A Few Words About Rockin’ Ronnie Stevens.

He had as many names as he had stories.

Rockin’ Ronnie. Rockin’ Ronaldo. Rockin’. Rockin’ Ronnie Stevens. (Get the picture?)

Everyone knew him. Just think of Pacino’s Benjamin “Lefty” Ruggiero: “In all the five boroughs, I’m known. Forget about it. I’m known all over the fucking world.”

He was the nicest, sweetest, quirkiest guy you’d ever encounter in the hallway, the staff cafeteria, or for that matter, anywhere he went. He was that guy at the party you never forgot. The friend who would literally give you the shirt off his back – even if you didn’t need it.

He was an accomplished hospitality soldier like myself but music was his true passion. On the stage was where he truly became Rockin’ Ronnie – and he was a sight to behold.

I’ve lost track of the number of times he sat beside me at the Bell Desk and said, “Whatcha doin’, Hook? Blogging?” His support and enthusiasm were gifts I never grew tired of receiving.

He once told a guest of some advanced years that “The Hook will be delivering your luggage shortly.” And so, when I arrived at the room and knocked I heard a tiny, squeaky voice ring out…

“Oh, Harold.. that must be The Hook with the bags!”

Lunch was his priority. Always. “Well, what’s it going to be for lunch today, fellas?” he’d ask – at 8:30 am. Our annual excursions to Toronto were always foodcentric; fish ‘n chips were his fare of choice.

Writing about my friend in the past tense is an exercise in the surreal. And yet, from the moment he disappeared last Monday at 5:20 pm, a feeling of hopelessness has been inescapable. Indeed, I spent all day Sunday praying for a resolution to this ordeal, and the second I punched out at nine in the evening my wife was on her way to pick me up and break the worst news I’ve ever heard.

Everyone around me at the hotel is desperate for answers that I cannot provide. My friend’s family wishes to keep the details of his passing private, a decision I both understand and question, but out of my intense respect for both them and my comrade-in-arms, I shall respect their wishes.

There are so many things I want to say about my brother Ron, but the wound is too raw, the emotions are too convoluted and my grief is coming in waves. I held it together after receiving the news from his son last night but seeing Ronnie’s picture outside the staff cafeteria this morning broke my resolve.

I cried tears of regret, of deeper sadness than I’ve ever known, of pain that will never fully heal. But my grief has subsided for now and so I can only hope that the words will come to me in the future. As for the present, those of us who knew Rockin’ Ronnie best are carrying on as best we can, alternating between moments of fond recollection and heartbreaking sadness. At the end of his existence my friend was convinced he was alone in this world.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Posted in Hotel Life | 35 Comments

The Least Romantic Conversation I’ve Ever Overheard.

There are other things/calamities unfolding in my life that I could use this space to discuss… but I need to wrap myself in the familiar, the absurd, the not-so-normal that has become perfectly normal in my existence. If I don’t, if I give into despair and worry, my mind will surely break.

So here we go.

A bellman is many things: a pack-horse, a mobile concierge, a sympathetic shoulder to cry on, in some extreme cases, a dealer/pusher, and above all… a bellman is a witness.

To more than you can ever imagine.

We see it all. Literally. (Why do people keep the door open when they start having coitus and they know I’m coming up with luggage? Why?)

Raging fathers. Birth. (I didn’t even see my own daughter’s entrance to this world from that vantage point.) Alcoholic mothers. (Boxed wine is a powerful drug.) Death. (It sucks every bit as much as you can imagine.) Nutty rugrats, hopped up on Red Bull.

And everything in-between.

Including an early Saturday morning convo between two mammals that probably shouldn’t be anywhere near one another, never mind involved in a coupling. She was a dead ringer for Canadian, uber-actress Dani Kind of the smash CBC hit comedy Workin’ Moms, with a few piercings, blazing crimson locks, piercing, deep-set eyes blue eyes, a thin frame and a surgically-enhanced rack to die for.

He looked like your accountant’s nephew.

They were the original romantic version of the Odd Couple.

I rolled on by them as they bickered in the middle of the fiftieth floor; I didn’t get the finer points but the gist was this: she was pissed. My duties as a bellman prevented me from lingering and eavesdropping so I continued on my way and began to load up luggage for a whole mess of Asians. And yes, I said “duties”. Get over it.

