Creature Con 2015
Jan. 15th, 2016 07:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rayasoWeek 5
Topics: Pupa and Waffles
Swamp Boy’s head felt like it was going to explode. Last night’s Creature Con wrap-up party had been a blast. “I can’t believe I won the Worst Dance Award,” he struggled to think, “especially with my combo Macarena/limbo dance.” Shark Man’s table top boogie had been great, but Swamp Boy had brought down the house when he had appeared au naturale.
“Wearing a man suit is too restricting, especially with my three eyes – and it’s damn hard to stuff yourself into those things.” The lighting had really made his fluorescent green skin stand out, but the maintenance staff had complained about his drippings. “Hell, everybody oozes something, even humans. Get over it and mop it up – it won’t kill you. It’s not like I’m Pupa.”
Pupa rarely came to Creature Cons because of her special needs. She would absorb humans into her pupa sack, leaving a trail of acid. This required a specially trained maintenance worker to follow her and spread an acid neutralizer. After she'd eaten the last worker, the union had gone on strike.
With Creature Con over, Swamp Boy had to drive back home—all 480 pounds of him, squished into a man suit, with the hangover from hell and his Creature Con t-shirt backwards and inside out. “How the hell did that happen?” he wondered.
Something stirred in the back of the car. “Oh well. It’s probably just a snack.” Swamp Boy’s memory was a little fuzzy just then.
Swamp Boy loved Creature Con – it was the one time of the year when he could be himself outside his swamp without causing a panic. “Those shotgun blasts sting – when are those yahoos going to quit shooting me and just leave me alone?” he thought, “It’s not like I eat their teenagers anymore.”
Sure, they’d been tasty little snacks, wandering into his home with their beer and cigarettes, playing their awful music, swimming in his swamp “There’s no Swamp Boy – that’s just a myth – I dare you to go in!” “Idiots.” “Has anyone seen Jenny? I don’t think she came back up! Let’s jump in after her!” “What did they expect? I wasn’t going to turn down home delivery!”
Those were the good old days, but Swamp Boy had finally decided that personal safety was worth a little dietary restraint.
At the 2010 Creature Con, Swamp Boy had attended a great seminar, put on by a lawyer. Normally, Swamp Boy ate lawyers, but it was considered rude to eat the guests.
This particular attorney had been there to show creatures how to achieve protection under the Endangered Species Act. After all, most of the creatures were the last of their kind.
One of the key restrictions had included not eating humans under 18 -- something about kids being too stupid to know better. Since there had always been enough drunken adults who wandered into his territory, Swamp Boy had signed up, and now he was protected.
Creature Con really had two parts, one for all attendees and one specifically for the creatures themselves.
Humans were welcome to attend as long as they signed waivers, and it was very popular. People liked to come and stare without being eaten, and most wore costumes of their favorites. Creatures with appendages sometimes signed autographs and everybody posed for pictures. Swamp Boy was a regional creature and not well known, but even he had a few fans.
There were always a lot of Bigfoot and chupacabra costumes at Creature Con, but Chupacabra himself hadn’t made it this year due to increased border patrols.
There were even some Pupa fans now and then, but it was hard to duplicate her acid trail. A mixture of clear Jell-O and dry ice seemed to work best in creating the stickiness and fumes, but no one ever got the smell right.
Fictional creature costumes were generally tolerated, but not always. Bigfoot hated the Chewbacas. At a past Creature Con, a group of drunken Chewbacas had surrounded Bigfoot, tried to speak Shyriiwook to him, and then shook their toy weapons at him. Bigfoot had demonstrated the value of the waiver clause in dramatic fashion, while the maintenance crew had required overtime pay.
Chewbacca costumes had declined dramatically in the years afterward.
The second part of Creature Con was for creatures only, and Swamp Boy thought this was the best part. Creatures could relax, be themselves, and socialize. When left alone, most creatures were fairly gentle; it was only when humans intruded on their habitats that they sometimes became violent.
