Pacific PonyCon: The Diamond Cunt Perspective

It’s been a little over a week since Pacific PonyCon has come to a close, and I'm only just now getting over my hangover. Save for the lingering need to speak in Australian accent and call every grill I come across as "Sheila," the events of the past weekend seem like a distant memory.

The tale of Pacific PonyCon is truly a grand one. And what better place than to start, than from the beginning?

Day -1 - Wednesday

It was Day -1, and a storm was brewing. From all over the country, horsefuckers of all shapes and sizes flocked to my small two bedroom apartment, gathering for the final journey down to San Diego. Like any group of a horsefuckers, each of us had a crippling case of autism. But, on top of that, our autism was accompanied by Australian accents and A LOT of booze; for we are the Diamond Cunts.

We had three goals in mind for the weekend; getting completely shitfaced, passing out cans of Fosters (and other booze for those who didn't want the piss we drank ironically) to anybody who would take them, and engaging in drunken autistic shenanigans.

Pic related, just a small part of our load.

Day 0 - Thursday 

After what would be our last good night's sleep for the next four days, we awoke on day zero with minor hangovers from the previous night's drinking, the hyp for the convention slowly building up. There were some doubts about the con, as the idea of scheduling a convention at a beach resort in the middle of El Nino raised more than a few eyebrows within our group. The predictions of rain throughout the weekend certainly didn't help.

Nonetheless, after a few hours of goofing off, we threw our copious amounts of booze, "props", and other supplies into our vehicle, before packing everyone inside and getting underway.

After making a few pit stops and stopping at the side of the road to re-secure the tarp keeping the stuff strapped to top of our transport dry, we arrived later that evening in the middle of a heavy downpour.

Unfortunately, we didn't have anybodies numbers, and no one had told us what room the suite was to be in. So, we immediately made our way to the bar to get a few drinks and figure out where the rest of our mates were.

After passing around the daki that one of my boyos brought along about the bar (which somebody hijacked to use to describe the fandom to a couple that wasn't there for the convention), we finally managed to get in touch with Chelis, and figure out what our room number was.

We quickly made our way to the suite, excited to get our things put away and settled in so we could our con experience started.
...only to find that the suite that was supposed to room all of us was not even half the size of what we expected. In fact, it wasn't much bigger than the average hotel room.

Realizing we had gotten the shaft, we quickly went up front to get our own room, somehow managed to snag a suite (which happened to be easily double the size of the one we were using for parties), and got our shit squared away, before returning the original suite, where the day zero "party" had began to get underway.

The "party" really just turned out to just be an autistic circlejerk with booze involved, which really wasn't all that surprising, considering most of the people that would be attending, had not yet arrived. After passing around our daki some more (and spitroasting it with one of my boyos), and drinking more than a fair share of the booze in the room, we gathered several horsefuckers who had also gotten fucked by the size of the original suite and headed to our room to grab some rest.

Day 1 - Friday

I awoke on day one in Germany: Hotel Suite Edition to a hallowed out dildo being pushed into my mouth by a giggling gang of autists. After tossing around the ole' foreskin with my mates, we were alerted of plans to hit up Denny's for breakfast. We shook off our hangovers, tossed on our hats, and left our hotel room behind.

This process took about thirty minutes, since a lot of my boyos are special needs.

After much intense waiting and yelling, we finally all piled into our 4runner and followed the lead vehicle to our destination.

Remember: If you don't end up going to a Denny's hungover with all your boyos at least once, you're doing conventions wrong

We spent a good fifteen minutes triggering the diner's manager with our autism before our food was brought to us. Everyone else got the usual breakfast shit, I got a burger because I'm a special snowflake.

It was aight.

Upon destroying our collective meals like a bunch of fucking Amerifats, we filed out of the Denny's. Most of the people who came to Denny's ran off to hit up liquor stores and sex shops, but the Diamond Cunts and I (plus a couple stragglers) opted to pile into our transport and drive back to the convention, loudly chanting and singing Men At Work the entire way back.


By the time we had gotten back, we had already missed the opening ceremonies, which sounded like a massive circlejerk anyways, so nothing of value was lost.

 

We took a few seconds to head back to our room and grab my booze ruck (which was filled with 40-50 pounds beer and liquor), before hitting the con floor.

After circlejerking with some of the con guys up front, we made our way to Mummified's "Your OC Sucks Live" panel, as we enjoy shitting on OC's like anybody else. We killed some time at said panel, but eventually, our short attention spans and alcoholic desires caught up with us, and we departed for the vendor hall.
 

After throwing around some cash and acquiring a small collection of merch, we paid the BABSCon booth a visit, where I offered to give them some of my supplies on the condition they make me a special guest at BABSCon 2016. I'm still waiting to hear back from them, but I do appreciate them taking a few pounds off my back.

At that point, we left the vendor hall, then got yelled out by hotel security because of the props we were carrying back and forth between our suite and con area, which was something we really couldn't avoid doing. Collective moans of sorrow were had, but we said fuck it and headed up to the /mlp/arty suite to drink away our sorrow.

