Comic-Con was a few weeks ago, so this might not be the most topical subject, but no one ever said these drafts had touch on current events anyway, soshutupwhateverleavemealone. The beautiful thing about the event is that it’s a place for geeks to geek out to the fullest extent without fear of being judged (at least too severely). This leads to the only setting other than an IMF protest where you see average folks decked out in overly elaborate costumes. It’s actually cool to see socially backward people to use their creative energy on things that don’t involve stalking.

Therefore, you too will now draft a fictional character’s costume/get-up to wear to Comic-Con. It should probably be something sci-fi, video game or comics related, but we’re willing to relax the rules for other pop culture totems.

With my first pick, I select Inspector Gadget, that way I’ll conveniently have a trench coat ready so I can flash Olivia Munn.

I know a draft where earthly donuts are as sour as poison. You’d spit them out, you would!

When I went to summer camp back in the Great Depression or whenever the hell it was, we were allowed to buy a candy bar after lunch. Just one candy bar. The camp bought in bulk, so you only had a choice between two different bars on any given day. The rotation of the candy bars was completely random, so there was no pattern you could figure out where you knew in advance which candy bars were going to be offered. Oscar winners weren’t as well-protected as the identity of these candy bars.

I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that speculation over the day’s choice of candy bar consumed at least 80% of all morning conversations at the camp. The other 20%, naturally, were reserved for boobs. Games of HORSE were played before lunch with a candy bar at stake. If you won, you got yourself two candy bars, you lucky devil. But lose, and you are in HELL, forced to watch some other fuckface devour a Zagnut that could have been yours. Oh, the pain.

Once every session at camp, the counselors also took campers to the town of Eagle River, Wisconsin, where we could buy all the fucking candy we wanted and watch a movie (one year I got to see Tim Burton’s Batman, another year I got to see “Harry and the Hendersons” Raw fucking deal that year.) The sugar boners this trip caused were ungodly. Hordes of fifty to a hundred retarded young boys were unleashed on an unsuspecting town, buying every goddamn glucose-based product available. First you get the sugar, then you get the power, then you get the women.

My kid gets fucking jazzed as shit for candy now, and that’s kind of a cool thing to witness. It’s just candy. But when you’re a kid, and no one lets you drink, or drive, or feel their tits, when you’re basically not allowed to do anything, a candy bar is pretty much orgasmic. Children get a raw deal in life.

So now you get to choose. Time to ask the little child in you which candy bar you’d eat if it was your last meal and you never got to have a candy bar again. Basically, any individually wrapped candy is fine by me. Doesn’t have to be in bar form. And if you wanna pick loose candy from the Candy Kitchen or whatever the fuck knock yourself out. Discontinued bars are also fine (oh, PB Max). No fictional candy bars though. Pick one kind of candy, then wait ten picks for the next selection. My pick? Crunchie.

Mmmm, British candy bars.

I worked as a table runner for a whole lotta weddings in my time. Would you like to know the preferred first dance song of Torrington, CT white trash? It’s “Wonderful Tonight,” by Eric Clapton. I never want to hear that song ever again as long as I live.

I’m now at the age where everyone I know is sick to death of attending weddings. Any single friends I have left better go elope in Vegas, because I’m not spending $1,000 to fly somewhere, sit in a hotel conference room, watch you dance to “At Last,” and do the Electric Slide. It’s just common sense. UNLESS IT’S THE WHELANS’ WEDDING! NO INVITE FOR THE KINGS OF MONTCLAIR, MICHAEL?!

Anyway, this week, it’s the wedding song draft. Pick one song for you and your bride/groom/Japanese manga pillow to have your first dance to. Wait ten picks until picking again. Guess I better pick my actual wedding song.

Can’t go wrong with Otis.

My mom was a contestant on two game shows back in the 1960’s. She was on “Jeopardy!”, in pre-Trebek era. She lost, and was given a full set of the Encyclopedia Americana as a parting gift.

I can’t think of a shittier parting gift. “Hey, here’s twenty volumes of a ghetto-ass encyclopedia. We couldn’t even afford Britannica. If you need a hand truck to carry all 40 tons of it home, our rental fee is $50.” I’m firmly of the belief that losing “Jeopardy!” contestants should get to keep whatever money they build up. That’s how “Wheel” does it. It’s the one thing they have over Trebek and company.

My mom was also on a show called “To Tell The Truth,” where a contestant was faced with three people, all claiming to be the same person, and had to figure out which one was telling the truth. My mom was one of the impostors. She did not fool the contestant. She received nothing. We don’t have video footage of either appearance she made. I’m not lying when I tell you I’d pay at least two grand to get my hands on a tape. Your loser ass is out there somewhere, ma.

