Dear Bob Stencil,

You don't know me although I doubt you really know anyone since I'm sure being so in love with yourself probably doesn't leave a lot of time for meeting people and listening to them.  So allow me to introduce myself: My name is Matt Goldberg, I'm the Senior Editor for Collider.com, and I think you're one of the worst things that's ever happened to the San Diego Comic-Con.  I've only been going for two years but even if there was a widespread herpes outbreak in '72 (what can I say, nerds like to fuck), you would still be one of the worst things that has ever happened.

All readers are invited to hit the jump to find out why a mass herpes outbreak is better than Bob Stencil.

For those that are lucky enough not to know, "Bob Stencil" (and I couldn't find out his real name and stopped caring enough to look for it after a few minutes) is some guy doing a character who's a drunken pilot from the 70s with a porno moustache.  He's kind of like Sam Rockwell if Rockwell wasn't talented and constantly irritating.  He wastes time at the big panels at Comic-Con by approaching the mic during the audience Q&A and asks gimmicky questions based on the property being presented, and tries to get a cheap laugh.  If this was just a quick series of YouTube videos that he tried to cut together so it would look like he was getting a funny response, I wouldn't mind especially since I wouldn't have to watch it and groan.  It wouldn't really work but it doesn't work anyway.

I really wish the folks handling the mic at Q&As would recognize you (because you're a character!) and turned you away every time.  I don't care if there are those in the crowd who are amused by your shtick because here's the thing you don't recognize (or maybe you don't even care):

YOU ARE NOT AN ATTRACTION AT COMIC-CON.

You were not commissioned for this role by the organizers and even if a website was stupid enough to ask you to do this, you are always drawing attention away from the presentation, the property, and those that actually worked to make something real for those that stood outside for hours upon hours not to see you, but to see something they loved or wanted to discover.

And I'll admit: when I saw you do your bit at the "Lost" panel two years ago, I was amused.  I thought it was slightly crass that you mentioned you were working for FirstShowing.net but you did your little dance, made everyone laugh, held up some Dharma beer cans, and that was it.  At the time, I thought you were an already established character in a reliable property and were just really committed to the role.

Except you're not an established character.  You're a nobody.  You're unimportant and no one thinks about you except at this point of year.  I almost wonder if you're like Billy Bob Thornton in "Bad Santa" where you attempt to make all your money in one day and then spend the rest of the year trying to drink yourself to death, alone, unloved, and unremembered.  I know that after I finish posting this open letter, I won't think about you till next year's Comic-Con when I'll hope that you'll have at least come to the realization that you shouldn't show up, or (and this may seem like an outlandish idea to you) just come as a regular guy and have some fun.  You probably like entertaining people and the attention that it brings.  While I think you kind of suck at it, I can at least appreciate the desire to make people laugh.

But you're not really in Hall H to do that, are you, Bob.  You're there to turn some of the biggest and most exciting panels into "The Bob Stencil Show" which no one came to see.  The only person who spent any time thinking about you was you (okay, my colleagues and I also thought about you insofar as we thought you were ruining everything).  And I can't even begin to tell you how satisfying it was to see panelists smack you around.  Megan Fox thought you were trying to do Johnny Depp in "Fear and Loathing", Robert Downey Jr. easily made you his bitch, and even though I unfortunately couldn't make it, I hear that the DERRICK comedy crew worked you over pretty good.  How do you still not get this?  The folks on that stage are more talented and have worked harder than you could ever manage in a thousand lifetimes (which I hope you don't get since I don't particularly care for the one you have now).

Anyway, I've grown tired of writing this while I kill time at the airport and wait for my flight (I'm headed to do something real, exciting, and worth the effort) and I should get back to the real work of writing up things at Comic-Con that were actually good.  You get back to doing whatever it is you do the other 361 days of the year and don't come back to Comic-Con.

Hating you always,

Matt Goldberg