How to look like Hellboy

There must be some boys out there who want to look like their favorite comic book character. No, hordes of boys — I wandered into the mall during a Cosplay event and felt freakish for not being in costume. (Someone had drawn pecs and abs on his stomach to play Leonidas in 300.)

Besides, if there are multitudes of girls who fantasize about having a vampire for a boyfriend, there must be lots of boys who dream of being a spawn of hell with great strength and a bad temper.

We were just talking about the Twilight series of young adult novels, and the rise of a popular phenomenon: girls with crushes on vampires.

Is Twilight a monster hit because there are jillions of girls who love vampires, or do jillions of girls love vampires because they read Twilight?

Then again, girls (and boys) have always had a thing for vampires. Since Bram Stoker wrote Dracula, vampires have been the rock stars of literature: sexy, mysterious, immortal, and bad. Rock stars have long modeled themselves on vampires (see early Bowie). “You never wanted to have a vampire boyfriend?” asked Dinna, who has a tattoo of the moon and stars that in the late ‘80s might’ve been considered “satanic.”

“But they’re vampires!” I said. Not only do I avoid killers with designs on my circulatory system, but I don’t trust guys who don’t eat food. True, there are advantages to dating a guy who doesn’t spend ages in front of the mirror. I think girls with vampire fantasies imagine that they can “fix” their Robert Pattinson equivalent. “Sure he’s evil, but he would never bite me...” It’s the lure of the Bad Boy all over again, except that this one sucks blood and will never need Botox.

Do you realize how incredibly wimpy Twilight is compared to Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Buffy fell in love with the vampire Angelus, but perfect happiness triggered a gypsy curse, which caused him to revert to his evil ways, so she had to kill him. She slew him in a duel with swords. True, the character was resurrected, but Buffy and Angel could never be together again. Renouncing a passion that could unleash chaos and catastrophe: that’s Romantic.

“But Buffy was such a well-written show,” Gerard pointed out. “Do you watch True Blood? I think you’d enjoy it.”

This is the last conversation I had before my transformation into Hellboy.

The transformation is easy but painful, and no one should try it. I’m serious: Do not try this yourself.

First, pick a restaurant with glass doors and no markings. No logo, no tape, not even a sticker that says “Push” to caution diners and passersby. Establishments mindful of their customers’ comfort and safety will post a guard or waiter to mind the door. Choose a restaurant with untended glass doors.

Second, sit with your back to that door. This is in direct violation of the training in Frank Herbert’s Dune, and to think you just reread it, idiot. Why did you do that? Well, all the other seats were taken and you were too lazy to drag a chair to the other end of the table. If you’d sat facing the door as always, you would’ve noticed that someone had closed it when it should’ve been left open.

Third, be so preoccupied or so comfortable that you do not take in your surroundings completely. Drop your guard. Remember some minor chore that you can squeeze in between appointments, and rush out to do it.

Do not notice the solid though invisible barrier between the restaurant and the area outside. BLAM! Oddly enough, the first thought that pops into your head is “Dammit, I got my glasses dirty.” The second is the obvious “I walked into a plate glass door!”

So this is what it’s like. Painful.

Now there is a bright red circle on your forehead where your head made contact with the glass. The pain almost brings tears to your eyes.

It’s manageable, but do not shrug it off. You cannot be casual about your health.

Return to your table and ask for an ice pack. By now the restaurant staff should be fluttering about you, offering you ice, water, and medical attention. If they are not showing signs of worry for your well-being, or at least fear of a vexatious and expensive lawsuit, their restaurant should be shut down. The manager hands you ice cubes wrapped in a clean towel. Press it to the bump already forming on your head.

The ice should relieve the pain in your face, bring down the swelling, and prevent the skin from turning black and blue. Run a check on your systems. What is your full name? Check. Where do you live? Check. What are your ATM numbers and e-mail passwords? Check, though if you never remember them anyway these could cause needless anxiety. Recite the first two stanzas of “Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll, or the anthem of your high school. Check.

Go to the doctor to make sure you are all right. Too many people get a nasty bump on the head, think nothing of it, then lose consciousness and never wake up. Have a strong cup of coffee so you don’t fall asleep. Listen to your body and be aware of any dizziness, nausea, or headache.

By now the bump on your forehead should resemble the horn of a baby unicorn.

Hello, Hellboy.

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