By the way, Asians are awesome guests to serve; they’re friendly as hell and their accent/super speed speech always makes me smile. But back to our regularly-scheduled victims guests: the Asians started out ahead of me, chattering away and moving through the hall as a single, hyper-active unit.

Sort of like a human sharknado.

But anyway, they moved ahead, which conveniently left me to slooowly make my past our intrepid heroes as she delivered one of the greatest lines of all time…

“I hate your stupid face… but you have a big cock and you know how to use it… so yes, I’ll marry you.”

She spit those venomous-yet-sweet words in the direction of her lover with a calm, measured pitch and little or no enthusiasm. But he was happy to be covered in her… love? (For lack of a more appropriate word.) He reached for her, she opened her arms with all the grace of a department store mannequin and they began to make out… and dry hump against the wall… in the middle of the hall.

Ain’t love – or whatever the hell that was – grand?

I’d be a fool to try to follow that spectacle.

See you in the lobby, kids…

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Through The Inner Chaos, The IBS-Induced Mental Haze And The Usual Madness… A Post From The Hook.

Admittedly, I haven’t had the desire to blog lately.

But that doesn’t mean my life has suddenly become boring, by any means. Indeed, the weirdness quotient in the Niagara Falls hospitality hasn’t diminished one iota, especially since the summer season has finally begun after the longest winter of my bellman career.

Of course, every winter feels like the longest winter of my bellman career, so…


I still feel like this most days… but I’m hanging in there.


But back to the hospitality trenches; the world is a wonderfully-diverse place, my friends, one that is inhabited by beings capable of amazing feats of heroism and equally-shocking madness.

For example…

ONE)  As I write this post, two of my fellow bellmen are chowing down on SOUO (seafood of unknown origin) that they acquired from a guest last night. They have no idea where the is mystery lobster, crab, etc. came from, and judging by the speed at which they are consuming it… they don’t care.

For all we know, this seafood was never properly refrigerated. (It sat in our luggage room bar fridge since last night but that particular appliance is not to be considered a reliable source of food storage.) Nevertheless, they’ve been munching away for a half hour. I’ll let you know if they begin to show signs of an infestation of any sort. To be honest, a zombie outbreak in a thousand-room luxury hotel spurred on by radiation-soaked seafood would make for great blog fodder.

But I couldn’t get that lucky, could I?


TWO)  Stephen K, my wife’s favorite Elvis impersonator (or as some prefer, “tribute artist”) is returning to the Niagara Fallsview Casino Resort this September and it goes without saying that she has already secured two sets of front-row tickets. This leaves me the summer to muster enough enthusiasm to avoid hearing, “Why aren’t you getting into it, boy? This is FANTASTIC!”, something I hear every single time I’ve seen this show with my lovely bride.

And God help me if I say, “You do realize that while he’s an amazing performer, he’s not the real Elvis, right?”

That is not a wise statement for a husband to make if he plans on acquiring any physical affection from his spouse after the show. Trust me on this.


THREE)  The usual ladies of the evening – most of whom I see during the day – have been around but I’ve also noticed hookers arriving in groups. I can’t be certain if said hookers are actually servicing their clients in groups or if they’re merely sharing traveling expenses, but either way, these gals are more conspicuous in large numbers than they are solo. But they don’t appear to care so why should I? In a way I admire their moxie; they know who they are, what they want from life and most importantly, how to get it.

How many of can honestly make that claim?


FOUR)  Travelers still feel confident they can bend the laws of space and time and begin and fully complete a physical encounter in the time it takes a bellman to reach their room with luggage. I truly loathe having to deal with a guest who has been interrupted mid-coitus; these people are not happy about having to climb off one another, get dressed (barely in most cases) and hobble over to the door to let me in – while they were trying to do the same.

To be clear, and not for the last time, I’m sure… As a bellman it is my job to deliver guest luggage within my establishment’s set time parameter. In my particular case that means I have to do everything in my power to arrive at your room within fifteen minutes, horny traveler. So if you plan on engaging in coitus after requesting your luggage be sure you can fit in (if you don’t mind the pun) the appropriate amount of begging, foreplay, thrusting in more than one position and the requisite number of apologies that accompany a standard physical encounter, before I arrive at your room.

On a personal note, I’ll never understand how guests think they can pull this stuff off (pun intended). It takes me longer than fifteen minutes to decide who gets tied up…


If you’re going to engage in this sort of activity, please… wait until after I’ve delivered your luggage.

