Every hotel room in southern California was booked within eighteen femtoseconds of the San Diego Comics Convention reservations webpage being uploaded. That’s it, people. If you didn’t get your booking confirmed within eighteeen femtoseconds of the starting pistol, you’re screwed. Because there are one hundred thousand hungry people out there who need to attend San Diego Comics Convention in order to walk right past all that comics shit and go straight to sniffing Brandon Routh’s cricketbox, sending bits of themselves to the cast of SERENITY and masturbating ferociously in the men’s stalls while wearing V FOR VENDETTA masks and discounted Hulk Hands.

No, of course I’m not going.

Nerd Prom: It Begins Now. Never forget.