Born to a destitute existence,
J.Hues quickly rose to the prominent level of uncomfortably poor. His real name
is shrouded in secrecy but if you ask him he might tell you it's Jason Hughes
(Dammit!).
Nothing much happened until he
graduated from college with a completely useless degree in English, and then...
nothing much continued to happen. Subsequently, J.Hues found himself working
at a toy store. Later, through some strange accident he fell sideways into the
IT field and has been trapped there ever since.
To keep his sanity, he writes:
novels, poems, comics, grocery lists, checks (too many checks), fake doctor's
notes... Maybe someday he'll get paid for all this.
A genius in his own mind, J.Hues
uses various grammatical no-nos to mask his complete and total inability to
craft a single genuine or unique idea. He's never happy unless he is blathering
on with his own obnoxious opinions and ideas. Wait, are you still reading this?
Read the damn column already!
“Apparently “No pants” is implied somewhere in “No shoes, No shirt, No service!” --me
PRE-MATCH HYPE
Conventions are expensive to get into. Since I’d taken the redeye… uh… Greyhound to sunny LA for the convention, you can imagine that I was pretty well financially tapped. I tried just walking in, but apparently they have some security guards and I’m supposed to have a pass or a badge. Note for future reference: Security doesn’t find yelling the phrase “BADGES! WE DON’T NEED NO STEENKING BADGES!” as funny as you do. So, I went up to the counter where they had a bunch of old ladies working and asked for a badge. When she wouldn’t give me on, I sized her up. This is comics after all, and here I was… twenty minutes into my adventure and a fight hadn’t broken out. I figured, even if we were on the same side, I could fight this broad, take my badge and then say it was all a communications misunderstanding or something. Then we could team up and fight Lou Ferigno (I just knew he would have to be there… charging five bucks to get within twenty feet of him and twenty-five bucks to breathe his air and fifty bucks for an autograph… ) as the Incredible Hulk!
So I’m contemplating taking down this old broad for a paper badge that I could make at home with a halfway decent laser printer when it hits me. I work for the Big Kahuna. I’m a well-respected journalist! With a reputable online comic news source. So I tell her that and she stares at me blankly. Apprarently she doesn’t know what Silver Bullet Comics is and when I say SBC she points to the phones (that’s a Midwest joke, son. A real knee-slapper. A Hee-Haw! Don’t you get it? … the Midwesterners are falling off their chairs, they’re laughing so hard!). So I decide that I need to get in touch with the Big Kahuna. No problem, she says, there is Inernet access available on the showroom floor. Great, I say an head that way. But you need a badge to get onto the showroom floor.
Ultimately, I learned that costumes can be distracting when a couple of models walked in wearing next-to-nothing and I forgot where I was for a second and started trying to stuff singles in their thongs, so I took some dead rodents and other critters I found outside the venue, apparently they’d died eating the hot dogs served inside, and pasted them to my head and face. Thinking I was Alan Moore, I was let in right away and then mobbed with fans wanting my autograph and asking what I thought of the Watchmen movie and if I was going to write a sequel to it. I told them that I was in fact working on a sequel to it, you heard it here first! It’s called Watchmen II: The Reckoning (because all good sequels are called “The Reckoning”). The tagline is “Arrested For Voyeurism For Watching The Watchmen, Now Find Out Who’s Watching YOU!”
After I faked a seizure to get the crowd to disperse, I crawled under Rob Liefeld’s table and discarded the roadkill. While there, I swiped his Gameboy Advance and PSP and library of games, replacing them in his Hello Kitty backpack with my “hair.” I crawled back out, stood, stretched, retched at the site of a grossly obese Vampirella and smelled the aroma of body odor, putrescence and sweaty testosterone and hormones (coming from the direction of the crowds hovering around the chicks I’d tried to shower with singles earlier). Ah, yes. WizardWorld Los Angeles. I have arrived!
…more to come. Look for updates every day this week as I fill it in between hangovers and debauchery! Think of it as my diary of the convention… after the fact!
NOTE: these updates will be appended down here at the bottom of the column so when you click it and it looks the same, note that is because it is. The beginning doesn’t change because I add more to the end, just like your life. Just because you’re married now doesn’t mean you weren’t stuffed into a gym locker in junior high for wearing Incredible Hulk Underoos!
j/h
disclaimer: the opinions and views expressed in this column are not approved by anyone and have been determined by “big tobacco” to be more hazardous to your health than unfiltered cigarettes. it is in your best interest to report your findings here to the department of homeland security so that mr. hues can be put away for a long, long time. please, it’s for his own good. and the good of the country. and the children. don’t forget the children.
