Every year there is a festival in Tulsa, Oklahoma where nerds get bashed into oblivion. Bullies gather from all around to take a crack at a slew of unsuspecting pencil-necks. The dorks are lured here with the promise of “the comic-con of middle America” and scrounge up their meager earnings from working at Toys ‘R’ Us to fly in from all around the country. The Bullyminati, a secret organization run by top tier twerp terrorizers, sends an unmarked envelope to locally-renowned bullies everywhere. The envelope contains a plane ticket, a hotel booking receipt, and a coupon for a free pair of boxing gloves from Dick’s Sporting Goods.
—
The air was chilly at the front of the line, which spiraled down the outside staircase of the circular and phallic-shaped convention hall like the threads on a metal screw. Davey had been standing outside the convention hall for 12 hours just so that he could have a chance at getting the exclusive new Figuarts George Lucas (Current Age) figure. All sources say that only 5 will be produced worldwide and two will be here. Lucky for Davey, he’d somehow managed to be the first in line. He wasn’t used to succeeding at anything and was actually quite uncomfortable, but he was ready to squirm and weasel his way to his destination no matter the cost. All his life, Davey had squirmed and weaseled his way through events and even curled up into a cozy little ball when the time called for it.
There were a good two-hundred people currently in line. These were the few, the proud, the geeky, the always-fun-to-be-around fans of Dr. Who, Game of Thrones, and whatever was airing on CW at the time (probably Arrow). The layer of stench was palpable. Davey waited until an intake of air was absolutely vital to his survival and sucked in just enough to last him another minute. It’s as if the other con attendees hadn’t showered in preparation for more lack of hot water touching their skin for three days.
Out from the entrance to the convention hall came a man and three scantily clad women, aka “booth babes,” prompting a symphony of hoots and hollers. The man barked something into his megaphone: “Guys and gals, gentlemen and ladyfolk, I welcome you to the first annual Nerd Bash 20XX!” The line went absolutely bonkers. One girl in line cried out “I wanna be the very best” while fading toward the end because she was afraid that nobody would join in but, to her surprise and pathetic elation, the next line of “like no one ever was” swelled in earth-shaking volume as every other freaking person in line started screaming that tune at the top of their sugar-coated lungs. The man with the megaphone folded his arms and nodded until the singing died down.
Davey came down from his communal singing high and inspected the man. He acts like one of us, but he doesn’t look like one of us. The man was not only dressed as Biff from Back to the Future, an incredible movie by Davey’s account, but even looked like Biff aesthetically. Sort of leathery skin, with a coif hairstyle, athletic blue eyes and a smug smile to boot. Davey was not too concerned, but instead envious that someone could look so much like the character they were cosplaying as. Davey was dressed as Gendou Ikari from Neon Genesis Evangelion. He’d spent the last month sitting exclusively like Gendou in preparation and figured he could use this as an excuse to grow out his beard. It’s a little patchy, Davey thought and then reassured himself even though realistically he was never sure of anything he did, but beards are pretty much a chick magnet no matter how unhealthy and rat-like they look.
An hour passed and the line grew even longer, probably around 1500 fanboys and fangirls stood like supple pink lambs to slaughter. Davey had struck up a conversation with a guy named Bill, who was second in line. Bill was from Seattle, Washington and had spent about half of his savings on air fare, hotel costs and a platinum ticket. Those who purchased the platinum pass gained access to a secret exclusive underground panel hosted by an undisclosed mystery guest. All it took was the word “exclusive” for Davey to relinquish his next few paychecks from his telemarketing job to cop that pass. Bill looked like someone who ate too much dairy and too little of any naturally occurring food item, like someone who had never seen a hopeful look on the face of their dermatologist. He was friendly, though, and willing to help Davey potentially beat away others so they could both get their hands on that sweet George Lucas figure. The severely (though thankfully) under dressed women had started at the back of the line and finally made it up to Davey and Bill. Bill got really excited and had his picture taken with all three. He hover-handed one but actually went so far as to lay a sweaty thumb on the girl to his right, an indicator or Bill’s good mood and temporarily boosted confidence as opposed to his usual flatline. Davey forwent the photos, opting to wait until he was in the convention hall and could meet up with some other Evangelion cosplayers. He would settle for Asuka, but Rei was his girl.
