[OCTOBERFEAST is the greatest celebration of the year, a revelry dedicated to pop-culture’s most nutritious Halloween detritus. Plastic screams and artificial sweeteners have never been more bountiful. In the old country, villagers refer to the extended party as Satan’s Snacktime]
Most of the year, society politely asks its freakazoids and dweebies to shut the fuck up. To stay in the shadows. To look at the ground when walking. To never – ever – look an authority figure in the eyes.
From the ash-heap cinders of incendiary ostracization is born the Weirdo-Phoenix. LAN-parties and midnight movies and D&D basement gatherings and comics conventions? The nests of the Weirdo-Phoenix, the few designated safety-zones in which it’s okay to not fit in. In which it’s okay to debate whether orcs or Skrulls are more formidable foes. In which Dew flows like wine. In which the familiar themes of fantasy and sci-fi and horror are life philosophies.
Needless to say, OCTOBERFEAST is the absolute Mecca for gawky misfits.
So who is the resident misfit at the `Feast, the seasoned kook who can bequeath sagelike guidance unto the next class of angsty asthmatics? Well, some people call him Brian. Others call him the original Antichrist Superstar.
But we can call him Marilyn Manson.