There were also a number of creatures-only presentations. A popular one for those who wanted to pass as human was the make-up booth. This year, Swamp Boy learned that if he used talcum powder before struggling into his man suit, it would be much more comfortable.
Of course, there had always been film agents skulking around Creature Cons, dangling fame, fortune, and sequels in front of the creatures. Their promises almost never came true.
Swamp Boy remembered when the zombeavers had signed with a film company. “Hah! Those little bloodsuckers strutted around, bragging about hitting the big time, biting everything in sight, and then what happened? Direct to video!” Swamp Boy still loved the god-awful trailer that had come out of it.
The zombeavers had been scarce for a few years, but creatures were generally forgiving, as long as you weren’t trying to kill them.
“I think I know what’s in the back of the car – I’ll take care of it later,” thought Swamp Boy as he drove down the highway. “Probably something just crawled in after the party and passed out.” It had been that kind of party.
Creature Con was always great, but Swamp Boy was looking forward to returning to his swamp and relaxing in the cold wet goo.
“There’s the Waffle Hut,” Swamp Boy thought, “I’ll stop for some lunch and be home soon.” One of the advantages of wearing a man suit was being able to eat their food. Frogs, fish, snakes and the rare human were OK, but it wasn’t as good as a waffle. “Waffles don’t fight back, they aren’t slimy, and they never complain.”
After lunch, Swamp Boy's head was clearer. The rest of the drive home was gorgeous -- the landscape was beautiful, the weather was warm, "Wild Thing" blasted on the radio, and life was good.
Swamp Boy turned off the main road and headed down the long, rocky trail to his swamp. As he rounded the bend, he found a terrible surprise waiting for him -- every creature’s worst nightmare.
Monster Productions had descended on his swamp. The sole purpose of Monster Productions was to “discover” creatures by harassing them using any means possible, and then publicize them on Monsters of the World!, their long-running “reality” show.
At the moment, an assistant was in a boat on the swamp, preparing explosive charges to blast Swamp Boy to the surface.
This was a disaster. These goons never gave up – they had harassed Big Foot into a nervous breakdown before using an actor dressed in a cheap costume to play him instead.
Swamp Boy backed quietly up the trail. He had an idea.
He opened his car trunk and got out his emergency human disguise kit. He switched his Creature Con t-shirt for the Harley Davidson one, put on the Budweiser hat and a pair of dark glasses, and then got out a box and a fishing pole. Now he needed what was in the back seat.
“You there, zombeaver -- wake up! Time to be a star!”
He took a hidden path to the swamp, stopping only to release the zombeaver. Then he sneaked up behind the producer, and yelled “Hey you! What are you doing? This is my fishing spot!”
Startled, the producer turned around. “Don’t you know there’s a monster in this swamp? He's real, and we're going to catch him!”
“Well, I’ve been fishing this hole for 20 years, and I've never seen a monster.”
While arguing with Swamp Boy, the producer missed the disturbance in the swamp. The assistant leaning over the boat to set the charge suddenly screamed, and then disappeared beneath the surface of the swamp, leaving behind a hat and a trail of bubbles.
The producer heard the commotion, ran to the edge of the swamp and yelled “There he is! I told you so! We caught him!”
A loud roar made the unlucky producer spin around, only to face Swamp Boy in all his anger, his man suit on the ground, claws out and fangs dripping....
The producer and assistant were never found. Monster Productions had to go out of business, and they never harassed another creature.
The legend of the swamp grew and attracted even more curious people, not all of them teenagers, so there was plenty of food for all. Swamp Boy decided to share his swamp with the zombeaver, at least until the next Creature Con. The zombeaver smelled kind of bad and he drank too much, but so did Swamp Boy.
It was nice to have a little company.
* * * * *
Once again, I am grateful to my wife,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
halfshellvenus, for beta-reading this.
Link to the trailer for Zombeavers. See the awfulness for yourself.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5SmWys4sjfA
Topics: Pupa and Waffles
CREATURE CON 2015
Swamp Boy’s head felt like it was going to explode. Last night’s Creature Con wrap-up party had been a blast. “I can’t believe I won the Worst Dance Award,” he struggled to think, “especially with my combo Macarena/limbo dance.” Shark Man’s table top boogie had been great, but Swamp Boy had brought down the house when he had appeared au naturale.
