Then, like a great cry for attention personified, Gene walks into view. She tells us that Gene Simmons and the crew of his new reality show is coming around the corner and that we should just "act natural" if he deems us worth talking to. She leads with her strategically revealed, nuclear cleavage. In time we're approached by a short woman who is shackled down with all the technological trappings of a TV Production Assistant. We're at a booth where they're pimping some short film that seems to be about yet another "badass chick" who solves all her problems like a man (could babes with guns be any more Freudian for fuck's sake?). I'm rapping with a friend of mine at the anemic Wizard World LA comic book convention, a sad song of an event that's dangling off the cliff-edge of the world and loosing its grip more and more with each passing year.
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