Comic Con? More like Camel Toe Con

I recently took two of my favorite guilty pleasures to a whole new level of dedication: I attended two separate conventions. At a convention center over an hour away. Yeah, that dedicated. Specifically, Anaheim's Comic Con and Kush Expo, as both a comic/cartoon enthusiast and "casual" smoker. While stumbling around said cavernous convention center on both occasions, I began to notice how many attendees were indulging in our shared guilty pleasures as well as several others simultaneously. Though the conventions were mostly held indoors (the exception being the outdoor smoking section for medicinal marijuana patients at the Kush Expo), it was very much a festival-style free-for-all in regards to the amount of merrymaking via moderately priced booze, hook up attempts, and of course, female nudity.

"Do these leaves make my nipples look fat?"

Nuts to those scientists who said humans can't multitask: perhaps they didn't think to study unproductive behaviors along with productive ones. I could serve as a case study, as I had no trouble busying myself with my own guilty pleasures simultaneously at both conventions. And what are those you might ask? What else but consuming useless sundries and judging people? And in both respects, I was a happy hedonist in heathen heaven. The Comic Con girls were wild, but I kind of expected that (see: Wonder Woman). But the Kush Expo vendors' girls put them to shame, exposing more than Rihanna would feel comfortable wearing onstage or on the cover of Rolling Stone. It was at once magnificent and at times grotesque, like Halloween on Jersey Shore. Creativity abounded, but not always in the right ways or on the right people. Wigs and platforms approached Gaga heights, and I saw several girls wearing what could only be termed "ass chains": an assortment of chains beginning at the top of one's thong and attached to seemingly random other body parts and clothing. Ass chains are the Edible Arrangements of the fashion world: no one can believe they exist, and yet people keep buying them.

"I've got nothing to wear....hang on, the ass chains!"

After while, cracking wise at all of the attempted covert wedgie picks and near-fatal stiletto spills started to get old. I begged my boyfriend to let me take a picture of his face sandwiched between two pairs of barely-bikinied expo breasts, but he politely declined. I thought about having him take one of me, but struggled over what face I would make. Proper smile? Boring. Saucy wink? No, they'd expect that. Glamour shot-style folded hand to chin pose? Hmmm...maybe if I had brought my reading glasses, retainers, and worn some shorteralls complete with ass chains to make it extra sexy. I guess there's always next year! 

 

Does this even need a caption?