Sunday, June 10, 2018

Chainsaw Alice in Ooverdare

Alice woke me up at 4am out of a dead sleep, saying that she wanted to tell me what had just happened. For a chrononaut she had terrible timing.

Chainsaw Alice in Ooverdare

There was a sad little man who lived a sad little life.

He wasted his time hating. Hating everyone, hating everything. Hating kings, and hating queens, and hating cats, and hating cards, and hating secret breakfasts, and hating quiet sunsets, and hating games, and hating fun, and hating love, and hating hate.

After many adventures across many worlds, Alice had retreated to the wondrous rolling hills of Ooverdare. Not retired, mind you. For a chrononaut, the expression, "a time and place for everything" was very, very literal. Right now, at this time, at this place, was her everything. No past, no future, only right now. Retreat, repast, recover. Unwind, don't rewind. She could change her past if she wanted to, but you cannot. Besides, why would she want to? If she did, then she would not be the she that she is today. Good, bad, or sideways, she liked herself just the way she was.

Now, the sad little man had taken to calling himself Fateweaver. And everyone told him it was a very good name. A powerful name. A meaningful name. A presentient name. But it wasn't, not for him at least.

Fateweaver hated time, thus he hated Alice. He believed, incorrectly, that since she was a chrononaut, that she had all the time in the world. He wanted to take all her time since he had wasted all his time. Then he would have all the time for all the hate that he loved to share with everyone.

But how to steal time from a chrononaut? "Eureka! I will gather an army of time trolls from the depths of all the darkest worlds, and they will have the power to take all her time!" he declared to himself. And so he did. Big time, small time, even trolls who really had no time at all; they all made time, to hate with Fateweaver. They marched under his false flag that flew low and flapped frantically as they crossed the spidery-legged terrain, up and down, over and around, a million creepycrawlies, predators of the dateshifter.

They hurled rocks, and axes, and barbed comments at her cozy cottage. "Why must they always attack at tea time?" Alice wondered. She slipped on her boots and walked outside.

With a wave of her hand, time stood still. But with this many trolls, it would not last long. Time was a slippery thing, and it marches on, whether or not she or anyone else wants it to.

"The price of peace is peace." Alice went to find out who was in charge of this blunderous undertaking.

She found Fateweaver. The little man in the big hat. His pride was not hidden but displayed. She unfroze him. "Tag. You're it. Now what is your game?"

"I hate games," he replied. "And I hate time, and you are having the time of your life, so I hate you. I will take all your time."

"Did you honestly believe that time trolls could harm me? I knew they were coming before they did. I used their own time against them. And it takes me no time at all. You see, I simply ignore them, and they are not there. I have no time for them and they burn up all their time." The trolls all vanished. Gone without a trace.

"What?!" exclaimed Fateweaver in confusion. "Where have all the time trolls gone?"

"You cannot waste my time, but you are testing my patience." She spun him around and he fell to the ground.

"I have come undone." He sat bedraggled, moping.

"My time is my own. No one can take it from me. But I share it with who I choose. Good day to you."

"I need to get some more-comfortable shoes," she thought to herself. What was that phrase again? "With enemies like these, who needs cupcakes?" This girl, that's who.

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Trauma Tarot

The Trauma Tarot is the official divination deck of the First United Church of Cthulhu.  Draw a card, that is what is weighing on your subconscious mind, traumatizing your essence, tearing apart the fabric of your very being.  This is where you need to focus your spiritual work.

All the art is from Alfred Kubin, a tortured soul who saw nightmarish visions, tentacle monstrosities, and infinite hellscapes decades before Lovecraft had his similar experiences.  Kubin is one of the Oculi ~ an artist, a seer, a person who has encountered the chaos and madness of the unseen realms and brought those images to life in our world ~ a beautiful, terrible warning of what lies beyond, or just behind a dream.