“Wearing a man suit is too restricting, especially with my three eyes – and it’s damn hard to stuff yourself into those things.” The lighting had really made his fluorescent green skin stand out, but the maintenance staff had complained about his drippings. “Hell, everybody oozes something, even humans. Get over it and mop it up – it won’t kill you. It’s not like I’m Pupa.”
Pupa rarely came to Creature Cons because of her special needs. She would absorb humans into her pupa sack, leaving a trail of acid. This required a specially trained maintenance worker to follow her and spread an acid neutralizer. After she'd eaten the last worker, the union had gone on strike.
With Creature Con over, Swamp Boy had to drive back home—all 480 pounds of him, squished into a man suit, with the hangover from hell and his Creature Con t-shirt backwards and inside out. “How the hell did that happen?” he wondered.
Something stirred in the back of the car. “Oh well. It’s probably just a snack.” Swamp Boy’s memory was a little fuzzy just then.
Swamp Boy loved Creature Con – it was the one time of the year when he could be himself outside his swamp without causing a panic. “Those shotgun blasts sting – when are those yahoos going to quit shooting me and just leave me alone?” he thought, “It’s not like I eat their teenagers anymore.”
Sure, they’d been tasty little snacks, wandering into his home with their beer and cigarettes, playing their awful music, swimming in his swamp “There’s no Swamp Boy – that’s just a myth – I dare you to go in!” “Idiots.” “Has anyone seen Jenny? I don’t think she came back up! Let’s jump in after her!” “What did they expect? I wasn’t going to turn down home delivery!”
Those were the good old days, but Swamp Boy had finally decided that personal safety was worth a little dietary restraint.
At the 2010 Creature Con, Swamp Boy had attended a great seminar, put on by a lawyer. Normally, Swamp Boy ate lawyers, but it was considered rude to eat the guests.
This particular attorney had been there to show creatures how to achieve protection under the Endangered Species Act. After all, most of the creatures were the last of their kind.
One of the key restrictions had included not eating humans under 18 -- something about kids being too stupid to know better. Since there had always been enough drunken adults who wandered into his territory, Swamp Boy had signed up, and now he was protected.
Creature Con really had two parts, one for all attendees and one specifically for the creatures themselves.
Humans were welcome to attend as long as they signed waivers, and it was very popular. People liked to come and stare without being eaten, and most wore costumes of their favorites. Creatures with appendages sometimes signed autographs and everybody posed for pictures. Swamp Boy was a regional creature and not well known, but even he had a few fans.
There were always a lot of Bigfoot and chupacabra costumes at Creature Con, but Chupacabra himself hadn’t made it this year due to increased border patrols.
There were even some Pupa fans now and then, but it was hard to duplicate her acid trail. A mixture of clear Jell-O and dry ice seemed to work best in creating the stickiness and fumes, but no one ever got the smell right.
Fictional creature costumes were generally tolerated, but not always. Bigfoot hated the Chewbacas. At a past Creature Con, a group of drunken Chewbacas had surrounded Bigfoot, tried to speak Shyriiwook to him, and then shook their toy weapons at him. Bigfoot had demonstrated the value of the waiver clause in dramatic fashion, while the maintenance crew had required overtime pay.
Chewbacca costumes had declined dramatically in the years afterward.
The second part of Creature Con was for creatures only, and Swamp Boy thought this was the best part. Creatures could relax, be themselves, and socialize. When left alone, most creatures were fairly gentle; it was only when humans intruded on their habitats that they sometimes became violent.
There were also a number of creatures-only presentations. A popular one for those who wanted to pass as human was the make-up booth. This year, Swamp Boy learned that if he used talcum powder before struggling into his man suit, it would be much more comfortable.
Of course, there had always been film agents skulking around Creature Cons, dangling fame, fortune, and sequels in front of the creatures. Their promises almost never came true.