My wife went to high school with Colleen from “Survivor.” Said she was a loser. She also went to college with Sam, the crazy asshole from the first season of “The Apprentice.” And that’s about the depth of my connections to the game show and reality show world. My aunt and her daughter applied to be on “The Amazing Race,” but they got turned down. Same with two of my old co-workers (they totally would have hooked up on the road if they had done it). I tried calling once to be a contestant on “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?” when it was new and popular. I never got through. This is a shame, as I grew up a poor Indian child and learned any number of useless but karmically important bits of information along the way.

Anyway, it’s your turn. This week, you’re drafting a game show or reality show on which you’d like to be a contestant. THE RULES: Pick one show at a time. Can be a show from any point in history, old or new. Keep in mind, you’re the contestant here. So that means if you pick “The Bachelor,” that means you’re one of the crazy bitches vying for the guy, not the guy. I have no interest in anything that’s hard or takes a long time. I just want money in relatively short order. So my pick is, GUHHH, Deal Or No Deal.

You have to be a real piece of plywood to win anything less than $50,000 on this show. Which is exactly what happens to most of the people who go on. Big bucks. No Howies.

My TV went out this week. When I called DirecTV to have them come fix it, they told me they did not have access to anyone’s account information, and that I should call back in a day or two. Excuse me? A day? Whole day? What, you people think going without TV for a day is somehow acceptable? TV IS ALL I HAVE, YOU BASTARDS.

There are three services I can’t go without on a daily basis: air conditioning, Internet, and TV. The rest is gravy: phone service, lights, water, etc. All worthless. But TV? GET THAT SHIT FIXED. DirecTV, you just made MY FUCKING LIST YOU BASTARDS. Where did you lose all your account information, anyway? How the fuck do you lose that? What Serbian computer wizard has my precious account data? I would so switch to cable if cable wasn’t five times worse. AND DON’T YOU FUCKING FORGET IT.

Anywayyyyy, this week’s mock draft! Yes, this week’s mock draft is TV show character you’d like to room with. ROOMING DOES NOT MEAN YOU GET AUTOMATIC SEX. Au contraire. It almost certainly precludes it. So choose wisely. You choose a hot chick, you probably end up eternally frustrated. That said, my pick? Eliot from Scrubs, seen above.

Scrubs is a fucking annoying show. But this chick likes to get drunk, and she’s unreasonably attractive. I’m certain any number of… romantic misunderstandings?… could ensue! And she’d be too drunk to see that I have Bong Dick!

Yours in the comments. Pick one character. Fictional characters only, so no taking Conan O’Brien or something like that. I will, however, accept animated characters, because why not. Once that character is taken, all characters from their show are off the board entirely. Please wait ten picks to pick again. Now, DRAFT AWAY.

/stares at frozen blue screen. Fucking DirecTV.

I had five quotes on my gay little yearbook page. Here they are:

So many idiots, so few bullets. –Andrew Dice Clay

Not as edgy as I used to think it was.

90% of everything is crap. –Roger Ebert

Roger Ebert didn’t actually say this quote. Some guy named Theodore Sturgeon did. Up that percentage to 100% when discussing electroclash records.

Do one thing and do it better than anyone –Orville Redenbacher

This is the only one I kinda like.

Random Joe Paterno Quote

I’m not even a Penn State fan. I have no clue why I included this.

Oh girl, that feeling of safety cries. Well it comes where the hard heart cries. You can’t shut up and risk everything, without losing the love that remains. We’re all riders on this train. –Bruce Springsteen

If you know your Spiringsteen, you know those lyrics are completely wrong. I fucked up the transcription, making this quote both meaningless and gay. People always fuck up by trying to include serious quotes on their yearbook page. I wouldn’t include any of those quotes on my yearbook page if I had to do it over again. I think you know damn well which one I’d use.

RESPECT THE SUN. –PETER KING

Your turn. Pick a quote. Just one. Once you pick a quote by some person, all of that person’s quotes go off the board. NO PK FOR YOU! Wait 10 picks until you choose again. Semper fudge, people.

I’ve been saving the gay draft for a rainy day. And, since it’s rained for 3,490 consecutive days now, it seems like it’s about time. I’m assuming many of you will elect to not participate in this draft, and that’s okay. Because the reason I’m posting the gay draft today is to tell you this story:

I had a friend in college named Jon who, without fail, would get drunk and ask people annoying question after annoying question.

JON: Hey Drew, would you rather fuck your mom, or have your pubes ripped out?

ME: Uh, neither.

JON: No! You have to pick one!

ME: No, I don’t.

He was like a walking version of “The Book Of Questions,” which was the most annoying book ever published. He’d also spring this one:

JON: Hey Drew, would you suck a black dick?

ME: No.

JON: Why are you so racist?

Anyway, I was on a train once with him and two other friends. And he pops this one on us.

“If you HAD to fuck a guy, who would it be? Honest.”