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Run by a couple of the founding priest and priestesses of Cthulhu.
Cokocon is combining Coppercon and Conkopelli to create a science fiction and fantasy convention.
Aug 31 - Sep 3 2018

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Weekend Overtime - 12 Days On, 2 Days Off

Sunday overtime.  Loverboy was wrong - nobody's working for the weekend, except me.  I tell ya, trading away your life for a few extra bucks really grinds on you sometimes.  The only reason I take any time off is when I have my kids every other weekend.  Gotta jam in every last extra hour of overtime while it's available.

Because the only goal I have is to get a physical location for the First United Church of Cthulhu.  I got my house for a really good price after the banks crashed the housing market.  And since they've been artificially inflating the value of homes, I have a massive amount of equity built up.  If I can find a good warehouse property without too many psychotic Alice Cooper homeless types from The Prince of Darkness wandering around (yes, that is a problem here) or maybe a nice commercial property in a strip mall, next to a strip bar; then I can sell my house, use the equity to get a decent property, and have a 15 ft statue of Cthulhu made (industrial 3D printers can go up to 60 ft!).

And you're going to love the rest of the build out.  The church will became a one-of-a-kind worldwide destination.  And when your coworkers ask what you did over the weekend, you'll be able to tell them, "I went to the live goat sacrifice and BBQ of Shub-Niggurath at the First United Church of Cthulhu."  It might take a few months, it might take a few years, but it will all be worth it in the end.

Saturday, May 5, 2018

My Kids Quit Star Wars - Has Disney Lost the Next Generation?

My kids have quit Star Wars.  

My son is 12 and my daughter is 10.  They loved the original trilogy.  They only saw parts of the prequel trilogy, but played a bunch of the video games based on them, saw the animated Clone Wars film, and watched a ton of the Clone Wars animated series when it was on Cartoon Network.

But now, they could care less, they've moved on.

After Star Wars - The Force Awakens, "They killed Han Solo.  That's bull crap.  Chewbacca would have chased Kylo Ren and killed him.  This is stupid!"

My son went to see Star Wars - The Last Jedi with his aunt.  Afterwards, he told me, "Dad, you're gonna hate this movie.  They made Luke a grumpy old man.  He quits being a jedi.  Luke wouldn't give up.  He'd fight.  This is stupid!"  I was glad to see that the bullshit Rian Johnson pulled with the film wasn't flying with the little kids, either.

After hearing about Luke from her brother, and with the death of Carrie Fisher, my daughter didn't want me to take her to see it.  "They killed Han Solo and Luke Skywalker, and the real Princess Leia died so she won't be coming back in the next one.  I don't care anymore."  She always liked Leia more than Rey.

Me:  "They're making a Star Wars TV series!"
Them:  "It will probably be bad like the new movies."

Me:  "Hey!  The new Han Solo movie is coming out in a few weeks."
Them:  "That's not Han Solo!  That guy doesn't look or sound like Han Solo at all."
Me:  "But it's got Chewbacca in it.  It's about when Han and Chewie were young."  And Chewbacca is my daughter's favorite character.
Them:  "We don't care.  Go see it without us."

And with that, my kids were done with Star Wars.  They and their friends only talk about Avengers, Fortnite and other video games, and some of the random Netflix shows and animes.  Star Wars no longer interests them.  Obviously, they are only a small sample of kids, but if this trend is the same throughout their age group, Disney may have lost the next generation of filmgoers.  The new trilogy has embittered young and old to the franchise, that and over saturation will "force" a decline in the public's overall interest.  And they will only be able to mine so much nostalgia out of the old characters before those who grew up with the original trilogy lose interest as well; plus the loss as their generation dies off.  It will stop being important to drink your prune juice out of an R2-D2 sippy cup.

Friday, May 4, 2018

Lovecraft's Dreamlands Map

I created this map of Lovecraft's Dreamlands for the story "Jangling the Silver Keys" in the anthology Kill Those Damn Cats - Cats of Ulthar Lovecraftian Anthology.  As I reread the various stories of what is called the Dream Cycle, Lovecraft's various Dreamlands stories, I noticed that all the maps that have been made were wrong!  Apparently the mapmakers either just pulled names from the stories or didn't bother to read them very well, unable to properly place cities as located by Lovecraft himself in the works; or they just don't know which way west is when the story says "west of Ulthar" for example.