>Wake me up inside

We arrived in time to witness Chelis receiving several gifts from the anons who ventured to the sex shop earlier that day. Namely, a gummy dildo on a stick, and a tampon (which I heard somehow made it's way to the con floor). You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was dead on the inside.

But his trance didn't last for long, as he shoved a drink into my hand and pulled me aside to discuss matters of top importance. As previously mentioned, the suite my group had acquired had easily double the room the party suite had, and Chelis was more than aware of that fact, having drunkenly stumbled into my room the previous night. He had one simple request; that we let them use our suite for the /mlp/arty later that night. Of course, we were happy to oblige.

As soon as we agreed to the request, a working party was gathered, and almost immediately went to work. At that point, we had only a couple hours to clean up our room, move anything we couldn't fit in our closet upstairs, and move the party supplies downstairs, and to the beach, where we were also going to be serving alcohol to anyone who could legally drink it. Our group also happened to be in charge of carding people and crowd control for the "bar" we were running outside the concert, and I had a panel I needed to attend shortly afterwards, so time was of the essence.

Luckily, we managed to get everything ready with plenty of time to kill, and even had time to setup a table display to replace the usual horse cocks that we were unfortunately missing.

With that out of the way, we made our way down to the beach, where the beach party was just getting started, and fortunately enough, El Niño decided it was going to bitch out that night.

I stuck around long enough to watch part of the first set and to draw a penis in the sand with fellow hard cunt before I was dragged away to Chelis's fanfiction panel by my boyo Dustypwny. I showed up with drink in hand, ready to make a drunken ass of myself like I had been planning to do so all week long, only to find that the panel host was no where to be seen.
Five or so minutes later, Chelis stumbled into the panel room, revealed we had literally no plan for the panel, and we attempted just fucking roll with it.

It turned out as well as you would expect. My plans to make an ass of myself was thwarted, as I simply couldn't compete with the drunken Mexican sitting beside me. That one EQD guy crashing and trying to get things somewhat on topic didn't help things either.

Ironically enough, I'd say that was probably one of the better fanfiction panels I've been on.

Halfway through the panel, Chelis received a text from our bartender alerting us that security was shutting things down at the beach, and apparently the party in the new room as well. Fearing the worst, I excused myself, gathered the Diamond Cunts that followed me to the panel, and double timed it back to the hotel room.

Turned out that our situation wasn't nearly as dire as the text had implied. We arrived to find the con chair telling us that we needed to move our party back to the original, smaller suite, as there were non-con guests in the neighboring rooms.

We were hesitant to give up a suite with much more room than the one we were gifted, so the bartender and I made our way up the lobby with the con chair to figure out a solution, while I had the others prep to move everything back and forth between the two rooms.

Over the span of the next couple minutes, things quickly started to go from bad, to worse. We ended up discovering that the resort had put a non-con guest next to the original party room, despite the con having registered the second floor specifically for con guests, and had things set up so parties wouldn't have to deal with any noise complaints from other guests. To top that off, somebody dropped the ball, and gave the green light to have everyone come to the room we were about to move out of without our permission, forcing me to go back to our room and fix the situation.

After what seemed like an eternity, we finally got everything sorted out with the hotel, and we had everyone move everything back and forth as quickly as possible

Unfortunately, by that time, everybody had bailed, save for about a dozen people. Still, the small size of the party didn't prevent us from drinking and having a good time.

At this point, the Horse News panel was rapidly approaching, and we needed to get our drunken asses over there before we missed it. I had been invited to crash the panel earlier, so I ended up doing so with a few other random people who wandered up on stage to crash the panel.

No one was quite sure how much Chelis drank, but in this humble Diamond Cunt's opinion, I'd say he went a little overboard.
The master plan that he came up with for the panel was to have members of the audience come up and voice "legitimate" complaints to the panelists about Horse News. I mean, nothing could go wrong with that, right?

A few people played along and came up to shitpost with us, as we spent the majority of the panel trying to get people to participate, letting Chelis abuse our Aussie chants for his autism (we're sorry, boyos), trying to get Chelis to leave the panel, watching Peter New roast people on the panel (him telling that one dude who shit on season two to fuck himself gave me a giggle), and passing around the daki that we brought with us.

Near the end of the panel, things suddenly got serious when someone leveled accusations at Horse News that they used freelance photographers to take pictures of cosplayers while they were changing.

Of course, Horse News doesn't use freelance photographers, so when the burden of proof fell upon the attempted white knight, he mumbled something about the evidence being buried, scrolled through his phone for ten minutes, then slunk out of the room.

We're still waiting on that proof, boyo.

Minutes after the white knight left, the panel came to a close, and the flirting panel that Chelis was also supposed to host started almost immediately afterwards.

Of course, we simply threw him out and made him go to bed, so I said, "fuck it," and took his place, joining Strumpet, Bear, and some random dudes who crashed the previous panel with me.

Despite the awkwardness from the previous panel, the flirting panel surprisingly quality. Drunkenly sharing stories of me spilling copious amounts of spaghetti on grills when I was a socially awkward high-school student was pretty fun. I'm pretty sure I said the word "minge" a few times too, though I can't quite remember.