Now, Jon never willingly answered any of his fucking questions, at least not first. And Lord knows there have been enough times in this world where some guy has purposely tried to annoy some other guy by asking that exact question. He threw the question around the horn. I said there was no way I was answering before him. Same with my other friend. Then we got to our friend Damon (not his real name).

DAMON: I’m not answering that.

JON: You have to! Don’t be such a fag!

DAMON: Okay, fine. Larry Mullen Jr.

There are a few rare moments in life where I feel like I’m going to laugh until I fucking collapse, and this was one of them. For real, who the fuck pulls out Larry Mullen Jr. when that question is asked? I think he had settled on that answer ages before someone had asked him it. After that, we played U2 on every jukebox we could find when Damon was around. I think someone also made him a Larry Mullen Jr. collage. The lesson, of course, is to never answer that question. And certainly, to never give it the level of thought that Damon did.

That said, IF YOU HAD TO FUCK A GUY, WHO WOULD IT BE?

The rules: Pick someone of your own gender to bang. Living or dead. You can either pitch or catch. You have to bang them, or else you get killed. BY RAPE! Either way, you die gay! Please wait 10 picks to choose again (like you’ll choose again, if at all). I don’t expect anything remotely resembling sincere answers here. But I’m gonna jump in the pool and give it some real thought anyway. My pick? David Geffen. Richest known gay man on the planet. He’s worth $6.5 billion. If I’m gonna suck a dick, I better be well compensated for it. I’ll be your pool boy, buddy. What do you think, Pete Townshend?

In this week’s draft, you’re choosing the funniest still images on the Internet.  Photographs, LOL images, and Photoshops (like this one — hee hee!) are all fair game; the only restrictions are no animated .gifs and nothing NSFW.

In your comment, please leave a brief description of the picture and a link; we hope that will minimize careless repeats.  After the jump comes my #1 pick; after your choice, please wait ten picks before selecting again.

LASER GUITAR WOLVES!!!!!!  FUCKING METAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I attended two colleges: University of Michigan (for a single semester) and Colby College (for the rest). I had a decent time at school, but I wouldn’t say college was the mass baby oil orgy I had been promised in the brochure. We can’t all attend HOLY FACKIN’ CRAWSS, you know.

To that end, let’s have a do-over. You’re picking your dream college this week. Maybe it’s one you wish you had gone to. Maybe it’s one you hope to go to in the near future. Regardless, I suggest you follow Bill Simmons’ advice and forsake academic pedigree for favorable climate and above average female talent. My pick? U. Florida.

/looks at above picture

Yep, I made a terrible, terrible mistake in real life. Yours in the comments. Pick a school. REAL COLLEGES ONLY. Please wait 10 picks before picking again.

Inspiration on occasion strikes, lightning in a bottle-like, those utterly devoid of talent and/or shame. Even repugnant hacks who spew hackneyed product designed for mass consumption strike gold once in a while on something that is both an artistic and commercial success. These works are as frustrating as they are rewarding, coming as they do from people who stumbled upon greatness, almost despite what they set out to do. Or maybe they just generally suck and got lucky. It’s a reminder of the capricious nature of inspiration in art. And it’s these fluky works of greatness that spring from the seed of fuckwittery that you are identifying in this draft. You’re looking for a memorably good movie, song, album, performance, book, painting, etc. from an otherwise lackluster or forgettable body of work.

My first pick is “30 Rock”. The artist: Tina Fey

There are more outrageous examples of hacks striking gold, but this one is particularly knotty for me, as it’s been difficult for me to reconcile my admiration of this show with my distaste for Tina Fey. Fey’s reign as the head writer for SNL presided over some of the worst years of the show. She was incredibly obnoxious on the Weekend Update desk, where she would get bubbly and high five Amy Poehler after all the jokes. It was grating. What made it worse were the scores of media profiles extolling her job as anchor and lead writer, glossing over the generally horrible quality of the shows. That treatment followed into her other projects. Mean Girls, however uninteresting, was generally well received and a box office success – though in a country where Night at the Museum 2 pulls in $70-plus million in a weekend. I’ve never seen Baby Mama and probably don’t need to. Recently, Fey got heaps of praise for the Sarah Palin character during the election, but has there ever been lower hanging fruit in comedy? I mean, people were already saying the Palin and Fey looked alike before one sketch was ever produced. The association was there, people just needed it to be actualized. That’s not to say Tina didn’t get the impression down, it was sound, but it hardly warranted the overwhelming pan-pop-cultural recognition.

But “30 Rock”. Ouf. It’s very, very good and only so much of that can I explain away with Alec Baldwin’s and Tracy Morgan’s genius on the show. Not as much as I would like. Bottom line, the show is very well written, and Fey deserves a lot of credit for that. And, Fey, after all, is the creator and star as well. A friend of mine and I are vocal in our dislike of Tina Fey, but we’re both dumbstruck and quiet on the subject of “30 Rock”. We just have to shrug and give her her due.