And on that personal note, see you in the lobby, kids…

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My Psyche, My Enemy?

When I was a mere young lad my German grandmother used to take me on a long journey to the corner store – which was across the street from her apartment building. Fittingly, it was located on the corner and was run by two German gentlemen, one of whom was named Hans.

Hans was a towering gentleman with hands the size of oxen and a quiet, almost painfully-stern, disposition. He wore a crisp white apron and was rarely seen without a broom in his hand. On rare occasions Hans would engage in what he would no doubt consider an act of madcap joy;he would reach into the cooler and give me a free ice cream sandwich which I would devour with childish glee until my face was covered in ice cream and soft cookie bits.

One day, while I was covering my young face in ice creamy goodness I heard my grandmother discussing current neighborhood events with her compatriots; it seems Hans had confronted a thief. The normally reserved shopkeeper became unhinged at the thought of someone stealing from a business he broke his back building… so he threw the would-be thief out the door.

To be clear, Hans threw the thief through the actual door of his shop. I asked my grandmother why Hans behaved in such a violent manner and her answer perplexed me.

“He is two people, Bobby. One man is nice and gentle with you, the other is still in the war and always will be.”

I was gobsmacked. Hans was two people? One was civilized and the other battled criminals? There was only one explanation that satisfied my still-developing brain.

Hans was Batman.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking:

  •  “Hans wasn’t Batman, Hook! The Dark Knight wasn’t German.”
  •  “Your grandmother called you Bobby?”

To both of these I say… shut up.

Hans was obviously dealing with PTSD long before we called it that, but I remain fascinated by the duality of our psyches. And now I will tell you why.

There are far too many moments these days where I feel as though The Hook and Robert Hookey are actually two separate individuals.

Does this mean I have to pay twice as many taxes, Justin Trudeau?


My sanity in a nutshell…


Kidding aside (since I suck at it anyway) a strange thing has been happening lately. One minute, I’m a happy-go-lucky-yet-balding, forty-year-old guy with a gorgeous wife, an exceptionally-bright teenage daughter and a beyond-nutty dog. The next minute, I’m a ridiculously-depressed, middle-aged guy with an ever-expanding gut, IBS and an ever-increasing feeling of dread and failure. At first there was a wide chasm between these mood swings.

But that gap is growing smaller ever day.

As Robert I’m a happy guy. I mean, I’m not doing cartwheels or anything – my knee injury has ensured that’ll never be a possibility – but overall, I’m good. Sure, my daughter is suffering terribly from Interstitial cystitis, the dog recently suffered the canine equivalent of a herniated disc and my wife spends all her time worrying about both of them, but things are tough all over, right?

Robert’s mortgage is paid, he has no debt weighing him down and he’s gainfully employed.

Hell, they just announced that minimum wage in Ontario is going up in January, so Robert’s doing better than ever in the cash department.

Of course, that cash comes from The Hook, who often has to do the hospitality equivalent of a trained monkey dance in order to convince travelers to drop a few coins or bills into his hands. This arrangement has existed for twenty years and up until recently, it’s worked out pretty well. The Hook and Robert have merely been two halves of the same coin; two sides of the same man-child’s personality.

But more and I feel like two separate people in one rapidly-decaying body.

The Hook rarely feels the full effects of IBS as he’s traversing the halls he walks daily but Robert is up for at least an hour straining to have a decent bowel movement. Every. Single. Night. (Sexy sentence, right, ladies?)

Robert’s life really hasn’t been too adversely impacted by the Great Sawhorse Debacle of 2014, as it’s referred to in the Hookey household, but The Hook feels it when the weather is damp enough. A throbbing knee is not exactly conducive to a successful career as a bellman, kids.

The Hook has almost two thousand followers on Twitter. As an adult, Robert’s friends are all too busy to socialize, so his colleagues/brothers-in-arms are his social circle.

Robert put his name a self-published book once. It was a total disaster.

The Hook’s adventures were chronicled in Robert’s book. It was still a total disaster.

Filming a trailer for a web series focusing on The Hook’s hotel misadventures is Robert’s greatest dream at the moment. But without resources or a location or any assistance beyond some good friends who have volunteered to be his actors, he’s completely out of luck. This has left both The Hook and Robert in a funk from which there is no apparent escape. 

Robert’s daughter is up almost every night reeling from the effects of the aforementioned Interstitial cystitis and there is absolutely nothing he can do to ease her pain.