Of course, the good times ended when some shit cunt decided to hijack the panel and try to make some autistic point about only one guy being there for pony, and the rest of us being there for pussy, or some stupid shit like that.

We're here for booze, not pussy.
>no hooves and all that. Get it right, you cunt.

Luckily, it seemed like the panel hosts had gone over everything at that point, so we just watched the shit cunt spill his spaghetti until the con staff booted us out early. Apparently they got tired of his shit, too.

Ding dong, the witch is dead.

With the panels over and done with, and the concert apparently fucking dead, we all returned to the party room, and found that things were sadly just as dead as we left it, with only a dozen or so people milling about, drinking and "trying" not to wake up Chelis, who had passed out on the bed. What was supposed to be a party quickly cooled down into a tightly knit chill out session, with most of us venturing out onto the deck later into the night.

After a good hour of standing around, smoking and drinking while chatting with my boyos, I managed to get my hands on one of the two elusive chairs out on the deck.
As soon as I sat down, my lap became occupied by another one of my mates, who had also grown tired of standing around all night long. Everybody else quickly got the same idea.

To this day, I have no idea how that chair didn't collapse under our combined weight.

The chair continued to hold out, and thankfully, since I'm not a shit cunt who skips leg day, neither did my legs. We killed a few more ciggies and drinks before realizing that we needed to get some fucking sleep, and made our way back to our suite.

Of course, our autism wouldn't let us get any sleep, as in our drunken state, we somehow thought that shoving five people into one bed would be a good idea, especially after just leaving chair con. Nope.

It wasn't gay, though, as we were all in silkies, and there was a Sheila involved. We exchanged a few "no homos," just to be safe, though.


 Day 2 - Saturday

Another morning, another dildo shoved into my mouth. Another dildo throwing contest. Another invitation out to breakfast, this time out to IHOP.  There was a difference between the Denny's trip, and this one, though, for a good number of us decided we were going to wear silkies (ultra short compression running shorts that had a tendency to let your bits and pieces fall out for the uninitiated) in public.

This had a lot of mixed reactions, including a few whistles (which I responded to with a hearty "CHEERS MATE!") and talks of me being motivating, which I guess is what we were going for when decided to wear them in public. After scarring many people and enjoying the shit out of the crêpes I ordered, our group was sent to Vons grab some chasers for the party later that night.

We received more reactions from people there, including one worker who pulled me aside and directly asked me why I was dressed like that. I could only simply respond, "I wanted to embarrass my friends," which earned me some free vodka. Cheers, mate.

It's not a con if there's no gay bathhouse.

After getting back, we dropped off our supplies, grabbed some drinks, and hit up the hot tub. After screaming drunkenly at a few birds and scaring off all the normies with our autism, who were trying to enjoy themselves, I went back to my room to catch a nap.

The true savior of the party.

The rest of day two for me is foggy. Word on the street was that I drank enough to compete with Chelis the previous night, and supposedly some illicit materials. I'm calling bullshit, because I can't remember shit.

Supposedly after milling about the party for a couple hours, one of my boyos and I joined Strumpet and Rhetoric for a "walk" through the hotel, which led us to the hotel lobby, where I apparently spent twenty minutes tripping out over fruit infused water.

Eventually, we moved on to the concert, where I apparently harassed my Japanese boyo about his involvement in Pearl Harbor, the Rape of Nanking, and the ambush scene from the first level of World at War.

Still waiting on that apology, you shit cunt.

I somehow found my way back to the party, which was in full swing. But with my most of my boyos out of action, and me tripping balls (supposedly), I decided to cut my partying short for the evening, and hit the sack.

Day 3 - Sunday

For Steve Irwin from Nonnymouse on Vimeo.

I awoke on day three with another hangover, and luckily, no dildo shoved into my mouth this time around. Unfortunately, because the hotel staff were a bunch of shit cunts, we weren't able to do a late check out, so we had to rush to get everything packed and cleaned up.

We did have enough time to use our remaining Fosters to pay tribute to our fallen cunt, Steve Irwin (also known as Big Cunt), which can be seen in the vid above.

As we finished checking out, the other anons ran off to Dick's Last Resort for banter and food.
Unfortunately, I was too sober to wear the silkies I was forced to wear for the duration of that day (my pants were covered in vomit) to join them, so the Diamond Cunts and I stayed at the convention. We mainly just circlejerked and walked around the venue for the next few hours while waiting for them to return.

Eventually, they did return. We took some pictures, chanted a few more times much to the annoyance of those around us, and said our final good byes, before packing into the 4runner one final time, and leaving San Diego behind, concluding our time at Pacific PonyCon.

Overall, I'd say to con was pretty solid, even if there was a lack of interesting panels and guests. It was a smaller con, so I wasn't expecting a whole lot. I would recommend that they work on advertising their convention better the next time around if they want to follow their pretty ambitious dreams for 2017.

The Diamond Cunts will definitely be back next year regardless of the con's size. We'll see you autists at BABSCon, where further Australian autism awaits.