Five minutes before the doors opened, the Mouthpiece/Biff of the convention came back out abruptly but said nothing. He instead lifted his hands to the sky, open-palm. It was everything Davey could do not to lose his shit as this was obviously a reference to Goku’s Spirit Bomb from Dragonball Z. “Hey everyone, lend him your energy!” Davey cried as loudly as he could. Almost like what Davey imagined “the wave” was like at baseball games, everybody in line behind him raised their hands to the sky. Some had tears streaming down their face, some had that doofy grin, and some were plain frothing at the mouth losing their minds at the reference. This convention is going to be a blast Davey thought, excitedly biting his cracked, peeling lower lip. The “energy gathering” went on for another 4.5 minutes until Biff dropped his arms, took a deep breath and, with a voice that awoke sleeping babies for miles, bellowed:
“I now commence this most splendiforous convention… OPEN!”
Davey’s arteries flushed with adrenaline. He clasped hands with Bill and they charged into the convention hall. Banners with the name of the convention hung from the ceiling. The hall was circular and the floor paneling spiraled to a circle the radius of a school bus in the middle. Each booth was blaring their own promotional music and bleeps and bloops echoed from arcade cabinets. One corner was entirely dedicated to a series of arm wrestling arcade machines in which the player arm wrestles a solid, veiny plastic arm. Disgusting, who among us would want to play that thought Davey. It was all very overwhelming and disorienting. “Davey! Forget the arm wrestling dude, let’s get the statue!” Bill shouted moistly into Davey’s ear, snapping him out his stupor. Looking around, Davey noticed several other tag teams gunning it for the action figure. He grit his teeth, gripped tight to Bill’s securely fastened lanyard and booked it.
Three duos had made it ahead of them. The first one Davey passed was a duet of limping, panting and overweightness holding such little consequence and physical aptitude that there was never even a snowball’s chance in a European sweat lodge of them even coming close to the precious figure. Why did they even both trying? The second group was difficult to catch up to until the two fell victim to a stray banana peel planted by the front-runners. Slide…and CRACK! Two concussions later and they are down for the count, even being passed by the last place duo several minutes later. The booth was near the center of the room and Davey was nearly half-way there. To Davey’s chagrin, the faster group was even closer. “Come on Bill, get your ass in gear!” Davey barked, but looked at Ben and saw a man exhausted and damn near sweating his limpy nutsack off.
Davey had no choice but to dislodge Bill’s hand from his ample bottom fat and lunge forward. Bill obliged and yelped longingly as he collapsed to the ground, asking Davey to save one for him. Davey would do no such thing, but let Bill believe whatever he wanted. Davey hiked up his left hoodie sleeve and ripped off the piece of duct tape secured to his hairy, ape-like forearm to reveal a small vial filled with the slipperiest substance Davey could conjure, which was concocted from WD40 and his own special blend of personal lubricant. He uncorked the tube and upended it onto the ground ahead. Davey lunged forward and slid at break-neck speed on the oil lane he had created. The heat from Davey’s exhausted New Balance sneakers was melting the soles. His tendons tightened and he could barely keep his balance as Davey came face-to-back with the leading duo. Crack went Davey’s nose and Smack went the team’s faces on the unforgiving linoleum flooring.
After a hop and skip over the lifeless bodies that he had felled, Davey scooted on up to the booth. This was the very booth that would fulfill the reason Davey came in the first place. Not for the fun, not for the camaraderie, not for the special memories to be made. No, he was here for the fuckin’ collectibles. There’s nothing quite like opening a new figure and whiffing the synthetic vinyl. It gave Davey a high unlike any drug, he assumed. Lo and behold, Biff was manning the booth personally.