The below map has all the extra places I added circled in red, because otherwise the map was very empty.

And you can check out Kill Those Damn Cats - Cats of Ulthar Lovecraftian Anthology at Amazon, available in paperback or eBook formats.

Saturday, March 31, 2018

Mass Eulogy for Death List + Memorial

You know it's a bad month when you have to make a list of all the people who passed away to make sure you haven't missed anyone. The greatest consolation is that they were all from natural causes, no suicides are other senseless loss of life.

I've never sugarcoated death. Their story has ended, but ours go on. They will always be an important chapter in our book of life. The past should be remembered, but not relived. Life is lived forward.

Kiara Miatosa - a kind heart and sweet smile.  A friend from the cosplay and steampunk community.  

Ken Murphy - just an all around good dude.  Open to people of all beliefs, we are undecided on if he is spending time listening to the pipers in Azathoth's court, singing ballads in the beer halls of Valhalla, or just chillin' with Buddha.

Wakako Kawagoshi-Fisher - possibly the most tragic passing.  Her husband, pictured with her, Hart Fisher is the founder of Boneyard Press who currently runs American Horrors, a streaming horror channel.  Their relationship was one which everyone aspires to but very few ever achieve.  Their love was evident and everpresent.

Then several other friends have each lost loved ones; a father, a mother, a childhood friend, another mutual friend, and several family pets. A few were upset at the loss of Stephen Hawking, but he kinda lost his mind at the end, raving about fearing aliens invading the earth or AI destroying humanity.

I will also include my April Memorial.  Two of the greatest people I have had the pleasure of knowing but have passed into the great beyond were both lost to the world in April, so it is a very somber and introspective time for me every year.  A time to reflect on the previous year and ask myself, "Did I enjoy it?  Did I at least accomplish something worthwhile?  Have I progressed towards the goals that I want to achieve with the limited time I have left on this planet?  Did I live my life to the fullest?"  If not, how do I rectify that.

Desiree Duponte - had an incredible passion for life and music, and damn could she shred!  Though I only knew her for a few years, it was like we had been lifelong friends.  I dedicated Got a Bad Case of the Horribly Wrongs to her, and her phenomenal musical talent was the inspiration for the guitarist priestess character Strawberry Cthcake.

Sid Copeland - proprietor of the punk bar Jughead's (now also gone).  After having Thanksgiving dinner with his actual flesh and blood family, he would open the bar and have Thanksgiving dinner with his punk family who didn't have anyone else to spend the holiday with or have anywhere else to go.  It was a free, full blown, serve yourself, turkey and gravy and mashed potatoes and yams from a can Thanksgiving dinner.  He did the same on Christmas Eve.  I and my friends broke bread and vodka with Sid quite a few times.  Sid was the heart of the punk community of that bygone era.

¡Viva Sid!

Saturday, February 3, 2018

Lovecraft meets Elvira, Mistress of the Dark

Issue #84 of the Elvira, Mistress of the Dark comic book starring the titular character features the story "Shadow of Sinnsport," a direct reference to "The Shadow Over Innsmouth."  The Lovecraft character, though obviously picturing the author himself, is named Professor Lucifer Conal of Mastadonic University.  It revolves around the search for the Heckronomicon and includes lots of the other puns you'd expect from an Elvira comic.  It features a fishmen attack and a decent, if not super cliché, ending.

Hitting CTRL + will enlarge the pages to make them more easily readable, then CTRL - to reduce them, or CTRL 0 will reset the modifications.

Sunday, January 28, 2018

Professor Elemental [alleged] RAPIST + steampunk musician

In the post-Harvey Weinstein era, let's revisit the accusation that steampunk musician Professor Elemental is a rapist. No charges were filed against him, but that doesn't mean he didn't break the law. Let's review!

