Since last year’s effort was so sprawling and academic, I thought this time I’d try something lighter.  Apparently there’s this new thing on the internet called “twittering” all the kids are doing.  I don’t expect many of you have heard of it.  It’s name comes from the root “twit”, which is also a clever acronym for “Truly Wasting Internet Traffic” (or possibly “Talking With Infatuated Toadies”).  It is the newest forum for hip internet luminaries like Tony Robbins, Bob Vila, Tony Danza and George Stephanopoulous.   Since this is apparently part of our dismal internet future, it’s high time I got used to working in that format.

So here you go, Atom.com.  Comic-con in no more than 140 characters at a time.  Let the twatting begin!

On trolley: Already overhearing discussions on “What if the trolley was a Transformer?”  I sense a long day ahead.

It’s not even 9 a.m. and people are visibly excited.  A little TOO excited.

As the train capacity approaches critical mass, I’m quietly regretting not bringing a vat of purel with me.  Not only is hygeine suspect, but I fear Fanboyism may be infectious.

An impromtu funeral procession with bagpipes.  Because why not?

I just found out the casket brigade is part of a Criss Angel promotion.  I thought I smelled douche!

Believe the hype.  A visit from the Pope only scores 3 out of 4 network news channels.

Overheard:  “I hate that Twilight show.  They try to make vampires all cool and werewolves totally suck.  Whatever!”

This quinfuckle wrap-around line represents people waiting for a presentation on Twilight for at least 1.5 days.  Spoiler: He’s a vampire.

Some guy gets so excited about a Captain Kirk joke that he spits on me as he talks.  Trek is actually making this guy drool.

Welcome to the greatest day in this Tween’s life.  Apart from when he discovered he could violate his gym socks.

If only.  If only…

Saw the new Jack Black game “Brutal Legend”, a metal-infused hack’n'slash platformer.  My PS3 preemptively melted from its mere mention.

*Obama pimp hat and cane are not included

“‘Bunnny Rabbbit’.  Whaaat?”

The quest for lactose has begun.

What’s a flock of platypus called?  A platipile!  HAHA!  Just kidding, it’s an orgy.

I call this portrait “Guy Who Wishes He Took The Time To Finish His G.E.D.”.

This is great tool for comic artists.  It’s also the closest some of them will get to an actual vagina.

A snapshot of “Kaiju Monster Wrestling”.  I’d laugh, but it’s actually less retarded than the WWE.

Overheard while crossing a crowded room: “This is where a high dexterity score comes in handy!”

“Imagine there’s no drive-bys….it’s easy if you try”

In the abyss, no one can hear you fap.

Captain Pimp never leaves shuttlebay without a spare ho.

Me v.s. Neil on atom.com greenscreen.  I have a warrior’s heart, just not their upper-body strength.

I just saw a jedi on his cellphone.  It’s not that impressive by itself, but my coverage sucks here.  The force is strong with Verizon.

“Wow!  I can finally get autographs from official Twilight impersonators!  SQUEEE!”

Thomas Jane, star of “The Punisher”, is wearing sunglasses indoors while signing autographs.  Someone is on track to unseat Criss Angel as Douche Of The Convention.

This is the 2nd worst volunteer job at Comic-con.  Number one is still the guy in charge of making excuses to Kynt & Vyxsin for why their autograph line is so short.

World of Warcraft is releasing new trading card packs to “bring the MMORPG to the table”.  No one has bothered to ask Blizzard “Why the fuck would you want to do that?”

I just saw a 60 year old woman working security. “Elite Security” might want to rethink their brand.

Imagine how crushed he was to find out that Kenny G-Con wasn’t until next week

I’m grabbing a burger 4 blocks away at a mobster-themed restaurant and they still have Star Wars episode II on TV.  Amazing.

My Little Drug-Trip Pony

Superpowers:  Flight, fabulousness

Because someone had to out-Tarantino Quentin Tarantino

Quick Marketing Tip: I won’t buy it if I’m too terrified to go past the cover.

