What is this person buying from a pharmacy? Nothing that will benefit mankind, I’ll warrant. 

I used to be a goth. A proper one, who would not leave the house with first festooning myself in crushed velvet, eyeliner, talcum powder and at least two unfeasibly large hats.

Many people saw me. Many people laughed as me and my little gang – an erstwile group equally caught up in the romanticism of gloomy men covered in flour shouting indecipherable lyrics about Cthulhu into the fog – dodged between shop awnings to evade the watery sunlight. We drank cider and black, found philosophical meaning in the work of Wayne Hussey and drank heroic quantities of cider & black.

 
I don’t care what you say. You have not known true happiness until you have flung yourself around a dancefloor to this, while dressed in combat boots and a cardigan. 

I tell you this not because I want you to feel sorry for me, but to let you know I understand how much fun and comfort can be had dressing up like a buffoon, going to a place full of like-minded buffoons and cutting loose, far away from the normal people who don’t understand and make one’s life a misery.

Despite all this, I still find vague comfort in pictures of Comic Con events. Not only do my sartorial decisions look justifiable, even cutting edge, against this kind of competition, but hardly anyone took pictures back then. 

Twenty years on, visual evidence of my crimes against sense remains mercifully limited. Unlike these poor sods.

You two in the ‘taches & fatsuits can come in, but your mate in the snazzy waistcoat is barred. I’ve told you. 

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So these two horses walk into a bar… etc.

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Things had gone a bit downhill for White Zombie since Rob’s side projects took off, but everyone made an effort for the reunion. 

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While this person was looking for the ticket machine, parking offences in the greater New York area dropped by 132%. The Police department is now looking at making this compulsory wear for traffic control officers.