Uknighted Manganime Life is too short to watch bad anime

Some anon made this awesome comment on the 4chan dev blog, and seeing as how it would likely vanish into the midst of time, i decided to copy and past it here, for my own future reference. I don’t nessary believe it, but it’s definately amusing

Also check out this post
for another rant on the same subject

http://www.4chan.org/blog/2006/04/25/meeting-the-fans-a-guide-to-not-wanting-to-live-anymore/#more-14
Comment 1345

As a faithful congoer to Anime Weekend Atlanta (moot’s parents let him go once, Snacks probably goes more often due to convenience of location), I feel I must dispel any questions concerning shut’s original post.

This is all true.

If you have hardly been to anime conventions or have never been graced with the opportunity; this is, for the most part, completely true. For three days every year for the past four years, I have withdrawn from normal society and cocooned myself within the depths of a dank, gaudy, overly-colorful convention hotel and let my inner Japanese schoolgirl take a death grip upon my very soul. That would usually depress me to no end and would probably ensure that I was thoroughly beaten and scorned by normal society, but for these three days, am accepted with open arms.

Indeed, the Japanese animation convention is a sight to behold. Acne-pocked, sniveling, chubby American youth speaking disgustingly broken Japanese around every corner and shoveling Pocky down their throats at rates comparable to diabetic genocide. “Sugoiii, look at that Edward-kun! Kawaiiii!!” Short, spectacled men in their early 40’s hassle gay hentai dealers, demanding in shrill voices if they have “Neon Genesis ANALGELION,” issue 5. A man dressed in nothing but a sheet wrapped around his genitalia plays Dance Dance Revolution while his cheering section grows. Browse the viewing rooms, and you’ll find at least two packed with over 200 large, sweaty people. The max occupancy is clearly stated out front: 125 occupants. It’s the yaoi hour. Last year I took a candid picture of the four Link clones from Legend of Zelda: Four Swords, all sitting at a sports bar sipping cocktails. Yes, this is not only a call to arms for all “otaku,” no, this is war cry for the misrepresented freak shows of every subculture in a 50 mile radius. Two boys paraded the convention two years ago, both in cat ears and rhinestone-studded women’s makeup and clothing (for the most part); one’s shirt had the cast of Cowboy Bebop printed on the front, the other’s read “I (heart) DICK”. Brokeback Bebop was dragging “I (heart) DICK” around on a dog leash. Videogaming rooms have to be shut down at intermittent hours, even entire tournaments cancelled; the reason? Fumigation.

This is only the tip of the iceburg.

For those of you asking about “glomping,” everything you have heard is true. The description in itself does no justice to the sheer terror of experiencing one first-hand. A “glomp” is, quite simply, an easy medium through which anime-addicted, socially-deprived fangirls channel their pent-up sexual frustrations. If you are a male between the ages of 14-32, dressed in a kawaii (that is japanese for cute) cosplay, are a “sexy bishie” in general, or ask for one out loud (it’s much like Aquaman calling for seacreatures, only smellier), you will be charged by any of the aforementioned fangirls and “forcefully hugged.” If you have ever watched American football, this is comparable to a quarterback sack. If you aren’t physically and emotionally prepared, a well-placed glomp can end your convention prematurely.

The seriousness of a cosplayer’s career is also just as true as shut depicts it. Prime example: AWA, two years ago, there was a medical emergency in the main atrium. Someone passed out inside their costume from posing for pictures for too long. Last year, there was an award for “Best “In-Character” Cosplayer,” which was given to a stocky lad dressed as Enter the Grave from Gungrave. He hauled his elaborate coffin up the stairs, was asked to say a few words, and promptly pulled his gun (Left Head, not Right) on the presenter. Peelander Z, a Japanese “kaiju” rock group out of New York, had to ask the audience during the middle of their show why they were even there. (If Peelander Z has to ask civilians why they are playing somewhere, you know something is wrong.) I attempted to have a conversation with someone in a full cat costume, but only recieved “meooow?” as an answer.

I have heard rumors of larger cel-shaded art orgies in other equally dark and equally recessed corners of the nation; conventions that last longer and draw a higher occupancy. AWA usually draws around 3500. Otakon (one of moot’s favorite stalking grounds) has a hilariously depressing banner on their website at the moment: “There are just 100 days until Otakon 2006! 20508 memberships left!” There were 1000+ more memberships two weeks ago if my memory serves me well. It is a moot point (no pun intended), however, as EVERY ONE OF THESE MEMBERSHIPS WILL BE GONE, bought up by anime dilletantes and underaged Inuyasha fangirls frothing for the chance to possibly smuggle out a hard copy of “Inuyasha, the Doujin: Affections Touching Across Dick” to further enchant their Sengoku period-less reality.

As despicable as these occult rituals seem, I see it only fitting to say that I enjoy the hell out of them. I can act like a complete moron (I can act like I do on 4chan!!), and not only *not* be questioned, but be accepted by those around me, and possibly even joined in the collective mind-numbing retardation. PC gamers have lanparties, movie fanatics have movie nights, new-age poker fans have the majority of the Travel Channel’s programming schedule, so I suppose it’s only fitting that a subculture so rapidly rising to the top of the festering cesspool that is mass media have its own outlet to channel countless, hopeless otaku like us through.