The days of any kind of genre or cult fan meeting in one place to hang out and share in their enjoyment of whatever it is they enjoy are long gone. The “fan convention” has been replaced by over-stocked and over-priced celebrity worship gatherings. San Diego’s Comic-Con and conventions like Creations Fangoria’s Weekend of Horrors are a who’s who of studio PR machines and washed-up horror “celebrities” in need of a paycheck. If George Romero was nice to you at this years L.A. weekend of horrors he should have been, because Creation paid him a lot of money to be there. Director Tim Sullivan is always looking for an excuse to talk about himself, and any aging scream queen will gladly give you an autograph for $25. If you’re really lucky she will even let you buy her a drink at the bar. You can also stand in line for shitty free handouts, or to see an exclusive clip for a movie you will be able to see two days later on the Internet. While I never understood the allure of any of these things, many horror fans look forward to any horror convention coming to their town. If you happen to live someplace that they never do come to, just start your own. As soon as it becomes successful Creation will show up to muscle you out of the way, just like they did to New Jersey’s Chiller Expo. If you are lucky enough to live in a some-what marketable area, Creation will slop together some half-assed piece of shit, act like they did you a favor while still charging you the same prices. Don’t get me wrong, there are some good times and great things to come out of these conventions from time to time but discussing those things is not my purpose today. Today is about the company Creation and why I never quite cared for them in the first place.
I have hated Creation from the very beginning of our brief time together. It all started with a desperate phone call from one of their reps who wanted me to publish an article about their upcoming Weekend of Horrors in San Jose back in 2006. Fangoria had not been to San Jose for quite some time, and due to the fact that they were only banking on an appearance by George Romero to gather interest they seemed a bit nervous that it was going to be a flop – especially because Romero had canceled on them, a fact they asked me to keep out of my article. I published a press release they sent me in exchange for my press pass to attend the convention. A few months later when one of my reps for Lions Gate needed me to attend a panel at the Fangoria Weekend of Horrors in Burbank, I contacted Creation and they told me I “ needed to buy a pass like everyone else.” Which made total sense because the Burbank con was always one of their bigger, more successful events; they did not need me anymore so why should they deal with me? I eventually did get the press pass, nicknamed the Creation staff “McCunty,” and hoped that I never had to deal with them again.
After attending the pointless, low attended Austin Texas Weekend of Horrors I realized that I physically and financially couldn’t attend any more conventions. They were just not worth my time anymore. I decided that Horror Yearbook could still have a presence at these events, but without my bitter, jaded, drunken ass having to attend. We successfully sent our writers Kelsey and Mike Fish (who left the convention because it sucked so bad and instead paid to see The Signal) to Chicago’s Weekend of Horrors, and I donated free stuff to an auction at Texas Fear Fest. Our writer Molly Celaschi was set to make an appearance at 2008’s L.A. convention with our cameraman Jesus and I was all set on never having to deal with McCunty or attend one of these overpriced snooze fests ever again. That is, however, until Jesus was hit by a drunk driver ruining his plans to drive to L.A. (he lived don’t worry). After weeks of being worn down by Molly I reluctantly agreed to go to the now bigger and better L.A. Weekend of Horrors and I am so glad I did.
BANNED!
I spent a total of five minutes at that actual convention on Saturday; the rest of my time was wasted drinking whiskey in my hotel room while watching the NBA playoffs and porn. Later that night I decided I should socialize a little and grabbed an early stool at the bar before it filled up for the night. The piece of shit Holiday Inn where most of the attendees were staying could not handle the bar crowd and it was taking hours to get a drink. That is when someone tipped me off about a side bar in another room. It was heaven; while everyone else was fighting for a drink I had my own personal bartender. I over tipped, was grateful for her service, and went out to mingle with the poor saps who were still waiting for their drinks from the backed up bar.
At some point I decided I should probably eat at the hotel restaurant (that also couldn’t handle the crowd from the convention), and while waiting for almost an hour I ended up at a table with one of Fangoria’s “celebrity guests” for that weekend. When he expressed his disappointment with not being able to get a drink I told him about my secret bar and offered to get him his Captain and Coke.
I was standing at the secret bar for maybe the 5th or 6th time that night when I was approached by a female who was part of Creation’s staff. She told me I wasn’t allowed in there and that is when it clicked in my head: this bar was for the people who got suckered into buying Fangoria’s rip-off Gold Passes. These passes normally promise you premiere seating at the panels and some kind of lame desert dinner with the convention’s guests. Why I say they are a rip-off is that the premiere seating is normally empty, actually at most of the Weekend of Horrors I have attended I normally sit in them even though my Press Pass doesn’t allow me to do so. Even if the seats are not empty there are normally plenty of seats close enough to not make it worth spending the extra money. If the desert dinner is something you are into more power to you, I have never had the desire to buy friendship from people I could care less about. For the hundreds of horror fans suffering from aspergers syndrome, these passes are a dream come true; it allows them not to have to socialize with anyone, provides them with the structure and scheduling they are in need of, and perhaps it makes them feel important. I am also glad that Creation found a way to exploit the socially retarded because their money spends just as well as the rest of ours. However, for the lesser population of the socially normal genre fans who are looking to hang out with a few “celebs”, I would suggest just hanging out at the hotel bar after hours. Plenty of the weekend’s guests normally can be found doing the same, and only the real assholes would deny you the opportunity of taking a picture with them. This is also a great way to sort the dicks from the decent human beings who make up the horror genre.
