WonderCon 2008, Lesbian Voodoo Panties and My New Pet

What can be said about WonderCon but “damn.” I’ve been going for the past four years and every year I come away with a new take on the interesting and weird world of fanboys and girls. This year I made it a point to go to the Costume Masquerade. Right. Cart before horse. WonderCon is an annual convention held here in SF for comic book, sci-fi, and movie fans. It attracts ‘em from way far and wide and all levels of…shall we say commitment? I count myself a step below a fan. I’m just not. I like the spectacle; I like the parades of costumed die-hards; I like the bizarreness of it all. I’m not really into crowds so periodically I find myself having to take breathers with the other convention-weary.

This year I was so weary, I didn’t get any really good photos and so most everything I’m finna’ show you has been “stolen” from other people’s Flickr accounts. I think the highlight of my week (and possibly month) was the costume competition I began to tell about above. Mar, Grover, Bianca and I made a point to jockey for the best place in line and ran in to get the best seats we could. Before the show a guy was walking around handing out his “business card.” Here it is:

Business Card

As groovy an image, it might better serve him to have…I don’t know, a name or phone number on it?

Once we were seated, the anticipation nearly killed us. What would follow can only be described as sublime. I sat there and was basically treated to 30-some-odd groups of people gracing the stage in costumes they’d made themselves. It was clear that half the people there didn’t know you had to put on a skit. So, they’d saunter across the stage looking 10 kinds of horrified. There were some who were very prepared like the troop of chubby red-headed belly dancers.

The rule was DON’T LAUGH. I think that was the only rule. But how can you contain yourself when 4 rotund girls step on stage as She-Ra and friends and dance and pull XXL-sized panties out of their bras and throw them on stage? Or what about when the Star Wars Good Guys disco danced and waved light sabers as the super old and crippled person playing Yoda just sat and swayed? There was some dumb bimbo who walked across stage all sexy and called herself the Queen of Heartbreakers. She flashed her crotch when she got to center stage.


Also in full effect: an amazing Spiderman 3 re-enactment, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, some anime kids who ended their performance with some DDR-inspired moves, a dancing gecko and the Sesame Street Yip-Yaps. It was incredible. I have not been simultaneously elated and horrified since that “I Can’t Find My Breadcrumbs” performance piece a few years back where the meanest black girl I knew flung herself on stage wearing a thong and a skirt made of rag strips. Amazing.

At the end, the Spiderman kids won and I think it was well-deserved.

Sometimes I feel like this must be it. Things cannot get better or be funnier. And then my brother’s girlfriend tells me about how some distantly related aunt ran off with some other married lady and raised their two kids (one of whom is called “Rico Suave”) in the suburbs. I guess this distantly related aunt met another lady she fancied and they had some brief encounter. This lady was just not sure she wanted to leave her family for this new life and so this distantly related aunt somehow stole a pair of the lady’s underpants and took them to a voodoo practitioner who cast some kind of lesbian love spell. We have yet to hear whether it has worked or whether she has missed her knickers.

In other animal news, I now officially have a pet seagull with one peg leg. I’ve named him Jack D. in honor of one of our badass clients who is a paraplegic cop killer. I believe this seagull must only be able to swim in sad little circles and so I’ve decided to take pity on him and feed him buttered bread or whatever’s handy. The woman I work with fed him a hard-boiled egg. He actually knocked on the window the other day to get my attention. I feel very blessed like some modern-day St. Francis. Anyhow, it’s a welcomed change from my usual role as victim of bird attacks.

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