Fear and Loathing at Grand Prix: Detroit

“The Blessing of a hometown Festival is that you know where the opium dens are. The Curse of a hometown Festival is that the opium dens know who you are.”

Boris Devilboon, Letters from the Unholy Citadel

festival

Friday Night Derailed

A simple plan.

Dress up nice. Drink the whiskey. Dance in the Fire. Disappear before Sunrise.

The rhythm was fucked from the start. Problems on a job site put me an hour behind schedule leaving work and traffic kept the freeways at a crawl. I could save time by abandoning the journey home to head straight to the venue, but without my supplies it would be a wasted trip. Reality was threatening my Friday Night at GP Detroit, and my blood was boiling with contempt as I forced my way onward.

I took a shower and shaved my head. I was already behind schedule, but I was not going to look like the savage bastard I intended to act like. I gathered the fresh batch of Green Mana Cookies™ I made the night prior and my binder of extra cards, mostly Oldschool stuff I have upgraded or the remnants of the last collection I inherited. On the other side of the Weekend a Bazaar of Baghdad would be waiting for me, but it would not be free and it would not come easy.

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Magic, Mayhem, and Metal: Ramblings from the Underground

“In matters of grave importance, style, not sincerity, is the vital thing.”

Oscar Wilde, The Importance of being Erhnam

point break

All of this began with a recounting of the second time I was mugged. But the more I wrote, the more complicated it became. The lines that define began to gray and fade. The story painted me in an unjust light. I was the victim, yet the words seem to suggest I was the villain. As I read it I cursed the writer for his slander, only to bite my tongue in realization that I was the recipient of the lashing.

So for now, it will remain shelved. And for a rare and capricious approach, I will begin with and primarily discuss Magic.

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