Yes, you're going to have one gosh-darn-heck of a grand ol' time at the con, and I'd like to give you a few hints as to what you can expect from this most wondrous of events... First, but not necessarily in that order, there will be the themed discos. During these you will experience much merry-making, singing, joking, laughter, dancing, drinking, falling over, puking, getting off with complete strangers, and so on, to be followed the next morning by copious head-holding, shuddering, cringing and – probably – hiding. Next... Oh, why should I go on? Look, if you've received this then you're already a member of the con, so there's no need for me to keep selling it to you, is there? You're coming along and you're going to have a blast, that's all you need to know, right? Besides, you can read more about the events in the following pages. Rats! Now I have a half page to fill and nothing to put in it! So I'll tell you a little about myself, shall I? Are you sitting comfortably? No? Then we'll begin... I was born nearly forty years ago in a little mid-west burg called Midwestburg, probably one of the most appropriately named towns there ever was, or ever will be, not including Smallville, of course, but that one's fictional so it probably doesn't count. I always thought that "ville" meant "house", and not "town", but according to the "fun facts" section of the Midwestburg Gazette, the local paper back home, I was wrong. I say "paper" but let's be honest here, it's just weekly eight-page advertising rag masquerading as a paper by throwing in a few reports on the local basketball team, along with recipes by someone called "Auntie Meryl" which is probably just a pseudonym for whichever hack they can browbeat into writing that damn column every week. Most of the recipes are the same things over and over anyway, for stuff like oatcakes with raisins, and that old favourite, strawberry cheesecake. That was the only one I tried to make. I remember afterwards I told my Dad, "If those morons at the Gazette think that I'm going to let them get away with tricking me into poisoning myself again, they're wrong! I'll get the bastards for this!" I can't remember exactly what Dad said in reply, but it was probably something like "I wouldn't do it, son. Put the gun away." But that was Dad, always a man of reason. Very punctual, too. Very reliable. I always knew I could count on him to show up, whereas most of the other guys would sit around on their bunks on visitors' day worrying whether "Betty-Lou" or whichever skank they'd last hooked up with would bother to drag her dumb ass out of bed long enough to get to the bus station. Anyway, I seem to have just about reached the end of the page now, so I'll finish up. Thanks for signing up for our convention! You know you won't regret it! See you in October! Best,
Bill Tyler, Chairman
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Hello there, and welcome to the very first progress report for They Came and Shaved Us, the
convention that redefines the word "convention"!