Our little convoy looked like a scene out of *The Road Warrior*. We were rumbling a steady north-west up the interstate; going just over the speed limit to reach the sum total of our lewd desires awaiting us at our destination. And what was the pulsing terminus of our longing? This year’s Fuck Con.
This year the world renowned confab was being held under the mammoth steel canopy of the Circo® Dome™. Lord knows how the organizers were able to inveigle the wholesome-faced telecom giant to host such a debauched and not family-friendly get together. I’d heard whispers that Marty Gallows, the Desperadoes coach, and Lance Summeral, The CEO of Circo® had been caught blowing each other at a downtown sex club and Fuck Con’s deep-pocketed promoters were able to use the snuffed-out scandal to their advantage. The public line was that money spends, but we were prepared for the hordes of preachers and placard carrying flocks that surely awaited our arrival seething with anger.