TL;DR version – yeah, he should have been incarcerated, IMO, but I'm no lawyer
(but you gotta read the part about how I punched a bunch of old ladies! I can make any story about me.)

Back in 2016, I had over 4,000 people on my Facebook friends list. For every one I'd delete I'd get ten more random friend requests, and obviously I didn't know most of them. Then the insanity of election year really hit hard and it was time to remove the idiocy. I chopped my friends list down to under 1,000.

Then, a couple days ago, a post from Paul Alborough (Professor Elemental's real name) pops up on my Facebook newsfeed. I'm like, "What? How did that fucker survive The Culling of 2016? He's got to go!" Not too long after that, a troll from the local steampunk community popped in on a post talking mad shit, and I'm like, "He survived, too? I need to go back through my friends list again." See, here in Arizona, we have a lot of fools who think they're Billy the Kid, forgetting that I know who they are in the real world, and I was **this close** to handing William the CPA his ass. But I didn't.

At the Church of Cthulhu we get hate mail, or hate posts left on our Facebook page, on a weekly basis. And as fun as it can be, the best advice in these cases is "DON'T FEED THE TROLLS!" Just delete the message or post, block them, then forget about them. So that's what I did. Later, Willy.

But it got me thinking about all the douchebags in the steampunk community who were a breath away from getting pulverized. In the old days, back in 2001, Willy would have been hospitalized, if he survived the ambulance ride. But I've left those violent worlds behind me. I don't hang out with my thug friends very often anymore.

I've been in clubs and bars most of my life, managed a few, and even owned one for a little while. And when your peers are from the streets, ex-gang members, bouncers, hustlers, dealers, the only thing a man has is his name. Respect means everything. You live and die by it. And people like Willy, and Professor Elemental, and Captain Robert (from Abney Park, we'll get to Captain Douchenozzle in a minute) usually need to be taught the meaning of respect the hard way.

I miss my boy, Tiny, the most. Of course, some of the ladies we worked with named him that, because it was the exact opposite of what he was – a freakin' man mountain who enjoyed beating the shit out of people who deserved it. If you disrespected any of our waitresses, gawd forbid you made the mistake of sexually harassing one, Tiny took the utmost glee in dragging you outside and pounding you into oblivion. His specialty was breaking jaws. One solid swipe with his sledgehammer fist and that sickly **pop** as your jaw is dislocated from the rest of your skull. . .

So that's the world I'm coming from. [Long gone. Stay back. No more bad people.] It turned out, some of my new friends were running the Wild, Wild West Steampunk Convention 2013 down at Old Tucson Studios. With my background in clubs and events, I ended up running the entertainment on the various stages. The main saloon stage is where the steampunk celebrities perform, such as Professor Elemental and Abney Park. Go ahead and laugh, I know steampunk celebrity is an oxymoron.

Simple fact: Captain Robert Brown, lead singer of Abney Park, is a super douche [IMANEEO, In My And Nearly Everyone Else's Opinion]. Go on any Facebook steampunk group page, especially one of the steampunk musicians groups, and just say, "I hear Captain Robert from Abney Park is an asshole. Why?" and watch the hundreds of responses come rolling in from people with all their negative personal encounters with him. By the way, he's not a real captain. That's make believy steampunky stuff.

So it's time for sound check, and Captain Robert is drunk. He claims that he needed to drink to perform, it was for his voice. Whatever. I like alcohol. As long as he can perform, we're good. . . Until he gets on stage and starts yelling and cussing and belittling all the Old Tucson sound crew. "Here we go again," says the main sound tech. Apparently the Captain had been the exact same way the year before when he played there. They say they don't mind, they're used to drunk cowboys playing Old Tucson all the time. Well that shit don't fly with me.

