Still a little winded from my corset trial, I dizzily put my sweater back on-- backwards, this time. My costume has improved! Instead of being "big sloppy guy," I'm transformed into "big, sloppy, hastily-dressed guy."
Dazed and backwards-sweatered, I rest a moment beside a Winnie the Pooh action figure and its companion, the erotic anime butthole figurine. I consider asking the booth operator how much an anime butthole figurine costs, but something inside me says that I don't want to know the answer.
Nearby, I find a disturbing booth filled with alarming dolls. Bald, frail, and housed in coffin-like boxes, these sad creatures sell for hundreds of dollars to people who probably harbor ill intentions toward them. I am sobered, but my commitment to infiltrate anime is undiminished.
Tragedy strikes: police have cordoned off a booth where somebody lies motionless on the ground, clearly having overdosed on anime. The officers resist my intrepid photographer's attempts to take a picture. Another anime victim is swept under the rug by the crooked San Jose police force, fat on Pocky and anime kickback money.
I start to feel like I'm in a bad trip. That Buffalo Springfield song plays in my head: "there's something happening here / what it is ain't exactly clear." The world swims around me as a corpulent manimal plays a haunting banjo refrain.
Are you concerned that you may be a character trapped in a Tom Waits song? Be smart and learn the warning signs before it's too late. Also, it's too late. It has always been too late.
I'm haunted by a recurring vision of a skeleton flipping me off. To avoid seeing this terrifying image in bumper sticker form, I pay someone with a blank bumper to drive in front of me at all times.
The Something Awful front page news tackles anything both off and on the Internet. Mostly "on" though, as we're all incredible nerds.