Swamp Boy remembered when the zombeavers had signed with a film company. “Hah! Those little bloodsuckers strutted around, bragging about hitting the big time, biting everything in sight, and then what happened? Direct to video!” Swamp Boy still loved the god-awful trailer that had come out of it.
The zombeavers had been scarce for a few years, but creatures were generally forgiving, as long as you weren’t trying to kill them.
“I think I know what’s in the back of the car – I’ll take care of it later,” thought Swamp Boy as he drove down the highway. “Probably something just crawled in after the party and passed out.” It had been that kind of party.
Creature Con was always great, but Swamp Boy was looking forward to returning to his swamp and relaxing in the cold wet goo.
“There’s the Waffle Hut,” Swamp Boy thought, “I’ll stop for some lunch and be home soon.” One of the advantages of wearing a man suit was being able to eat their food. Frogs, fish, snakes and the rare human were OK, but it wasn’t as good as a waffle. “Waffles don’t fight back, they aren’t slimy, and they never complain.”
After lunch, Swamp Boy's head was clearer. The rest of the drive home was gorgeous -- the landscape was beautiful, the weather was warm, "Wild Thing" blasted on the radio, and life was good.
Swamp Boy turned off the main road and headed down the long, rocky trail to his swamp. As he rounded the bend, he found a terrible surprise waiting for him -- every creature’s worst nightmare.
Monster Productions had descended on his swamp. The sole purpose of Monster Productions was to “discover” creatures by harassing them using any means possible, and then publicize them on Monsters of the World!, their long-running “reality” show.
At the moment, an assistant was in a boat on the swamp, preparing explosive charges to blast Swamp Boy to the surface.
This was a disaster. These goons never gave up – they had harassed Big Foot into a nervous breakdown before using an actor dressed in a cheap costume to play him instead.
Swamp Boy backed quietly up the trail. He had an idea.
He opened his car trunk and got out his emergency human disguise kit. He switched his Creature Con t-shirt for the Harley Davidson one, put on the Budweiser hat and a pair of dark glasses, and then got out a box and a fishing pole. Now he needed what was in the back seat.
“You there, zombeaver -- wake up! Time to be a star!”
He took a hidden path to the swamp, stopping only to release the zombeaver. Then he sneaked up behind the producer, and yelled “Hey you! What are you doing? This is my fishing spot!”
Startled, the producer turned around. “Don’t you know there’s a monster in this swamp? He's real, and we're going to catch him!”
“Well, I’ve been fishing this hole for 20 years, and I've never seen a monster.”
While arguing with Swamp Boy, the producer missed the disturbance in the swamp. The assistant leaning over the boat to set the charge suddenly screamed, and then disappeared beneath the surface of the swamp, leaving behind a hat and a trail of bubbles.
The producer heard the commotion, ran to the edge of the swamp and yelled “There he is! I told you so! We caught him!”
A loud roar made the unlucky producer spin around, only to face Swamp Boy in all his anger, his man suit on the ground, claws out and fangs dripping....
The producer and assistant were never found. Monster Productions had to go out of business, and they never harassed another creature.
The legend of the swamp grew and attracted even more curious people, not all of them teenagers, so there was plenty of food for all. Swamp Boy decided to share his swamp with the zombeaver, at least until the next Creature Con. The zombeaver smelled kind of bad and he drank too much, but so did Swamp Boy.
It was nice to have a little company.
* * * * *
Once again, I am grateful to my wife,
halfshellvenus, for beta-reading this.Link to the trailer for Zombeavers. See the awfulness for yourself.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-01-17 04:48 am (UTC)The story was hilarious! The part about the guys in Chewbacca costumes made me chuckle so hard. All these monsters - ah, pardon me, creatures in one place! Of course humans would toss money at it and sign all waivers necessary!
Real good!
no subject
Date: 2016-01-17 03:04 pm (UTC)Zombeavers are real -- at least movie real. No sane (or at least sober) person could come up with them. Take a look at the movie trailer link below. It's a howler.