THE HUSTLE. THE STING. THE CON.

Pop Expo Denver

I was at Pop Expo Denver over the weekend as a guest of the Rippaverse, for whom I’m writing Goodyng: the Polymath. Held at the Denver Convention Center, the show is often exasperating, starting with the serpentine conga line through which guests are funneled. Signs at the entrance say, “Empty your pockets.” Are we flying somewhere? The agents have more common sense and waved most people through.

Each aluminum-railed conga line ends at a security checkpoint where overzealous agents relieved me of a pocket knife/screwdriver/corkscrew with which I planned to take Deadpool hostage.

Once inside, as is always the case, you will see several booths selling samurai swords, daggers, and butterfly knives with steel blades. Most of the blades are dull, but a determined agent of chaos would have little difficulty using them to pierce skin. An overzealous Joker, for example, going after the many Batmen.

The convention center fills quickly to where getting anywhere is a chore. Rippaverse has a long line at every show since they exploded on the scene last year, the brainchild of Eric July.

On Friday, I sold most of the books I brought but fortunately, Ross Johnson was coming down Saturday and my wife Ann loaded him up like a pack mule. Many visitors have come for actors and voice actors. Many actors have turned to the convention circuit to support their incomes, if they’re not on Tarantinio’s or Nolan’s speed dial. The lines are long, the fans are patient.

Cosplayers everywhere. They’re not purchasers. Their constumes are skin tight. Where can they stash their loot? They are there to be seen and photographed, often for a fee. Most costumes are handmade. They range from amateurish to spectacular. An Alien just passed by the booth. Spectacular. At one time in the recent past, Harley Quinns and Deadpools threatened to overrun everything. I was at one con where the PA blasted, “WOULD ALL HARLEY QUINNS AND DEADPOOLS PLEASE REPORT TO THE MAIN LOBBY.”

Many people are wearing variations of this shirt: THAT’S WHAT I DO. I DO THINGS. THAT’S WHAT I DO. THINGS.

Waldos, Mario Brothers, vampires, Batgirls, Spideys, Womder Women, Supermen, Hellboys troop by in. Some costumes are the products of their creators’ fevered imaginations. Many are armored. There are so many that are so good it makes the judges’ jobs difficult.

Jewelers everywhere. My Rippa editors, Jen and Sylvia Soska, make jewelry. They make movies. They probably make cars and furniture.

As the crowds wax fatter, it becomes increasingly to difficult to get anywhere. People don’t watch where they’re going. Their eyes are everywhere but in front of them. Each booth demands attention. There are dozens of brilliant artists I see for the first time. Dozens of Greg Horns. Alan Quah from Malaysia is there, you may have seen his Marvel covers. Hope to have Alan draw the cover to an exciting new book we are launching this year, NOW THAT THE ART IS COMPLETELY FINISHED. IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH SHERLOCK HOLMES AND CAPTAIN NEMO.

The floor becomes so packed you could faint and not fall down. A young mother appears with a double wide baby-tram. Never fails. Spontaneous photo ops erupt as Spider-Man challenges Conan the Barbarian.

Harold German is there. Harold was a professional boxer. Now he writes and publishes Calico, the animal rights avenger. Punisher for animals. The stories are noirish, brutal and grim. Several years ago Harold started sending me his book and asking for advice. Last year I was not a guest of the Coloraeo Springs Comic Con. Harold was. He invited me to share his booth.

Harold found us a cheap hotel, the kind where they list the prices of the TVs, hair dryers, and microwaves at the front desk. Just in case you’re tempted to take them with you. Harold had a big poster nade up with my name and the Punisher logo. I set up shop. Guy steps up with a backpack full of Punishers. Up to then, I had never charged for a signature.

“How much for a signature?” he asked.

Before I could respond Harold said, “ten bucks.” Thus it has been ever since. I repaid Harold’s generosity by writing the next issue of Calico. It’s in the works.

Saturday evening Eric took us all to dinner. I didn’t get back to the hotel until eleven! I almost turned into a werewolf!

I haven’t been to SDCC in years. But if you go, watch for the Fanboy Slalom. Cosplayers gather at the southwest corner of the main floor. At the stroke of noon, they race to the northeast corner. No shoving oro knocking anyone down. Each participant chooses a different route. There are 50,000 people in the room. The record stands at 13 minutes, 9 seconds, won by Spider-Man.

Every large con has at least one thoughtless asshole pumping out sounds with a boombox. The melody is indecipherable. All you hear is BOOM BOOM BOOM. This has been going on for thirty years. Cons should not allow this. It’s akin to having someone pull up next to you at a stoplight pumping Megan Thee Stallion into your car. One of Goodyng’s earliest inventions is a boom box blocker that fries the circuits of any amplifier within a fifty foot radius. It’s in the book. The book is at the printers.

Nexus Scourge is back from the printers and fulfillment begins this week. I gave Eric a copy and he posted this while I was signing books. That’s me in the Broncos shirt.