Dear Stan:
Hi. My name’s Rob, and we almost met on 6th Avenue here in San Diego, outside that trendy, hotspot eatery that you were leaving and I was just getting ready to, well, pass on my way to a shitty Irish bar to drink my dinner. I was the guy with the “Beer” t-shirt and the ponytail who looked you in the eye, got visibly excited and pulled my camera out, remember?
I just wanted to let you know that, if your unfuckable cunt of a personal assistant would let you stand there for twenty fucking seconds with the only person in a hundred yards who recognized you and wanted a single fucking picture, people might stop calling you a senile Kirby-boning opportunist on the Intertrons.
Your pal,
Rob
P. S.: I know you invented Spider-Man, Stan; and I respect you immensely for that. But Spider-Man is one superhero, amongst hundreds of existing superheroes. I can think of a guy who invented an entire genre of horror fiction who can spare a few seconds for a fan. His name’s George. Maybe you’ve heard of him.
P.P.S.: The whole Stan Lee thing isn’t a humorous story just to lead in to posting my picture of me with George Romero. I did run into him on my way to dinner tonight, and his assistant did take one look at me and haul the poor old bastard out to his car. The awful hosebag took one whiff of my breath and apparently decided I was a security risk. So at least when Stan gets tired of picturing her while trying to futilely beat off and eventually fired her, she’ll have a bright future at the TSA.
[tags]San Diego Comic-Con, Nerd Prom, Stan Lee, George Romero, Transportaton Safety Agency, Stop Fucking Kirby’s Wife[/tags]
