffice to say, it’s just out of hand.
But with all of that said, and all of the versions of different movies that I own, and all the editions of cartoon shows I’ve seen one hundred thousand times and can just watch online whenever I feel like it anyway, the *ONE* movie that to this day I still have never owned is The Ten Commandments starring Charlton Heston. You see, ever since I was a wee little lad, it has been a yearly family tradition to gather 'round the tube, eat enough gefilte fish to feed a small army, and watch the story of Moses as he takes on the Pharaoh of Egypt in the grudge match of the century, as big Mo’ with his white beard and red robe shows up his big ‘Pho (that’s my witty mix of ‘pharaoh’ and ‘foe’ for all y’all ignant folk) with a sea-parting display the likes of which nobody had ever seen (who could ever forget the timeless “God opens the sea with a blast of his nostrils!”). Now I don’t know what the reason was, be it the fact that I always saw it every year, the incessant need to watch it during an actual television broadcast, or (more likely) the sad truth that I had already spent all my money on something else, but I had actually never thought much of owning the movie on DVD/Blu-ray before. Never, that is, until NOW:
The Ten Commandments DVD/Blu-ray Combo Pack!
That’s right, fellow Hebros (witty combo #2 “Hebrews” and “bros” – booyah!)…feast your spaghetti-starved eyes (it is Passover, after all) on this bad boy. This one has got it all. We’re talking about a DVD/Blu-ray combo box set that literally parts like the Red Sea (!!), revealing two Ten Commandments tablets which house your multiple discs! And if that’s not cool enough, also included are treasures from the MGM vault, a special commemorative book, an original 1956 souvenir program, and more additional swag than you can shake a staff-turned-snake at. Oh, and it’s numbered, too (who cares if there are about 100,000 of these?!). Now if that type of package isn’t tailor-made for an impulse purchase, I don’t know what is… and I don’t wanna know!
Of course, I’m still guaranteed to be there in line when they eventually release yet another version of this movie, which I’m hoping will include a limited edition box of matzo. But until that day comes, I guess this latest version will just have to “tide” me over. (Get it?? “tide”??? like the ‘tide’ of a parting sea???? Haha! I slay me!!!)
Needless to say, I’m a sucker for these types of collector editions of movies/ television shows/etc., that in truth are nothing more than glorified versions of content that I’ve already seen literally dozens of times and wouldn’t even feel like sitting through ever again. In fact, many of these sets are ones in which I *already* own the movie or show in question from the first three or four times it was offered to a mass market audience (it’s just that the hologram cover on that last one I got looks sooooo cool standing next to my newest sterilyte shelf). Now I don’t know about any of you out there, but, for example, I personally have completely lost track of the number of different versions of Superman I’ve got hiding in the deepest corners of my room. I mean, just off the top of my head, there’s the regular DVD, the 8-disc complete Christopher Reeve collection, the Director’s Cut, the one with the Margot Kidder audition, the one with the extended scenes that ended up in the sequel, the one with the pig who got really mad and “squealed” before Zod, the one where Ursa kicks the astronaut in the nuts before taking his Nasa patch, and on and on and on from there. Suffice to say, it’s just out of hand.
But with all of that said, and all of the versions of different movies that I own, and all the editions of cartoon shows I’ve seen one hundred thousand times and can just watch online whenever I feel like it anyway, the *ONE* movie that to this day I still have never owned is The Ten Commandments starring Charlton Heston. You see, ever since I was a wee little lad, it has been a yearly family tradition to gather 'round the tube, eat enough gefilte fish to feed a small army, and watch the story of Moses as he takes on the Pharaoh of Egypt in the grudge match of the century, as big Mo’ with his white beard and red robe shows up his big ‘Pho (that’s my witty mix of ‘pharaoh’ and ‘foe’ for all y’all ignant folk) with a sea-parting display the likes of which nobody had ever seen (who could ever forget the timeless “God opens the sea with a blast of his nostrils!”). Now I don’t know what the reason was, be it the fact that I always saw it every year, the incessant need to watch it during an actual television broadcast, or (more likely) the sad truth that I had already spent all my money on something else, but I had actually never thought much of owning the movie on DVD/Blu-ray before. Never, that is, until NOW:
The Ten Commandments DVD/Blu-ray Combo Pack!
