Bug Bites and Sunburns

My comic con experience has basically turned into wound maintenance at a severe burn ward. The sun, it seems, has magical flesh bubbling characteristics. My knee is growing little sacs of what I’m calling “puss.” I know it’s not puss, but it upsets my friend Bill when I poke the juicy bubbles and say “Look! Look how repulsive my pussy sores are!” As I type this, I realize how wrong that sounds. How do I spell pussy without sounding like pussy? Seriously, letgit question. The mysteries of the English language…

Yeah, that’s my knee you perverts. Between banging and scraping the top layer of flesh off my head every time I enter the basement apartment of this BnB, the itchy bug bites on my right ankle, and the pussing sores on my right knee, I’m an appropriate convention monstrosity.


20130719-083659.jpgThat’s Bill, demonstrating the low ceiling. He’s yet to bash his fucking brains in, since he’s a grown adult and has full control and awareness of his body’s extremities.

Seems I need to get ready for another day of standing in lines for the privilege of watching movie companies pimping their banal crap and listening to the creators of unreleased films and tv shows talk about their work like it’s already established and awesome and all the people love it. Here’s some half assed convention photos…













About heartajack

I'm a graphic designer and occasional filmmaker that recently discovered the awesomeness that is the Can-Am Spyder Roadster. In recent years I've become obsessed with food and learning how to prepare it. I make the best damn ribs...EVER.
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