One of The Hook’s longtime colleagues is wrestling with serious health issues and this crisis weighs on him terribly; Robert feels that weight and more on him at night as sleep eludes him.

The Hook’s many posts centered on Murdoch Mysteries garnered Robert two invitations to the MM set. Neither invitation actually materialized. The same has held true for the dozens of unrealized 5x5s The Hook is waiting on. A “yes” doesn’t actually mean anything these days, friends. Of course, people, especially professional types, are busy wrestling with their own challenges theses days, so they can’t be expected to jump though hoops for an insignificant blogger most people assume is either a fisherman or a Canadian pirate.

Not that it really matters anyway; a busted creative engine means The Hook’s 5×5 offerings are going to be less than stellar.

Depression, if that’s what this is, is not the amusement park thrill ride the media promises, kids.

The weight of the world will break you if held for too long, friends. It will render your creative engine inert, incapable of producing posts, forcing you to blog about an identity crisis that may or may not even exist.

Still, it’s just another challenge to deal with, another mountain to scale.

Wish me luck won’t you?

See you in the lobby, kids…

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Niagara Falls Comic Con 2017 In Pictures.

Albeit a few grainy shots.

Fair warning: the following shots are overflowing with enthusiasm – but little else. Having just entered the modern age of tech by purchasing my first-ever cellphone two months ago, I am far from the Parker (as in Peter) skill level of photography, but I mean well. That counts for something, right? I’m leaving these pics uncropped or edited as a testament to my newbie status. Hopefully my skills will improve by NFCC2018.

Of course, we’re talking about The Hook, so who knows?

On a deeply personal note, I’m actually quite nervous about publishing this post. I’ve never been… comfortably with my beauty and so this is a Spider-Man size leap of faith for The Hook. But as a father I need to set an example for my child, so here goes nothing…

My NFCC2017 experience was one day in duration, four hours in length (I’m not the young, vital nerd I used to be) but it was successful on all counts.

A few Amazons helped to kick off the NFCC experience a few hours before opening. Definitely a good omen, right?

“Go ahead, Hook, make a joke about how Wonder Woman loves a big tool… See how it works out.”


As for my NFCC experience, I arrived five minutes after the doors opened at three in the afternoon, but the line was huge. And yes, men often exaggerate when it comes to size, so here are a few pics…



And around we go…

Celebrities.  John Schneider looks like he’s barely aged since he was a Duke boy. Marky Ramone is unbelievably-nice and cool. Tara Reid was slumped down in her chair at four in the afternoon, sported sunglasses and served as a reminder that fame is fleeting but weakness is forever.


“No, Tara!  You’re cut off… your liver can’t take anymore!”

(Actually, in all seriousness, I have it on good authority that Ms. Reid was cut off from a Niagara watering hole the night before her comic con appearance. But these things happen to everyone, even stars, right?)

Comics!  With all the hype about stars, attractions, panels and cosplay, it’s easy to forget about the comic in comic con, isn’t it? But I’ll never forget, kids. Why do you think i showed up in the first place? NFCC is the best place to score tons of rare trade paperbacks and graphic novels – at rock bottom prices.

My first score, sixty seconds after hitting the convention floor – but certainly not the last.


Photo ops.  I am notoriously shy when it comes to photos of my Canadian mug – and you’re about to see why…

At least with a TARDIS at my disposal I’ll never have to worry about being late for work again.  Ever.


“Go ahead, sir, try to stiff me.  I dare you…”


And my final pic of the day (I had comics to buy, I couldn’t was time taking unfocused photos!) is proof that the power of my beloved Murdoch Mysteries is powerful to invade even Niagara Falls Comic Con.

See you in the lobby and on the convention floor, folks…


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30 Things You’ll Overhear At Niagara Falls Comic Con This Year.

Before we begin: I’m going to need you to do a few things in order to maximize your viewing experience.

STEP ONE:  Click on this link to familiarize yourself with this year’s Niagara Falls Comic Con line-up.

STEP TWO:  Keep an open mind; cons aren’t for everyone – but my blog certainly is.




2)  “What’s that?  Flash Gordon Sam Jones and Lou Ferrigno are going at it again?”

3)  “How much for Uncanny X-Men #181?  I hope my mom will extend my allowance again!  I’ll have to go out to the car and ask her.”

