A young man asked us if we were planning on doing a sketch for this
year’s convention, as is our sometime tradition. I don’t believe that
was the original plan, but his enthusiasm
out in the end. I hope that this comic does not keep a person
from relating their fantasy conquests, as I actually enjoy them - but
when every fantasy story we hear over two days is concatenated into a
single epic, the resultant product cannot fail to amuse.
Indeed, the last day was invested almost entirely in the creation of a single fantasy construct within which all fantasy stories could be considered canonical. Gabriel drew several pictures of it, and I believe that this universe may at some point rise to the top of the post or strip pages as “content.” The setting is called “Epic Legends of the Hierarchs: The Elemenstor Saga” and relates the struggles of a single rogue elemenstor as he seeks greater, more profound, more enduring secrets of elemenstation. I really can’t wait to frustrate you with its poorly conceived and characterized fantasy amalgam.
The convention was pretty entertaining overall, though we had less visitors the next day. It seems like the set of people who attend comic conventions and the set of people who crave the Super Bowl (which I guess is basically the best bowl out there) would be fairly small, but I haven’t actually done a study. At any rate, I will tell you that the set of people who crave the Super Bowl (see above) and the people who crave Jhonen Vasquez is practically nonexistent. The man projects a line where no line existed - he sits down, and immediately the line goes woawrown. It was pretty interesting to hear stories from readers about monstrous things he’s done and his beastly acts toward them, and then a half an hour later to have him come over and ask us if we want shirts and hang out for like twenty minutes talking about videogames and Strawberry Shortcake. Of course, if he’s rooted in one spot for very long, there’s the woawrown again, and he has magically grafted his line to the front of our booth which gave us a real prestige. And there was this this sort of angelic autumn princess that would follow him, which made me follow them, just so I could hold the hem of her gossamer cape and think about decay.
He was really nice to us, by the way. Oh! And His name is pronounced Jonen, not Zhonen or Yonen or however the fuck I kept saying it when I was there. Eventually I realized that I had fucked it up (“That’s now how my name is pronounced”) but then I had to stick to it just to prove I was dedicated. It’s like, look Frenchy. I don’t know what the fuck kind of sound a J and an H make, okay? You’re rocking some Russian consonant activity.
He gave me an armful of Fillerbunny merchandise, and I was happy to give him everything his tubercular frame could support. I was particularly happy to hand over the Obsidian Spur, as even when I was writing it I thought the notion of a gothic line dancing troupe might appeal to him. Indeed, he might be the only person alive for whom such a concept has appeal.
I know it’s rare that I answer reader mail in the post, but on occasion I do make exceptions. Enthusiast darkspurr writes: dear tycho, how do you roll?
Motherfucker, I roll like this:
fax machine anthems