Comic Kenvention

I will acknowledge the distant possibility that there might be a sort of update at some point next week, but until then this will have to do.

Okay, let's jump right in.

If you've never been to a comic convention, imagine Cedar Point and Home Depot mixed together, only everybody loves anime and dressing up in costumes. And the costumes are rarely original; they tend to be the same tired favorites like Aquaman or Cloud or Princess Leia in a gold bikini. Why waste time being creative when you can achieve that sought-after validation through easy recognizable icons? Drop twenty bucks at Halloween USA and bam, you're a ghostbuster. Scott free.

People don't like trying new things.

People like what they know.

This is how I spent my weekend.

Most artists, when they set up at a comic con for the first time, they use a lot of cheap gimmicks and tricks to get people to look at their work or buy their latest book. You get your neat little table, your plastic white drop cloth, and you start slapping things down on it: A portfolio case. Original artwork. A neat little stand. A bowl of candy. Anything to grab the attention of whatever passing moron, anything to interest him enough so that he saunters up to ask if you could please draw him a sketch of Wolverine.

I knew going into this how it would be. I've seen what comic cons have to offer: embarrassing memories. I was prepared to sit there as the hours dropped away without selling a single comic. I was ready to face failure. But I wasn't going to face it alone.

Right away, I could see the other artists setting up their little gimmicks; the candy, the displays, the black tarps showcasing their finest pieces. But I had something they didn't. Something that made me stand out, that drew attention and positive energy.

In war, you must examine your enemy closely. A wise general plans his attack around weaknesses, around intelligence he's gathered through study of his opponent. Ask yourself: What will catch the nerds off-guard? What will draw them in like moths to a flame and keep them distracted while I work my subtle wonders?

Answer: Girls.

Meet my dear friend, KrekelersLittleHelper. She's been with me since it all began, and when I offered her the opportunity to make a difference in the world by utilizing her vagina to help me boost sales, she jumped at the chance.

Unfortunately, she didn't quite look the part. Something was off.

The Ken: "Take off your wedding ring. Dorks don't like a challenge."
KrekelersLittleHelper: "What? I'm not taking off my wedding ring."

The Ken: "Come on, girl. You're killing me here. You're killing US. Take it off."

KrekelersLittleHelper: "I will not."

The Ken: "Fine. Wear this little hat, then."

KrekelersLittleHelper: "Ugh. It smells a little."

The Ken: "Yeah, I wore it to the bar last night."

KrekelersLittleHelper: "It smells like pee."

The Ken: "So what? I piss excellence."

See what I mean? Much cuter.

The Ken: 1

KrekelersLittleHelper: 0

As the first day of the convention dragged on, it became clear it was going to be a slow start. After nine minutes had passed without anyone asking me for an autographed copy of Stardom, I grew insane with rage. To calm myself, I do what I always do when I feel I've been greatly wronged in some way: I start drawing.

The Ken: "What do you want a picture of, KrekelersLittleHelper? Give me a character, I'll draw him."

KrekelersLittleHelper: "Anybody?"

The Ken: "Anybody."

KrekelersLittleHelper: "Cyclops."

The Ken: "Anybody else."

KrekelersLittleHelper: "Why not Cyclops?"

The Ken: "Because Cyclops is gay."

We settled on a mutual favorite, Poison Ivy.

Not long after I finish this, some asshole walks up to me:

SomeAsshole: "How much for the Poison Ivy?"

The Ken: "What?"

SomeAsshole: "I really like that. How much?"

The Ken: "Tell you what, buddy. That one belongs to my girl here, but I'll draw you your own... for a price."

As it turns out, people are a lot more interested in your art when they feel it's a personalized drawing crafted uniquely for them. We are all of us ego-maniacs. And never mind that they'd rather pay five bucks for a shitty marker sketch than $3.50 for the forty-page, full color experience that is My Nemesis: Stardom. Didn't bother me one bit.

People like what they know.

Once I realized that the only way I'd start making any money off this investment was to whore myself out by drawing other people's characters, I went into overdrive. I started getting stressed out with requests before I was ready. People began coming up to me, asking for sketches of Strong Guy and Multiple Man. Moon Knight. Fucking Moon Knight!

Once you've drawn the Joker four times in a row, you start to question things a little.

By day 2, I was pretty sick of the whole thing, so I decided to enjoy myself a little bit, leaving KrekelersLittleHelper behind to man the base. I grabbed a few copies of my book and began walking around the convention, meeting all kinds of weirdos.

The Ken: "Hello sir! I wonder if you'd stall your Imperial duties for just a moment and take a look at my comic book. It's chocked full of non-stop hilarity and violent murder! Ha ha ha!"

Storm Trooper: "Um..."

The Ken: "Look! Here the characters are smoking pot! Nobody else has ever thought to do that before! I'm such a riot!"

Storm Trooper: "Uh, why is he a black octopus thing?"

The Ken: "It's symbolic, you virgin."

The Ken: "...really trying to push the envelope as far as webcomics are concerned. A lot of other characters in webcomics don't really change over time, but here they are constantly challenged, constantly betraying and undermining one another, in the same way we as a society--"

Batgirl: "Is this supposed to be you?"

The Ken: "What? No."

Batgirl: "Are you sure? Sounds a lot like you."

The Ken: "I don't know what you're... You know what, just give it back. Give it back, if you're gonna be like that."

Batgirl: "Ugh, what IS this?! 'I feel like I'm inside my period?' This is disgusting. And the art is terrible."

The Ken: "I don't think you realize who you're talking to, Babs. I'll let it slide this time. That'll be $3.50, please."

Batgirl: "Huh?! I'm not buying this!"

The Ken: "But I'm giving you the chance to own a piece of history!"

Batgirl: "I don't care, I'm not buying it."

The Ken: "...You're a dirty whore."

There were other special guests at the convention; apparently they managed to book other celebrities besides myself, including Jonathan Frakes and Lou Ferrigno (who, incidently, is quite bitter about the turns his life has taken lately). Even the Knight Rider car, KIT, made an appearance. But the highlight of the day was when I managed this:

Leia-On-The-Left had a boyfriend, I think, who watched helplessly as this photo was taken. His rage was conveyed only through speechless mannerisms, and normally I'd be afraid because I'm a coward. But he was also wearing a green Imperial Admiral uniform, so I kind of had an advantage.

The Ken: 1

Imperial Admiral: 0

All in all, the convention was a lot of fun. I didn't sell a lot of books, but I had a really good time. A lot of my friends came out to support me, and to them I say thank you. To those that didn't, your days are numbered.

Comic conventions are like concerts; you're all there for the same reason, to bask in the weirdness inside of you, to express it outwardly in any way you choose without fear of judgment. Who you really are stays at home, and for a little while you get to live like a child in make-believe.

Some of us pretend we are warlocks and wizards, burdened by heavy quests of peril. Some of us pretend we are super heroes, with moralistic ideals that guide our mighty actions.

Some us pretend we are famous. We draw pictures for people who light up when we hand it to them. We sign books and shake hands and say "Thank you" a lot.

Who you really are stays at home.

-Ken Krekeler

4:27 am