Back to the story, I tried to explain to the volunteer (probably in a very drunk way) that I was getting the drink for one of their guests so it should be cool that I was using that bar. I then pleaded with the bartender to slip me a drink to no avail. That is when some scrawny guy showed up to escort me out. When I asked him if he was “security” and he confirmed that he was, I laughed in his face, cursed that I tipped the bartender so well all-night and left.
Now comes the part where I was very wrong but will still try to make it sound like I wasn’t. While leaving the “VIP” bar I tried to get the female volunteer’s attention to tell her how she screwed up and I slapped her arm. Please believe me, I know I was wrong but it was really an accident. I was just reaching out to get her attention, but while being pushed out the door and being drunk I just tapped her the wrong way, something I was going to apologize for if I was not rudely interrupted. It turns out that there was some staff love going on, and the guy I laughed at and this chick were dating. It must have seemed like a cute idea to volunteer at Fangoria’s Weekend of Horrors together and I am sure they got many cute pictures with each other that would make us all vomit. What he probably didn’t plan on was some drunken asshole insulting his manhood then rough housing his lady friend. In a pathetic attempt to prove his manhood the twerp blindsided me, attacking me while whining about his girlfriend and whatever else he was pissed about. Real security quickly separated my hand from his throat and after his hissy fit ended I was let go, BUT NOT ESCORTED OUT! Because I really did nothing wrong, I did not attack the female staff member but just acted in a way that warranted an apology. The Creation staff member was not trying to diffuse a situation, but rather was defending his non-existent manhood and escalating the situation in which we were both wrong, which in my (and obviously the hotel staff’s) book equals a wash.
This is when the Queen Cunt of Creation’s staff, and the police, got involved, because I can’t help but poke an open wound when I see one. I mean most people would have counted their blessings and would have been happy that they were not already banned, but I ask you “what fun is that?” So I went back to the forbidden bar about a half hour after the initial incident. I was pretty inebriated at this point, and being so, I really believed I had done nothing wrong earlier in the night.
Enter Queen Cunt and hotel security!
Here is some advice for Holiday Inn security and Queen Cunt: When escorting a drunk out, if he is actually walking towards the exit there is never any reason to grab him or push him into an elevator. Complying drunks are going to walk slow and talk shit, you just slowly walk behind them, tell them to shut-up and maybe shove them in the right direction every so often. It is security 101, you are making this person leave for a reason; he is drunk and can longer play with the other kiddies properly. The drunk is not making wise decisions and just needs a little guidance on how to find the exit. You do not want to grab, poke or push when it is not necessary, it could only make things worse. If the drunk is swinging, throwing stuff or trying to go back to the scene of the crime that is when you act in a fashion that Queen Cunt did. Rather then let me walk out she kept barking orders at some mindless fat guy, who probably has been dying to be a cop his entire life. Cunty demanding bitch – wannabe-cop-fat-slob and drunk guy is a recipe for disaster, but I was starting to come to my senses and I’m not really an out of control maniac so everything should have been fine. That is until Queen Cunt barked her final command and I was shoved into the elevator for no good reason. This is when I finally sobered up and could not believe my eyes. Queen Cunt had such an erection while making her demands that I am surprised she did not mount and fuck the fat slob security guard before ripping his head off. It took me 12 hours of heavy drinking, and a minor scuffle, to get my adrenaline pumping. It took this group of thugs 1 minute of pushing a cripple drunk guy around to make their panties wet. While standing in that elevator I feared for my life. I swore Queen Cunt was going to take me to some dungeon and interrogate and torture me for the rest of the night. Holiday Inn security was primed and ready; they could have thwarted a terrorist attack at that very moment.
As soon as that elevator door opened I ran before Queen Cunt could come up with any more bright ideas. Like in the movie Highway to Hell (where is Lita Ford when you need her?) I didn’t look back either, because I was afraid that the Creation bitch may have shed her human skin and showed her real face. I made my escape, found the always-reliable L.A.P.D. (thank god I’m not black) and after explaining the situation asked them to escort me back to the hotel so I could get my stuff. Let me tell you Queen Cunt was ready, she had me cuffed and more importantly had my convention bracelet cut off thwarting my plans to go back to the convention and buy that bootleg DVD I always wanted. This bitch was on top of everything: strutting around, barking orders, pulling people to the side. If she were in charge of the War on Terror Bin Ladin would already be dead and the Middle East would be burning in flames. She even made sure to help herself to one of my business cards for future investigation purposes I guess. Quick on her feet this one was I tell you. In retrospect I think Queen Cunt may have been Star Jones, I just didn’t know things had gotten so bad for her after she left The View.
In all seriousness I was banned because I acted like an ass. I apologize to the staff member who I touched inappropriately. I feel bad for the pussy who embarrassed himself trying to attack me, and I hope Queen Cunt gets infected with AIDS and Cancer at the same time. For anyone that the convention was “ruined” for – get over it, get a life and make some real friends. While it means nothing I honestly do spend everyday trying to promote the horror genre for little to no money. I do not know if I can say the same about Creation, and it has nothing to do with this incident, this just gave me the opportunity to say what I thought all along – Creation is a bunch of cunts!
Maybe next year I will buy a Gold Pass!
