23 November 2014
Yes, people, beginning in mid-December, you, me (and anyone else with money to burn and no brains) can wade through merde at El Milagro del Scottsdale.
We, the brainless moneyburners, can interact with fictional (the best and bravest kind) heroes while wading through piles of shit, courtesy of Marvel Comix and our tendered cash, all in lovely North Scottsdale. It’s not real shit, no, sir…it’s virtual shit, but the smell is there, the taste, the texture, all of the reality of shit without having to scrape the stuff off after you leave the reality tents. (Image above was borrowed by quickmeme.com, it was just too appropriate to pass up.)
Where did this nonsense come from? Well, my significant other’s brother is working on the setup of the Marvel Experience show in Scottsdale and she (significant other, not her brother) showed me the website. For $27.50 I could get in the gate and for another few
bucks, no, that’s dollars (bucks is an insensitive term that offends native Americans and various antlered animals), I could visit various tents that would allow me to interact with comic book heros in a form of virtual reality. The site promises that I can choose to be any hero I want…
So, I made my choice!
To hell with SpiderMan, CockroachMan, or CrabMan (the scourge of the sexually active everywhere…)
I want to be: Young Man. I want to hook up with gorgeous young women on the spur of the moment anywhere. Gone are the 1/4″ thick rubber girdles of my youth, the ones that adhered to skin the moment a woman began to perspire then couldn’t be removed even with the complicity of both consenting parties and the likelihood of the woman consenting was rare enough as it was, even without the chastity device her parents had forced her to wear. Modern times are here. Vanished like zits under a coating of Clearasil are the woman’s fears that a French kiss will lead to pregnancy or that a brush of a hand against her breast might cause a bright, red A to be burned into the skin of her forehead.
Yes. That’s who I want to be: Young Man. The very words resonate through the interstices of my mind. YOUNG MAN. Gone is my gray hair, gone are the whiskers that grow from my ears and nose, gone are the wrinkles everywhere, gone is the need to begin my day with Lisinopril, Carvedilol and a baby aspirin. No more visits to the cardiologist every few months. No more wondering where went the memories of what happened when I keeled over at my desk eleven months ago today…to awaken in a hospital room in Tucson days later, hooked up like one of the comic book heros at the Marvel Experience Tour.
Sheeit. Maybe I am living (or at least existing) in a form of virtual reality. Young Man? Not likely. At least I’m still living.
All the rest is just piles of shit in North Scottsdale.