If he had ever pulled that shit at one of my clubs, he wouldn't have been singing that night, maybe not breathing, either. One of my sound guys used to do those dead lift competitions where they used Volkswagens instead of weights; Captain Robert would have been smooshed up into a tiny, bleedy red ball. But going back to the steampunk celebrity comment, a lot of the bands who play these conventions can't pull off gigs in non-fantasyland, yet alone a tour, so they don't know what it's like to be a real working musician. They're used to people kissing their ass, whereas in the real world it would be kicking their ass.

So I grabbed some sort of blunt, wooden instrument. I don't remember what exactly. Was it a broken chair leg? Hmm. Anyway, I was off to have a "discussion" with the Captain when one of the convention coordinators walked into the saloon. I explained the situation and said, "You better go talk to him, because you don't want me to." Robert later made a half-assed apology to the sound crew.

By the way, I was a fed from 2002-2007, #1 bomb guy in Arizona, I was seriously (and hilariously) the highest trained federal law enforcement officer in the state; only the city SWAT guys were better trained than me. And the bomb-sniffing dogs, they're the best, naturally. Okay, I went through old ladies' dirty underwear at the airport looking for terrorists, but I still had more training than any of my coworkers, all the extra stuff fell on me (no extra pay, thanks fuckers! Don't work hard at a government job, they'll reward you by making you also do the work of the lazy assholes around you. The entire Department of Homeland Security is just another government scam to funnel our tax dollars into the military-industrial complex). A lot of my coworkers were ex-cops, so here's a free. . .

COP TIP – when subduing a perpetrator, use your expandable baton or nightstick to strike the outside of the target's upper leg. Most people will attempt to protect their head and upper body from a strike thus leaving them vulnerable to a lower body attack. This will cause bruising but no permanent damage with which the perpetrator can use against the police department should litigation later occur. NEVER strike the knee! They are easily broken and then can be used to prove police brutality. If this initial blow is not enough to drop the perpetrator to the ground, it will cause enough pain in most people that you will then be able to easily step to the side and swing at their calves and the back of the knees, ensuring that the perpetrator will not be able to remain standing. In this now-prone position they will be easier to subdue and restrain.

Captain Robert was two seconds away from being subdued, "Well, officer, he was visibly intoxicated and became belligerent with the Old Tucson employees. When I confronted him about his behavior he became combative and came at me in a threatening manner. I was forced to protect myself, and as I was also responsible for the safety and well being of the guests and other convention workers, I physically subdued and restrained the perpetrator until the proper authorities could be called and arrive." Two seconds. That convention coordinator saved him from a lifelong limp.

Here is the beginning of Professor Elemental's part (and where I PUNCH OLD LADIES). Most of the local steampunk community was unaware of the rape allegations against him at this time. Not making excuses, but this part will establish that **maybe** he's not as much "I LIKE TO RAPE" as he is "I'M AN ALCOHOLIC WHO CAN'T HANDLE HIS LIQUOR AND GETS BLACK OUT DRUNK THEN DOES LOTS OF BAD THINGS."

So, Professor Elemental is wasted. Incoherent, how-are-you-still-standing, wasted. Abney Park is playing their set, everybody's loving it (Like their recorded music? They had a new guitarist and they are soooo much better live). They had broken their set up into two parts. At the end of the first part, still-drunk and always a dumbass Captain Robert announces to the crowd, "I will give a FREE CD to everyone who goes over and gives Professor Elemental a kiss!"

I've worked clubs and security long enough to know that things are about to get real bad, real fast. And they did. The inebriated Professor Elemental is leaning on the bar talking to a teenage girl and her mother?/sister?/over 18 friend? I rushed over to him because I knew what was coming; Professor Elemental was mobbed by about twenty or thirty 50-year-old ladies (and a couple of old gentlemen). They're running, knocking over chairs, pushing people out of the way to get to the Professor, slamming him up against the bar trying to get a kiss. He's been talking to the young ladies and not paying any attention to the show, so he is caught off guard and has absolutely no idea what is happening.