That’s right, fellow Hebros (witty combo #2 “Hebrews” and “bros” – booyah!)…feast your spaghetti-starved eyes (it is Passover, after all) on this bad boy. This one has got it all. We’re talking about a DVD/Blu-ray combo box set that literally parts like the Red Sea (!!), revealing two Ten Commandments tablets which house your multiple discs! And if that’s not cool enough, also included are treasures from the MGM vault, a special commemorative book, an original 1956 souvenir program, and more additional swag than you can shake a staff-turned-snake at. Oh, and it’s numbered, too (who cares if there are about 100,000 of these?!). Now if that type of package isn’t tailor-made for an impulse purchase, I don’t know what is… and I don’t wanna know!
Of course, I’m still guaranteed to be there in line when they eventually release yet another version of this movie, which I’m hoping will include a limited edition box of matzo. But until that day comes, I guess this latest version will just have to “tide” me over. (Get it?? “tide”??? like the ‘tide’ of a parting sea???? Haha! I slay me!!!)
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Turn Out That Light!
I’ve been spending the past couple of days physically (and more importantly, mentally) preparing for a major renovation of my room this weekend that has been in the works for quite awhile now. The point, as always, is to make things more manageable so I can continue this sick and twisted collecting lifestyle of mine. In case you were curious, I’m finally at a point where I have to do this once or twice every year now, with each specific renovation ‘project’ consisting of anywhere from one to three action items. This weekend, in particular, has two:
True Fanboy Room Renovation Action Item #1: All windows must be boarded up for the summer.
I used to tell myself that “a *little* sunlight on my precious possessions here and there wasn’t so bad,” and actually believe it! Sadly, I can live this lie no longer. It’s simple physics, folks. We’re already in April. The days are getting longer. The birds are chirping louder. The seasons are changing ever more dramatically. And with the change of seasons comes summer. And with summer comes dreaded cursed HEAT. And as any TRUE fanboy knows, heat is the death of just about anything worth collecting. It ruins comics pages, spoils cardbacks, melts toy plastics/rubber/paintjobs/etc., and ruins the collectability of just about anything else I dare stuff in my room. Granted, I’ve got one of the best mini-fans money can buy, strategically placed with the precision of a laser surgeon to equally distribute air to each minute available spec of free space my room has to offer. And true, the fan needs to work less and less with every passing week, as said level of free space decreases with each new reckless convention purchase I make. So yeah, cool air gets where it needs to go when it needs to get there. But really, people, could that ever be enough? I think not! So call my collection "Team Edward." Call it "Team Jacob." Truly, it doesn’t matter what vampire metaphor the kids these days might go with. The bottom line is that after this weekend, not a single ray of sunlight shall reach any of my comics, toys, or other related chachkies during this long, hot summer.
Bringing us to our next order of business…
True Fanboy Room Renovation Action Item #2: Mandatory reorganization of sterilyte shelving system, orchestrated with the specific goal of opening up at least 24 inches of available space, 20 inches of which will immediately be occupied by eight newly-purchased sterilytes, which have been measured to fit *perfectly* on top of one another so that they seamlessly reach from the floor to the ceiling with only two (!!!) millimeters of space being wasted at the very top!
This one is a little more complicated, my little Gaga monsters. You see… I… er…. Eh…. Ah, who the fuck am I kidding. There’s no way I’m going to be able to complete this second action item. I’ll just cross my fingers and pray that the whole window-boarding thing goes off without a hitch. And while I’m crossing my fingers, I might as well cross my legs as well. Because with the kind of drama this weekend's renovation is sure to bring, I think I may just shit my pants. Yo Joe.
True Fanboy Room Renovation Action Item #1: All windows must be boarded up for the summer.
