San Diego Memories

Lots of great stuff happened at Comic-Con; far too much to go through all the details, so here are some of the highlights. I'll add more as repressed memories surface.

• Rich sabotaged our speech patterns almost immediately, insinuating 133t-speak into our brains and causing a complete collapse of lingustic skill.
• Pontus taught me that the national drink of Sweden is a pint of Vodka with a splash of Red Bull.
• I once again learned that smoking is bad for you when Jeff got to snuggle with Matt Groening while I was out having a cigarette in the back of the convention center not having a cigarette.
• I fell in love with Tycho all over again.
• I was tackled by Seth Green's handlers as I was trying to hand him a PMR shirt. They then took the shirt and shoved it in their pants.
• I gave Scott a hug after what must have been a dozen or so single-malts (twelve being the number of scotches I need to hug a man).
• Director Bryan Singer and screenwriter Michael Dougherty stopped by the table to chat; we are expecting Bryan to option the rights to the Goats movie any minute now. Any minute.
• Dean Haglund, the Lone Gunman with the stringy blond hair and thick-rimmed glasses, drank with us until 4:30am and then handed us cards from some guy who sells Topps collectibles or something.
• I got to say the words "SPACE DILDOS" into a microphone really loud at my panel in front of about 300 people. Ted Slampyak cut me off about a hundred times and is a tremendous dick. Kristofer Straub, Dave Kellett and Bill Barnes, on the other hand, are all stand-up guys.

Thanks to everyone who stopped by the massive, well-oiled Dumbrella table, and howdy to all the new readers who found us this week.

UPDATE: My apologies, but I simply am in no state to write, and I don't want to push it -- these strips are too important to crap out something half-congealed. I will be back in full form on Monday after a weekend of sleep. Thanks for your patience. Megagamerz will continue to run on Thursday and Friday.

ANOTHER UPDATE: Bryan Singer was accompanied by an entourage the size of Wisconsin; providing security for the party were some hard-core MIB-style secret-service types, glancing about nervously, on the lookout for evildoers. Black ties and jackets, earpieces, sunglasses, the works. I bet these guys could tell you where Osama rents DVDs from.