The J List booth actually hands out promotional tissues with their wares.  I can’t imagine why.

Arguably the most ergonomic mousepad on the planet

Keeping checking the homepage for more Atom news from Comic-Con!

]]> http://www.atom.com/blog/2009/07/30/comic-con-ii-the-atoming/feed/ 0 http://www.atom.com/blog/2009/03/16/profile-of-a-real-life-supervillain-the-nuclear-pedophile/ http://www.atom.com/blog/2009/03/16/profile-of-a-real-life-supervillain-the-nuclear-pedophile/#comments Mon, 16 Mar 2009 17:43:03 +0000 Robert Brockway http://www.atom.com/blog/?p=427 Through metaphor, simile, or analogy, comic books reflect our meager human dramas in grandiose terms. They drive their simple points home in complicated ways – reflecting on the nature of good, the balance of power, and the personal responsibility of modern man. By virtue of outlandish scenarios and ridiculous plot points, they lay bare the reality of everyday life. Other times, real life says “fuck that noise,” and decides to show comic books how this shit is done. This is one of those times:

Thomas Leopold is the dean of an English tutorial college in Harrow, Middlesex. He is a wanted sex offender, and a pedophile. He is also so radioactive that he poses a danger to himself and others. And he is also, unfortunately, an escaped convict.

Start taking notes here, comic books, because this is how you write the perfect super-villain.

Leopold recently received an intensive radiation treatment, after he was given large doses of radioactive liquid iodine to combat a thyroid condition. Normally you’d be hospitalized for about six weeks after this kind of treatment, and your contact with others would be strictly monitored so that you don’t sicken your loved ones with your poisonous aura, but not Leopold. No, he’s most likely roaming the Irish countryside right now, probably not blasting kittens with his evil radiation pulses, (but one can be forgiven for assuming so.)

The real danger of Leopold comes from any first or even secondhand contact. Thomas Leopold is quite literally a radioactive man, and his physical body is easily capable of radiating others in his immediate vicinity. Whether that poisoning is from physically touching him, being too near him, or just using a seat soon after him, is really up to you and the metaphorical Russian Roulette you want to play with the nuclear man. The radiation can be passed by other means than strict contact, though – including saliva, sweat, or even urine. So, not only could he strangle you with his child-touching cancer hands, but the man literally pees nuclear poison!

He truly is the perfect antagonist: Point me to a more reviled villain than a child molester; point me to a more intimidating profession for that villain than a professor; now point me to better super-powers than the ability to sweat out a slow nebulous death, or just smothering your foes in a radioactive headlock.

Thomas Leopold, (or as I like to call him, Professor Polonium Pornography,) escaped the police while taking a ferry to Ireland in early February, 2009. Seeing as how he was radioactive and needed to be contained for public safety, he requested to remain in his own vehicle for the journey, which he was allowed to do after he showed his radiation card to ferry operators.

Which, incidentally, is the single most intimidating card a man can possess. Picture it: A sickly man stands before you – physically frail, though his intellect is still apparent by the keen dart of his eyes. He rubs his hands together and lewdly eyes your child across the room. You demand to see this man’s credentials, for what right does this horrible creature have to be here? He smiles amiably for the first time, his cruel face breaking at the seams with this obviously unfamiliar expression.

“My card,” he says, handing you a slip of faded white paper.

You turn it over and recognize the intimidating iconography of the international symbol for nuclear energy.

And as the lights suddenly begin to flicker and dim, you can see his bony hands – now glowing in the twilight – reach for his fly. Your throat tightens in fear; your mouth becomes impossibly dry.

“I’ve got to take a leak,” he cackles, “a reactor leak!”

But listen, even if you despise my inane ramblings, I want you to come away from this blog knowing one simple, undeniable thing: Any way you cut it, there is a British professor out there, right this second, who is pretty much a nuclear powered child molester. And  the world is simultaneously just a little more awesome, and a fuck-ton more terrifying because of it.

Read more from Robert at his own site, I Fight Robots, but nothing’s going to top the radioactive death urine.