I used to work at a comic store, and let us just say when I started there five years ago you would not call them progressive. Their definition of independent was Chaos Comics. If not for the fertile bosom of Pokemon, they would have gone the way of many retailers in that period. They were one of those Marvel/DC/Image retailers that chose "stability" over profit. For them, the Previews catalog stopped at Wizard, and graphic novels were for Barnes and Noble. So when Blue Monday appeared from Oni I was the only one asking for it. Well, me and this one Adam Warren fan. You can arguably say I was the only Hispanic male in San Antonio who bought this comic.
Cut to now. The store doesn't suck anymore because we finally got the owner to realize how much money he was losing. It's not perfect, but it's pretty good. I've since left the store, but I'm still considered staff since everyone asks me questions like I'm still employed by them. So one day I’m in there and I see someone with one of those Blue Monday patches on their hoodie sweater and I think "Wow, a fellow fan. I'll partake in casual conversation with this fine chap." Then I say ,"So, you like Blue Monday?". Now I know I'm not being Johnny Articulate, and I may have deserved a "Shut up, faggot!" in response, this being Texas. I accept that. However, what I got was, "Whatever, poser." "Poser". Yeah, I'm an Indie poser. Sure, I may have just finished explaining my theory about if Tomax and Xamot from GI Joe ever decided to screw each other the ensuing reach around would destroy the universe, but I'm not telling you who to vote for. I'm just talking about comics in a comic store. And also, this sphere of a man wouldn’t be reading that if I hadn’t ordered during the store's enlightenment. I should be an adult and ignore him, I shouldn't care what he thinks, but no. You can't live life like that because then the terrorists win or something. This is my store, or at least was my store, sort of. But there’s an unwritten code retailers know, “In my store I dispense the insults, not absorb them.”

"Calm down man. It’s not my fault restaurants don't consider gravy a beverage choice." Not exactly four star, but enough to make comic guys laugh.

Now is a good time to say that this guy looked like a short, fat, Mexican Brian Setzer. The kind of guy who shops for clothes based on which food stains they go with.

"Hey, don't get mad at me because you're not a real fan. A REAL Chynna fan would have this (pointing at the aforementioned patch), and these." He then pulls up a backpack lined with Blue Monday pins. "And this San Diego me and my friends are gonna finally meet her, and I'll come back with a sketch and show all you bitches."

So now I don't REALLY like Chynna's work because I'm not covered in Blue Monday. I haven't had the cast tattooed inside my eyelids so they're always in my dreams. Because I didn't buy every Buffy issue or every Action Girl or find that Groovie Ghoulies album or steal a lock of her hair that I slowly burn every night in hopes of transferring her spirit into a makeshift Real Doll so that she can draw comics for only me. Yeah, I'm obviously not a real fan. But before I can respond with anything he leaves. In a big greasy huff.

The worst part is the patch is sold out, so I’ll never be part of their exclusive club. Now I do have a sketch by her. Okay, I don't really, but my friend did commission one for me last year but when it came it was signed to her and that was all the excuse she needed to keep it. Yet somehow, it still counts as my birthday present. Anyway, the next day I ask Victoria (one of the staff) about that guy. I describe him and tell about the bag and the jacket and patches and so forth.

"Which one?"

"What?"

"Dude, there's like five guys who do that. And they're always talking about meeting that chick."

"This is God's way of getting back at me for writing dirty jokes in hotel bibles, isn't it?"

So there's a group of them out there. A local cadre of pants-splitters are militant about Chynna Clugston-Major. And it's all my fault. Take heed this warning, if a group of fanboys in matching Blue Monday sweaters show up, run. Or, you can get used to hearing "It takes the lotion and puts it in the basket."

Pit of Vipers Moment Back in 98, my significant other at the time was published in Action Girl (an anthology that did not pay artists by the way, not that she was any less excited. You got comp copies to sell, so that was cool.) It was this story about an Okinawa land mine in a baseball field and really old M&M's. I'd say her name but now she hates me. Anyway, Chynna was also in that issue, #15 I think. We both liked her story best, and my girlfriend e-mailed her saying so. Then some guy e-mailed her back saying he would pass along the message. I remember thinking "What a bitch, she can't answer her own fan mail. It's just Action Girl." Now having an understanding of how working in comics sucks and how it's filled with on-line harassment from strangers who have some combination of hatred and lust for you, I see how lucky she was to get any response at all. And that fellow's name was Guy Major. I'm willing to accept it’s not a fake name, but a parent may as well name their kid Pinnacle McZenith. If it is fake, then just go all out and call yourself Hercules Q. Rockefeller, Rory Dropkick, Ignacious Squat-thrust or simply Klaus Von Awesome. Oh well, hopefully this was worth a punch in the face at San Diego by Lance Uppercut or whatever he calls himself now. By the way, I just get hatred in my email inbox. That and ads for penis enlargement.