Creeping Crud.

Just got back from our trip to Atlanta, GA for the yearly explosion of costumes, vendors sweaty armpits known as DragonCon. It was a long haul to Atlanta and an even longer haul back (I already read my only book) but, as any convention with cute girls in superhero costumes goes, it was well worth the trouble. We stood by our table for three straight days, played a show at precisely midnight and just took in all the sights and sounds of a wonderfully chaotic convention.

I love it. I love the absolute surrender to order and normalcy. You wanna dress as the dude from "Firefly?" What about Harley Quinn from Batman? A piece of pizza? A Fembot from "Austin Powers?"  A pimp version of Boba Fett? Starfox? Contestants from the Nickelodeon show "GUTS?"

GO FOR IT THERE IS NOW LAW THERE IS NO ORDER.

I'm gonna cut this short. Because. BECAUSE. If there's two things I don't like, it would have to be reiterating the same thing in different words (I'm gonna beef this one up in a later blog) and the thousands of disease-filled freaks touching, rubbing and either accidentally or purposely groping you. I'm not a germ-freak. Far from it. Unfortunately, my body suffers in this lack of giving a shit. 'Cause I came back with something nasty. I'm harboring a blast of juices and snot, a sore throat and a pounding head. I went to DragonCon and all I got was a case of the creeping crud.

So I'll have to finish this one up later.  With pictures and stuff.  And, of course, complaints.  What am I even doing here if I ain't complaining?

I blame it all on this guy:

More to come.

I'm gonna lay down on the floor now.