4)  “Kate Mulgrew’s still here?  She must have been hiding in the basement since last year!”

5)  “You prefer Kirk to Picard?  I don’t even know you anymore, Madelyne!”

6)  “The Falls are actually real?  I thought it was all CGI!”

7)  “Who’s Marky Ramone? I’ll have to Google him.”  (You just know that kid’s going to get thrashed.)


8)  “You actually came as Aquaman, Craig?  He breathes in fish pee!”  (It’s actually true.  Think about it.)

9)  “What do you mean Kevin Smith is only here for one day?  And only for photo ops?”


10)  “Your mom can’t pick us up?  I don’t even have bus fare left after I bought that Hello Kitty vs. Sailor Moon box set!”

11)  Victor Newman’s making out with my grandmother!”

12)  “Is that a lightsaber in your pocket or are you just really excited to be here at Niagara Falls Comic Con?”

13)  “Of course Jason Mewes kicked you in the nuts, man… you told him you were surprised he was still alive.”



14)  “J. Peterman just recommended I purchase the Urban Superhero Sombrero, ‘for the active member of the fandom community who is ready to throw caution to the wind and live a life on the edge… of a ledge.'”

 15)  “What do you mean you’re really not a girl under all that Wonder Woman padding?  We’ve already had sex three times!”

16)  “Hey, everybody!  We’re all gonna get laid!”  (To be clear, you hear this at least once every year… but it never happens.)

17)  “A fight just broke out between the Dr. Who Society of Canada and the Ontario Ghostbusters!”  (But since it won’t exactly be ‘Clash of the Titans’, no one will care.)

18)  “Are you high?”  (This will be in response to some inane query posed to a celebrity that hasn’t thought of the role that made them famous for over twenty years.)

19)  “Uh, geez, I didn’t mean to make you cry, little boy…”  (This is, of course, uttered by a celebrity after inadvertently offending a fan – who is actually a forty-year-old man, not a boy.)

20)  “You, sir, are an idiot.”  (This, of course, will be uttered by yours truly, while dealing with some mouth-breathing moron. I will, of course, be imitating the immortal Bruce Campbell.)

21)  “Canadians are so nice, it’s weird as fuck!”  (Some American tourist says this to me every year, without fail.)

22)  “I bet the Wonder Woman movie’s going to suck!”  (Cue the verbal brawl/slapfest.)



23)  “I’m out of cash!  I wonder how much I can get for a kidney?”

24)  “The ATM is out of cash?  Where’s that guy dressed as Firebug?  Let’s burn this joint to the ground!”

25)  “I wonder if Mark Bagley (a Marvel Comics Spider-Man artist) will sign my Batman: Rebirth #1?  It’d make a great collectable!”

26)  “Hey, Mark Bagley just told me to shove my utility belt where the Bat signal won’t shine.”


“I wonder how long it’ll take to wash the smell of geek off me tonight?”


27)  “Somebody just stole the hubcaps off The General Lee.  John Schneider’s pissed.”

28)  “I wonder if the Eight Doctor Who is going to be late for his panel?  That’d be pretty amazing if he was!”  (Because he has a time machine, you muggles.)

29)  “Wonder if Tara Reid will show me her boobs if I offer her twenty bucks?  She needs the money!” – One of my bellman colleagues who will be accompanying me this year… and who will no doubt be in need of bail money later on in the day.

30)  “Holy exhaustion, Batman, I’m knackered!  How long until Niagara Falls Comic Con 2018?”

See you in the lobby and on the con floor, True Believers…



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The Hook’s Guide To Niagara Falls Comic-Con 2017.

In the spirit of Barry Allen and his fellow speedsters, I’m going to keep this brief.

Plus, my head feels like it’s been set to “Lynchian mode”, and so I really don’t have a clue what I’m doing these days. I feel like I’m a resident of Twin Peaks and I have no clue what’s going on around me. Not coincidentally, this is what the average non-nerd feels like when walking the convention floor of a comic book convention.

But I’m here to help.

If you plan on attending NFCC for the first time and you feel more than a little apprehensive about the whole endeavor… you should.

In fact, you should be freaking out.

Comic cons are not for the faint of heart. They’re densely packed, hot as Hades and they’ll suck the energy out of you faster than you can say, “Holy Sandman, Batman… I’m knackered!” Of course, I briefly had a girlfriend in high school who fit that description as well.