I start trying to block the crowd – no one stops. I start yelling for everyone to get back – no one listens. So I start smashing grannies! I'm flingin' seniors, I'm elbowing elders, I'm pushing pensioners, I'm wrestling retirees; because not only is Professor Elemental being pressed into the bar, the oblivious idiot is too drunk to realize that he is now standing on the young lady's floor-length skirt and she is falling, barely holding onto the bar and being propped up by the other woman with her, as they are all being pushed along the bar and slowly dragged down.
I tell him several times to move his foot, to lift his leg – nothing. Blank stare. I tap his leg and repeat the statement – nothing. So I physically grab his leg and lift it for him, and untangle his foot from her skirt. Her companion pulls the young lady to safety. So I go back to smashing grannies! The ones in front finally got the message after being "physically prevented from harming Professor Elemental" because remember, ANY unwanted physical contact is legally considered assault. I was protecting the intoxicated guest, who clearly could not do so himself, from an unruly mob who were assaulting him. But the back of the bunch kept pushing forward, so the geriatric jungle rumble continued.

Finally, the crowd figured out that maybe they shouldn't be attacking the Professor.

And this was the last year the man who originally organized the convention would be running it. He didn't care about steampunk as much as making money off of the one good idea he ever had in his life. See, he's a fucking idiot. So no one really knows if it was out of greed or stupidity, but the number of tickets sold for the show that night was greater than the maximum occupancy of the building, thus exceeding fire safety capacity.

I wonder what the charge and statute of limitations would be for Captain Robert's crime? Probably "inciting a riot" which would result in a misdemeanor disorderly conduct charge. But, they were over capacity, people were assaulted because of his actions, and there were young children present in the crowd as well, so felonious reckless endangerment would be more likely.

And that was just Friday Night. . .

The next day, Professor Elemental returns the American flag that he stole from Old Tucson the night before and woke up wrapped in, in his hotel room. He was black out drunk so he doesn't remember where he took it from. Those aren't cheap dollar store flags, so what he thinks makes a humorous anecdote during his performance that night is actually admission to felonious theft.

Abney Park is not asked back the next year. Because of his rude behavior towards staff and organizers at other conventions, the same thing was occurring at several other events. And at Abney Park's overpriced performance fee, that equates to a loss of 10's of thousands of dollars. It's good to know there were actual consequences for his continuing bad behavior. And I know they dropped their asking price by a chunk, probably because they weren't getting shows anymore. People talk. Convention organizers talk.

It is during the middle of this same year that the allegations of Professor Elemental's rape of Olivia M. Grey become widely known in the steampunk community. And as is still sadly prevalent even today, there was lots of victim blaming and slut shaming, and mostly support for the celebrity who would never do that.

I foolishly agreed to be stage manager again in 2014. I lectured them like little children about fire and crowd safety, making sure they understood that if someone gets hurt, Old Tucson doesn't get sued, the convention does. And then that would probably also mean no more convention.

Professor Elemental was invited back again. "And have you discussed the rape allegations with him? Criminal charges could very easily get his travel visa pulled."

Basically, his answer [yes, second hand from the convention coordinators] was there was drinking, and his celebrity status had really went to his head, and he may have to sue for defamation, and. . . that was it. No denial, no regret, no apology. To my knowledge, he never mentioned it or defended himself in any public or online forum, he just let the storm of screeching sycophants rage on his behalf.

California has added clearer definitions as to what constitutes sexual harassment, sexual assault, and rape. Every court case comes out differently. From Olivia's retelling, I would think sexual coercion would be the appropriate charge. But formal charges were never filed.

The one aspect of her description that no one seemed to notice, "Even while in his tiny hotel room, I tried to leave. Twice. Knowing it was wrong. But he physically stopped me, both times. And the seduction continued. And I begrudgingly let it." In many states, that's KIDNAPPING! Don't believe me? Ask O. J. Simpson.

And Olivia has also said that she has, "emails from him where he referenced how I tried to physically leave the room, and he blocked my exit with his body both times."