I used to tell myself that “a *little* sunlight on my precious possessions here and there wasn’t so bad,” and actually believe it! Sadly, I can live this lie no longer. It’s simple physics, folks. We’re already in April. The days are getting longer. The birds are chirping louder. The seasons are changing ever more dramatically. And with the change of seasons comes summer. And with summer comes dreaded cursed HEAT. And as any TRUE fanboy knows, heat is the death of just about anything worth collecting. It ruins comics pages, spoils cardbacks, melts toy plastics/rubber/paintjobs/etc., and ruins the collectability of just about anything else I dare stuff in my room. Granted, I’ve got one of the best mini-fans money can buy, strategically placed with the precision of a laser surgeon to equally distribute air to each minute available spec of free space my room has to offer. And true, the fan needs to work less and less with every passing week, as said level of free space decreases with each new reckless convention purchase I make. So yeah, cool air gets where it needs to go when it needs to get there. But really, people, could that ever be enough? I think not! So call my collection "Team Edward." Call it "Team Jacob." Truly, it doesn’t matter what vampire metaphor the kids these days might go with. The bottom line is that after this weekend, not a single ray of sunlight shall reach any of my comics, toys, or other related chachkies during this long, hot summer.
Bringing us to our next order of business…
True Fanboy Room Renovation Action Item #2: Mandatory reorganization of sterilyte shelving system, orchestrated with the specific goal of opening up at least 24 inches of available space, 20 inches of which will immediately be occupied by eight newly-purchased sterilytes, which have been measured to fit *perfectly* on top of one another so that they seamlessly reach from the floor to the ceiling with only two (!!!) millimeters of space being wasted at the very top!
This one is a little more complicated, my little Gaga monsters. You see… I… er…. Eh…. Ah, who the fuck am I kidding. There’s no way I’m going to be able to complete this second action item. I’ll just cross my fingers and pray that the whole window-boarding thing goes off without a hitch. And while I’m crossing my fingers, I might as well cross my legs as well. Because with the kind of drama this weekend's renovation is sure to bring, I think I may just shit my pants. Yo Joe.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Tag ‘Em and Bag ‘Em!
Trending today was Nicholas Cage’s stolen copy of Action Comics #1, which for those of you living under a rock your entire life, features the very first appearance of the Man of Steel himself, Superman! This little sumbitch of a comic dates all the way back to 1938, so it goes without saying that it can fetch itself quite a price on the open (or not-so-open) market. Anyway, it turns out that Cage’s copy was found in an abandoned storage unit in Los Angeles, of all places. By the way, this comic was stolen from Cage over a decade ago, way back when he could actually make rent; so to confirm, Cage himself was not the thief. Either way, however, there is no denying that this week’s little discovery is quite the ‘national treasure’ (ha!), if I do say so myself.
Now that five minutes have passed and you’re done laughing at my joke from the end of the last paragraph, the question I’m sure you must all be asking yourselves is “how in the blue hell is it even officially known that this is actually Cage’s missing copy??” A good question indeed. Well, true believer, apparently it turns out that each of the 100 copies of this rare and worship-worthy gem that are known to exist have literally been ‘tagged’ with unique ink markings (much like Angelina Jolie before she had her doctor laser-tag “Billy Bob” off her ass, or whereever she had it placed). So it really is possible to identify each documented existing copy.
Now I don’t know about all of you, but I would be pretty damn excited if I had a way of tagging all of my own obsessive possessions so that no other nerd could ever lay claim to anything of mine that dared wander from my sight. So appealing is this concept, that I’ve spent the last couple of hours running through possible scenarios in which I could accomplish this. So far, I’ve only managed to think of a way to ‘tag’ a significant other, but I won’t go into that because: 1. it washes off, even if the icky feelings don’t, and 2. I’ve got enough problems without all you people blaming me for your sexual assault charges. Figure it out. And while you’re at it, let me know if you figure out this whole ‘collectible tagging’ thing as well. Now that I know that a washout like Nic Cage can enjoy the benefits, I pretty much won’t rest until I’m living the dream as well.
Now that five minutes have passed and you’re done laughing at my joke from the end of the last paragraph, the question I’m sure you must all be asking yourselves is “how in the blue hell is it even officially known that this is actually Cage’s missing copy??” A good question indeed. Well, true believer, apparently it turns out that each of the 100 copies of this rare and worship-worthy gem that are known to exist have literally been ‘tagged’ with unique ink markings (much like Angelina Jolie before she had her doctor laser-tag “Billy Bob” off her ass, or whereever she had it placed). So it really is possible to identify each documented existing copy.
