<div class="bbWrapper"><blockquote data-attributes="" data-quote="Bak_and_Blue" data-source="post: 1896154"
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<blockquote data-attributes="" data-quote="Samuel T. Cogley" data-source="post: 1896029"
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<blockquote data-attributes="" data-quote="Bak_and_Blue" data-source="post: 1891029"
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Um, so what happened to my hero Samuel Cogley (a true comic genius) and where is the report on the romancing of JJ Abrams at Comic Com.<img src="/styles/flatawesome/xenforo/smilies/wink.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=";)" title="Wink ;)" data-shortname=";)" />
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</blockquote> <br />
Okay, here's the story.<br />
<br />
Let's just say it didn't go exactly as planned.<br />
<br />
On Friday, I got really sick (and I almost never get sick). I continued limping along at the Comic-Con for the next several days under huge amounts of medication, but I was a total wreck. Since I was wearing a sombrero, I was at least a handsome, Star Trek loving wreck.<br />
<br />
So by Saturday night, I was dying. My other friends had little interest in the "Fringe" panel (which was the only place Abrams, Orci, and Kurtzman were going to appear at the Comic-Con), so I knew I was on my own. But since I had given my word, I had to try.<br />
<br />
I propped myself up in a chair near the middle of the mostly-empty room and waited for the "questions from the fans" portion of the panel. My throat was so raw that I could barely speak.<br />
<br />
Finally, they opened the room to questions, and I got in line, leaving my bag of goodies back at my seat.<br />
<br />
I kneeled on the floor along with the others (as instructed by the Microphone Lady) and waited my turn. Unlike most of the other panels, this one was screening questions, so I knew that I was going to have to come up with a "fake" question, or I would have been shut down immediately.<br />
<br />
I came up with a fake question that would seque perfectly into my sombrero question. I gave the fake question to Microphone Lady. She pondered it slowly, judging my self worth. I wanted to smack her, but I was too sick. Finally, she gave the nod, indicating that I had passed her arbitrary scrutiny.<br />
<br />
Then, the moment of truth. I stood proudly and walked up to the microphone. I adjusted my sombrero for maximum effect. Microphone Lady asked me to stand very close to the microphone and speak clearly. I leaned into the microphone and my throat, dry and raw, made a squawk. Nothing came out. I cleared my throat and tried again.<br />
<br />
Now, here is what was <i>supposed</i> to happen:<br />
<br />
<b>Cogley</b>: "Fake question blah blah blah blah <b><u>AND</u></b> for those of you working on Star Trek, how do you feel about the Star Trek sombrero phenomenon that is sweeping the internet?"<br />
<br />
Here is what <i>actually</i> happened:<br />
<br />
As soon as I got the last word of my real question out, the microphone instantly went dead. I said "<b><u>AND</u></b>" and it was clear that the microphone was no longer on. I kept speaking anyway, hoping it was only a glitch. Microphone Lady rudely stated, <i>"That's it. That's all you get."</i> and rushed me along my way. I have no idea how they cut me off at that instant. It was as if they were reading my mind and knew exactly what I was going to do. I never even paused in-between questions! It was like they were psychic!<br />
<br />
Dejected, and sick as a dog, I limped back to my seat to find... that my bag of goodies was gone! <img src="/styles/flatawesome/xenforo/smilies/eek.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":eek:" title="EEK! :eek:" data-shortname=":eek:" /> What the frak!?! I had only been gone a few minutes! There was no one seated anywhere nearby (nor was there before I asked the question). I felt like Charlie Brown who had just been given a rock. Some guy several rows back said, <i>"Hey, security took your stuff."</i> I thanked him and then approached the nearest Elite (poorly named, apparently) staff member. They told me that they had already taken my stuff down to lost and found. This seemed unlikely, since it had only been a few moments since I got in line.<br />
<br />
I went down to lost and found. They said that no one had brought anything to them in days. This was not a good sign. Over the next several days, I went back and forth between Ballroom 20 (where my shit disappeared) and lost and found, to no avail. Basically, I was fucked, and my stuff was gone.<br />
<br />
So that's my story. I give myself an 'E' for effort, and an 'F' for execution. And I got fucked in the process.<br />
<br />
But I did ask Abrams, Orci, and Kurtzman a question while wearing a giant sombrero. And for that, I feel some semblance of pride. <img src="/styles/flatawesome/xenforo/smilies/thumbsup.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":techman:" title="Thumbsup :techman:" data-shortname=":techman:" />
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Awwww, that totally sucks. But you're still my hero. A for effort and if I was around I'd give ya some chicken soup.
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Now see, me?<br />
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I'm still back on page 76 or whatever, contemplating the reality that <b>Cogley</b> has a cute butt.</div>
