We have many tales of San Diego Comic-Con adventure in store for you, through the week and maybe just past. I am completely fascinated with it this year for some reason, even though we've gone every year since 2000 and such enthusiasm should be all but burned out. I fully expect to synchronize with readers on a variety of topics, some of them thoroughly surprising. I also expect to take megadoses of vitamins A and C to counteract fully six days of exposure to those enervating halogen rods.
Something unique to my own experience at these conventions is that my role in what goes on here is somewhat ethereal. The Cyanide and Happiness guys can all draw and write in the way you would expect; if you come into contact with any of them, odds are good that you will have an experience which conforms to the ideal. If you should stumble upon a Wild Tycho in the tall grass, there is a very good chance that you will have a partial or fragmentary experience which leaves you angry, confused, and ultimately dissatisfied. I mean, I give it my best. But it is a rare individual who craves abrasive advice for Dungeon Masters coupled with conspiratorial murmurs re: bimetallism.
They do exist, though, these strange creatures, and having made their way to our holy mount I endeavor to dispense the requisite wisdom. For whatever reason, though I suspect it may be correlated with our global media empire in some way, people do approach us with broad questions about the deeper truths of .jpeg manufacture. I'm only too happy to oblige them, and the answers are blessedly short, which allows the petitioner to resume their undertaking immediately:
Start yesterday. And never stop.
That's the problem with the truth; generally speaking, you sound stupid or crazy when you say it.