I didn’t complain then and I’m certainly not complaining now.

But I am now a veteran at dealing with overwhelming situations; if you’re not, you’re going to want to heed my advice.



ONE)  Wear comfortable shoes or risk amputation.  Seriously, unlike my former high school girlfriend who spent more time vertical rather than horizontal, you’re going to be on your feet for hours. (Though it’ll feel like days.)  Traversing the ScotiaBank convention floor in Niagara Falls can make your tootsies feel as though they crossed the desert with the Jews, so break out the super soft insoles and slip them into your best pair of Nikes because you’re going to be putting some miles on your legs, folks.

And if you’re planning on wearing some creative footwear for your cosplay be sure to stuff those boots, etc., with insoles or anything soft. Personally, I find puppies are the most effective liner available but the animal rights people always raise a fuss so keep this tip between us, all right?


TWO)  Pretend you’re Aquaman… stay hydrated!  Tens of thousands of people, Wookies, stormtroopers and the like will be breathing the same air and sharing the same space as you and that will dry you up faster than a porn star at the end of a marathon shoot, so that bottle of water will be your best friend.. friend.

Yes, my imagery is slightly blunt but we’re all over eighteen, right? So shut up.

The point is, a bottle of water will cost you as much as an actual kidney at a con, so spend the two dollars, buy an entire case and share the wealth with your fellow con-goers. 

 photo aquaman-laughing-2.gif

THREE)  Keep that souvenir guide handy!  Most people just file the field guide a volunteer hands them upon entering NFCC into one of their bags, but that sucker will save your life, man!

Use it to locate the coolest vendors. Use it to educate yourself as to which Q&A panels are going on – and where – and most importantly, use it to locate your favorite celebrity’s table. Trust me, wandering around aimlessly is no fun when you’re bashing into tens of thousands of hyperactive nerds who rarely spend time above ground…


FOUR)  Be sure you’re in the right line!  Honestly, the last thing you want is to spend two hours in line only to discover you’re about to hear no one’s favorite D-List actor tell stories about working as Kirk Cameron’s body double on Growing Pains before landing the coveted role of the first guy shot in the face in a Stallone picture. That was three hours of my life I’ll never get back…


FIVE)  Be prepared when your turn comes at the Q&A.  Everyone chokes, but you don’t want to do that in front of an actor you idolize. I once unintentionally threw caution to the wind and asked Shatner, “Is it true some of your original Star Trek cast-mates still drive by your house and shoot out your porch light in retaliation for stealing all the good lines?”

I choked. Shatner almost got up to kick my ass (Star Trek style no doubt) but he broke a sweat lifting himself up so I was able to get the hell out of there before my fellow geeks tore me to bits.

So prepare that Q in advance, kids. Your life may depend on it.


SIX)  Eat beforehand and immediately afterwards… never at a con!  Unless your last name is Stark or Trump, that is. Convention food will drain your wallet quickly and kill your organs slowly. So seek nourishment elsewhere, kids. Save that money for a mint copy of Archie Meets The Punisher. (I’m not kidding. Look it up.)


The comic world is rife with drug use, obviously…


SEVEN)  Bring plenty of cash!  Forget using the Visa and your debit card on the convention floor; cash is king at a con. Period.


EIGHT)  Be respectful – of everyone.  Even The Shat deserves to be treated with dignity. (Even though his career would suggest otherwise.) I once saw a brawl breakout between a group of Hello Kitty and Care Bear cosplayers. I can only imagine the horrors of the Vietnam war would come in second to that spectacle…

Before I forget, always remember to be nice to con sluts. For example, don’t refer to the scantily-clad young ladies you’ll see as con sluts. They won’t like it and I can’t say as I blame them.


NINE)  Watch a NHL hockey game before getting out on that convention floor.  Respect is vital, it’s true, but sometimes, when a Red Hulk just won’t move out of your way… you need to body check a nerdy bitch.


TEN)  Everything else.  Let’s see, what have I forgotten?

Only about a million things. Like making sure your phone is fully charged, designating a meeting place for your party when you inevitably go your separate ways (which you will), bring a few bags (vendors run out pretty darn fast), make a list of all the goodies you hope to score, the list goes on. And most important of all… have fun!

See you on the convention floor, kids…

(I’ll be the guy dressed as a middle-aged, balding nerd.)

The only bad thing about a comic book convention?  When it’s over…

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