The Borg Queen’s makeup is starting to wear, Arthur the Moth’s white bodysuit has nacho cheese stains and Slave Leia’s posterior-veil is flaking away from the glue that has, thus far, kept it titillatingly adhered to said-posterior. It must be the last day of Comic-Con.
Cheers, kittens! What a weekend! DorkCon has been an absolute blast! Day three, Saturday, was sheer bonkers and, despite my attempts to Tweet and report to you directly from the Con floor, the villains at Sprint communications did their best to vanquish my valiant efforts and blocked all ghostly transmission to the non-Con masses. What you missed will come to you soon, via my annual SDCC wrap-up post, complete with a fantastic (in the truest sense of the word) slideshow, thanks to our own Dr. Lucy and her EOS Canon Rebel! For now though, it’s Sunday; and, like Vegas in the early morning hours, things are starting to look pretty sketchy and the broad you thought was your dream gift from Fortuna looks like an old drag queen impersonating Sailor Moon.
Cases of unused, 2013 Souvenir Books, Event Guides and Con bags sit bored and stacked up in blue-curtained, administrative corners of the Convention Center lobby and the degree, and quality, of costuming has dwindled significantly. Of the four days (Thurs.-Sun.), Friday and Saturday were the days for cosplay. It’s like showing up for a party, a little uneasy and nervous for the first hour or so; then, you have a drink, loosen up, lose some inhibition, gain some confidence and next thing you know you’re leading the conga line with a G-string on your head that you found in the hamper of the upstairs lavvy. Of course, after the Sambvca is all gone and the host is passed out on the lanai, you realize it’s time to go home.
Even today’s rainy threats are coaxing along the end of Comic-Con 2013, as if entreating the cosplay ladies to don some pants and plaguing the Pokémon-picketing, Jebus fanatics to go away. San Diego loved hosting you, folks, really; but America’s Finest City cannot remain that way if the streets are clogged, the Gaslamp District is unapproachable to the more timid locals and there are 12-stone cosplay chicks on street corners with dimpled ass-cheeks hanging out of their very poorly chosen Poison Ivy costumes. Folks, it’s Sunday and the host is unresponsive on the lanai … time to go home.