“Looks like we have a winner. What’s your name, buddy?” Biff asked.
Davey was nervous all of a sudden. He stammered and laughed uncomfortably. “It’s David. Davey is what I like being called, but you can call me whatever you want.” Biff’s expression didn’t change and he didn’t break eye contact with Davey. Davey had the overpowering urge to just leave and sweat it out in the restroom. He was getting the figure first, though.
“Alright buddy, the figure is $80.”
“It was advertised as being-” Davey was cut off by Biff bursting out in laughter.
“I’m just fuckin’ with you buddy, it’s $50.”
Davey fished around in his left pocket and pulled out two crumpled twenties, a crumpled ten and a few singles for tax. He hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. The bills were handed off by a trembling hand. The Biff crouched down and came back up with a box. “It’s in here,” he said. Davey was leery, but opened the box which turned out to be empty. “Oh, sorry buddy, must’ve grabbed the display box, here’s the real one.” Biff crouched down again. There was no figure on display but Davey decided to take maybe-Biff’s word for it. Davey didn’t even want the figure any more, if he was being honest with himself. The guy behind the counter came back up with a box. Davey grabbed it and was about to head to the toilet when Biff said “Hold on, buddy, I’ve gotta ask you something.”
“Um, okay?” Davey couldn’t keep still, he was shaking.
“You ever wonder what pussy feels like?”
Davey’s heart skipped a beat and he started trembling harder, becoming weak at the knees. “H-huh?”
“I said ‘Do you ever wonder what pussy feels like?'”
“Uhh y-ye..hahaha.” Biff had a snide smile stretched across his face. His skin suddenly looked even more smooth, leathery and devoid of pimples. This is bad, Davey thought.
“Why are you laughing? I wasn’t joking.”
Davey panicked and looked around for someone, anyone. He hadn’t noticed the convention hall fill in around him. There were many others looking as panicked as Davey. There was a security guard nearby. “Excuse me, t-this guy is making fun of me.” Davey had grown up in a society that severely frowned upon tattling on bullies. But he was an adult now, it was immature not to do so.
“I really can’t blame him, mouth-breather,” said the security guard, smiling and cocking his head.
“Oh no,” Davey muttered. He could hear similar cries of dismay from those nearby. Biff jumped on top of the table, donning boxing gloves and shouted: “Alright boys, lets bash some nerds!”
Nerd Bash, that makes sense now, thought Davey as he was slugged in the face by the security guard. Biff combo-d that by socking him in the stomach. The box fell from Davey’s arms and Biff picked it up. He smiled and upended the contents, cold spaghetti and tomato sauce, on Davey’s head. Childhood memories of breaking things and spilling things and even the spaghetti scene from Master of Disguise filled Davey’s head and made tears well up in his eyes. “This isn’t what I came here for, I came here to get away from this treatment.” Biff and a few other bullies surrounded Davey and just laughed.
After a solid five minutes of laughing and occasionally kicking, the bullies rounded up Davey and the other nerds into a clearing on the convention floor. Some nerds had tried to jump out the windows and escape through the doors, but everything was pretty well sealed, at least to the point that one had to be kind of strong to exit, which many here were not. What would Commander Shepard do? Davey thought feebly, whimpering in unison with those around him.
Suffice it to say, the beatings continued for quite some time. Testosterone was expended, adrenaline was pumped, the floor became slippery with stupid tears and nerdy blood. In the end, the nerds were loaded onto busses and shipped off to nerd internment camps in the Rocky Mountains. Davey was assigned to his crowded cell full of angry, hardened nerds. It was only a matter of time before the fresh meat was to be broken in.
Davey curled into a ball in the corner and cried softly, whispering “kimochi warui.”