Now I don’t know about all of you, but I would be pretty damn excited if I had a way of tagging all of my own obsessive possessions so that no other nerd could ever lay claim to anything of mine that dared wander from my sight. So appealing is this concept, that I’ve spent the last couple of hours running through possible scenarios in which I could accomplish this. So far, I’ve only managed to think of a way to ‘tag’ a significant other, but I won’t go into that because: 1. it washes off, even if the icky feelings don’t, and 2. I’ve got enough problems without all you people blaming me for your sexual assault charges. Figure it out. And while you’re at it, let me know if you figure out this whole ‘collectible tagging’ thing as well. Now that I know that a washout like Nic Cage can enjoy the benefits, I pretty much won’t rest until I’m living the dream as well.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
JoeCon!
That’s right, bitches—JoeCon. And no, I don’t mean a gathering of fools named Joe. Nor am I referring to the conning of said fools. Rather, this is the annual pilgrimage to some randomly selected lucky city in which all things G.I. Joe converge for a weekend of complete and unadulterated awesomeness. This is the big one. And it’s got it all. We’re talking semi-attractive harlots who suddenly become totally attractive upon donning their leather-studded Baroness body suits. We’re talking not-so-attractive Hasbro hotshots who suddenly become -– er, stay not-so-attractive -– yet suddenly earn extra cool points in their pimping of totally sweet new Joe product. We’re talking “Yo Joe” chants at 5:00 in the morning from an adjacent hotel room. We’re talking those same harlots in the Baroness body suits recoiling in disgust from the bad breath those nachos just gave me. We’re talking multiple trips to the potty courtesy of the very same nachos. In short, we’re talking FUN.
This year’s FUN took place at Disney World in Orlando. Now honestly, how exactly anyone was expected to afford both the various limited edition (e.g. – expensive) convention exclusives AND the standard fee access to the Disney parks themselves is way beyond this true believer. I sure as hell wasn’t able to do it. I mean, look at the choices I was faced with: Buy delicious plastic men which will appreciate in value over the course of just a few hours, along with as many duplicate purchases as possible to sell on ebay (to all the pathetic bastards who just weren’t willing to take a second mortgage out on their homes and take the trip out) in hopes of breaking even… OR go meet Mickey, Donald, Goofy, and Minnie (possibly in a Baroness leather body suit). Take a wild guess which door I went through on that one.
I won’t bore you with every last detail of my weekend in Orlando (I’m guessing you don’t have all week here), but suffice it to say, I didn’t do my room at home any favors in the available space department. In fact, one of the exclusives was so massive that I needed to ship it out via UPS since it had absolutely no hope of fitting on the return plane’s overhead compartment (and I sure as shit wasn’t going to check it and trust it in the hands of those clueless baggage handlers, lest my precious possessions end up crushed, bent beyond recognition, and shipped to Zimbabwe). So I ask you, what idiot spends $56 on shipping after already having pissed away what little money he had to begin with at JoeCon? THIS idiot right here. And if you don’t believe me, come check out the hotels at next year’s con. I’ll be the douchebag screaming “Yo Joe” at 5:00am.
This year’s FUN took place at Disney World in Orlando. Now honestly, how exactly anyone was expected to afford both the various limited edition (e.g. – expensive) convention exclusives AND the standard fee access to the Disney parks themselves is way beyond this true believer. I sure as hell wasn’t able to do it. I mean, look at the choices I was faced with: Buy delicious plastic men which will appreciate in value over the course of just a few hours, along with as many duplicate purchases as possible to sell on ebay (to all the pathetic bastards who just weren’t willing to take a second mortgage out on their homes and take the trip out) in hopes of breaking even… OR go meet Mickey, Donald, Goofy, and Minnie (possibly in a Baroness leather body suit). Take a wild guess which door I went through on that one.
I won’t bore you with every last detail of my weekend in Orlando (I’m guessing you don’t have all week here), but suffice it to say, I didn’t do my room at home any favors in the available space department. In fact, one of the exclusives was so massive that I needed to ship it out via UPS since it had absolutely no hope of fitting on the return plane’s overhead compartment (and I sure as shit wasn’t going to check it and trust it in the hands of those clueless baggage handlers, lest my precious possessions end up crushed, bent beyond recognition, and shipped to Zimbabwe). So I ask you, what idiot spends $56 on shipping after already having pissed away what little money he had to begin with at JoeCon? THIS idiot right here. And if you don’t believe me, come check out the hotels at next year’s con. I’ll be the douchebag screaming “Yo Joe” at 5:00am.
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