I’m drunk, confused and riding pillion on a stolen motorbike while Monkey Boy himself is driving. He has no licence, but this bike doesn’t belong to either of us so I guess it doesn’t matter.
My lip is bleeding and sore. I must have half chewed through it by now but that’s the least of my worries. Monkey Boy is behaving funny. I only met him two hours ago and already I’m wondering what’s going to happen?
I call him Monkey Boy because he was shot with a ray that reduced his brain power to that of a chimp. He also incessantly masturbates and enjoys throwing bodily waste around. I’m not sure I believe his brain ray story though – I suspect it was the partial lobotomy and subsequent drug binges that made him how he is, but who am I to doubt? He let me come with him on his stolen motorbike and share in adventure and fun!
I see the convention centre rise above the horizon: A mecca for geeks and cosplayers alike –they’re called cosplayers, ‘cos they play people with personalities!
He shouts “now” and we bail off the bike, letting it smash through the doors. All business like we walk in: “I wrote this, I’m an exhibitor” he shouts to the ticket girls and flashes a comic with a badly drawn cover and pages illustrated with his own faeces and semen. A bold artistic statement but mostly incomprehensible. “I’m with him” I mumble, “but I’m afraid I may have eaten my business card” with that I push two fingers down my throat and vomit on the counter “I’m sure it’s in there somewhere!”
We enter the foaming sea of geekery and weirdness. It’s too much for me and I reach for my emergency gin. Monkey Boy is already heading for the panels to find his girlfriend. He’s been talking about finding her all the way here. I hope she’s around…
Without Monkey Boy to keep me company, I need to make my own entertainment. To the classic cartoon screening room! “Bugs Bunny was a NAZI” I scream. The children cry as I flail around the head of a cosplaying Bugs. Maybe if the head of the cosplayer wasn’t still inside it they wouldn’t be so scared? Whatever. YOU try doing a neat job with a fire axe! “He was a NAZI. All blue eyed and blonde tailed autogynophiliac Elmer Fudd wanting fascist” I’m on a roll, but my sermon seems to be causing yet further tears amongst the youngsters. The head I’m holding is dripping and I’ve pissed myself twice now. Time to leave…
Outside in the convention centre it’s chaos with screams and people running away. Then I see HIM… An ant. An ant the size of a bee. The size of a bee that’s the size of a person. I decide that he shall be my nemesis. “You! Mansize bee size ant!” I holler “You shall pay for your crimes” and the attack begins. Todlers are apparently very sweet. Sugar is also very sweet and ants like sugar. Therefore, ants must like toddlers. I decide to kill him with an overdose of what he loves and as toddlers are sugar, I grab the nearest one from his mommies grip and flail away. The mansize bee sized ant goes down with a split skull and I realize that children are not made of sugar. They’re more like lung and intestine piñatas! As the strobing blue lights fill the auditorium, I realize it may be time for us to leave. Meeting up with Monkey Boy, I see he’s found his girlfriend and she’s given him head! Or rather he’s taken her head… and spinal column. The morning star like weapon potential is realized against the first police officer we see. Stealing the keys to his patrol car, I scream “MY TURN TO DRIVE” and we fire up the engine and head out to the motorway and adventure!
