conference room on the seventeenth floor to see which washed-up actors are offering autographed 5" x 8" snapshotsâfor a small fee, of course. In the far left corner is the dude who played Spider-Man on a short-lived TV series during the â70s. Then thereâs Tom Savini, who among the gore crowd is some kind of god for his innovative special effects techniques. Nobody can show a human face being sawed in half lengthwise more realistically. In one corner is the British guy who did the voice for C-3PO in Star Wars . There are infinite lines to see all these people. To the faithful they are immortal. They have found their niche. But thereâs no way in hell Iâm standing in line for an hour so I can pay five bucks just to shake Swamp Thingâs hand (ten bucks for an autograph). Michelle and Trizden say theyâll wait it out, so I take off with Splinter to find some real action.
We stop at the bathroom and he asks me if I want to hit a joint. Usually I hesitate at engaging in illicit drug use in public, but as soon as we open the bathroom door we are hit with a wall of the previous occupantsâ pot smoke.
âDude,â Splinter says, firing the joint, âthereâs nothing to worry about here, man. Thereâs no cops and the fifteenth through seventeenth floors are completely reserved for Dragon*Con attendees. This is our playground.â
âCan you hook up some Acid?â
âIâm working on it,â he squeaks, holding in a hit.
We exit the bathroom happy and red-eyed just as some Young Republican is on his way in. Heâs holding a bag full of T-shirts.
âWant a shirt?â
âWhat do they say?â
He holds one up. Thereâs a cartoon of a regal, all-powerful eagle swooping down over some cowering Arab caricatures wearing turbans and sporting push-broom mustaches. It reads OPERATION DESERT STORM in a military font.
âDidnât we already win that war?â I ask.
âOf course we already won. It was one of the fastest, most overwhelming military victories in the history of warfare.â
âWhatâs the point of the shirt then?â
âThe point of the shirt is to take pride in your country, take pride in the greatest military the world has ever known,â the Young Republican says incredulously.
âFuck taking pride in this country,â Splinter says. âWe never would have been trying to âliberateâ Kuwait if not for all their fucking oil.â
I laugh and then Splinter starts laughing, too. Laughing and laughing. Idiots laughing in the face of political discourse.
We grab two shirts just as the guy pushes open the restroom door. I know whatâs coming so I grab Splinterâs arm and hurry down the hall.
âJeez!â the Young Republican yells after us. âWhy canât you people do this shit in the privacy of your own rooms?â
We bust out laughing. Again. Klingons and Wookies stare at us as we stagger past.
âHey, man, do you have a permanent Magic Marker?â Splinter says.
âDo I have a permanent Magic Marker? Let me check in my ass.â
âCome on, dude, Iâm serious.â
âAsk that dork over there.â
âWhich one?â
Laughing and laughing.
We finally procure a marker and Splinter writes IS BULLSHIT in block letters beneath the OPERATION DESERT STORM logo. On theback he scrawls, I DON â T SUPPORT OIL WARS . I opt for the much more succinct FUCK above the logo.
We pull the shirts on and head back to the autograph tables to find Michelle and Animal Mother. Theyâre talking to a girl with a shaved head. She has incredibly large brown eyes, like Sinead OâConnor. Sheâs wearing punk garb: black-and-white-striped tights, fifteen-hole combat boots, black leather jacket decorated with safety pins and snide buttons with slogans like PROMOTE WORLD PEACE: KILL EVERYONE and IâD RATHER BE MASTURBATING . Trizdenâs already
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