One of Professor Elemental's friends was accompanying him in 2014 to film a music video, and supposedly he was to be chaperoning, making sure the Professor didn't drink too much. Yeah, let me tell you how that worked out. People were buying Professor Elemental drinks all day long, from his arrival at Old Tucson to his performance at the end of the night. Let's be conservative and only call it 10 hours of continuous drinking. Have you heard the expression, "two-fisted drinking" before? This was literal! He had a drink in each hand every time I saw him as I was working throughout the day. When I confronted him about it, his response was, "It's okay, it's American beer. There's almost no alcohol in it." I believe one of the coordinators called him on it, too, and he used the same excuse.

So by the end of the evening he was slurring his words, swaying back and forth while talking to people, because he couldn't stand up straight without doing so, and once again, I was two seconds away from having to give some steampunk celebrity a little "professional guidance" out back, when the Old Tucson manager noticed his level of intoxication (luckily for me, because I might have felt bad after slapping the shit out of him, "Listen, you drunk fuck. . .") She asked, "Is he going to be able to perform?" I replied, "At this point, I don't know. He wouldn't stop." So she went and told the bartenders he was cut off, then had some words with him.

He performed fairly well, only noticeably slurring twice and forgetting part of a song once. But some people in the audience could tell. Afterwards, because his set had started late, Old Tucson was contractually closing at a set time, so he wasn't able to talk to people/sell merch for very long at all; so he pitched a loud, drunken bitching fit aimed at one of the coordinators (not really a rage, but it was enough that a few of us were about ready to pound him). He apologized later, but he was so lit I wonder how much of any of that day he actually remembers.

I foolishly agreed to be stage manager again in 2015. But Yog-Sothoth decided that I had been through enough and shifted realities for me. I have always, always, always told everyone that my kids come first. Being a good father is more important than playing dressup with my friends (though I do have a kick ass pith helmet and some sweet custom goggles). I only get them every other weekend, and their mom was going out of town that weekend. I found out a couple months in advance so I dropped out of Wild West Con.

I was momentarily sad when the weekend of the convention finally came, because I didn't get to see any of my Tucson friends; but I love my kids, and we always have fun no matter what we're doing, so I didn't regret the decision one bit. And in the years since, the way the weekends have fallen, I've had my kids that weekend. I've thought about taking them, but they don't care about going to panels or hearing about history (they're 10 and 12), and there's not enough to keep them entertained to warrant the two hour drive from Phoenix to Tucson. Plus, they always say, "we hate your steampunk friends because you talk to them and ignore us," so I'm making sure that never happens again (It was only one event, and they got ice cream while we were there. Damn kids always wanting to be the center of attention. Don't know where they get it.)

So, in conclusion:

~ Fuck Captain Robert
~ Fuck Professor Elemental
~ Captain Robert – maybe an alcoholic, definitely a douchebag
~ Professor Elemental – maybe a rapist, definitely an alcoholic
~ Fuck Willy the Accountant
~ Fuck Nyarlathotep
~ Fuck Captain Robert again, in the ass with a rusty, barnacle-encrusted Nautilus
~ Fuck steampunk, take care of your kids
~ Read Chainsaw Alice in Wonderland, the SICKEST steampunk horror novel ever written!

Please note, no raper rapper wordplays were used.

Friday, January 12, 2018

Aquaman vs. Cthulhu actually happened! + All the Memes

Aquaman actually fought Cthulhu in DC Comics!

Once, in The Brave and the Bold #32 (2010), Aquaman teams up with the Demon to journey to an underwater city, fight fishmen, and stop the horrible menace of Cth. . . wait, is that still under copyright?  Some idiots claim they own it but have no papers to prove it?  It's actually in the public domain now?  Nevermind, we'll call it, um, a Night God.  That's great!  Let's go to print!

Then, in Aquaman Vol 7 #23 (2013).

Oh, but wait, that's Aquaman's buddy, Topo, from Prime Earth.  Topo is a sentient octopus that first appeared in Adventure Comics #229 (1956).  Wanna see what he used to look like?