"Remember that cosplay thing?  The one we keep trying to do because, let's face it, we're always too broke to afford to pay someone and you and I would be covered in needle jabs if we tried to make our own?  I've got something I found online.  It's a website."  Sam rattled off the address - perfectcosplay (all one word, no weird symbols) dot com.  "Take a look."  He got up from his laptop, making room for Max to come over and have a look at the screen.<br/><br/>The website itself was fairly simplistic - not a lot of flash and artsy bits - but it did have more visual appeal than just a blank screen with a bunch of words on it.  It advertised the 'PERFECT Cosplay experience.<em>Be who you want to be</em>.'  Sam had landed them on the 'application' page, which required six things: the name of the applicant; their address; a photograph of them (they asked for full-body, if possible); their Skype information; the name of the character they wished to be; and where that character came from.  "And one other thing, dude.  Look."  He clicked to another screen, which noted 'All applications will be reviewed within 24 hours of submission, accepted applicants will be contacted via Skype within 12 hours of acceptance.<br/><br/>Now, Sam was not dumb.  He knew that Max would look at this and say 'there's no way this is possible.'  A<em>perfect</em>cosplay experience?  Come on.  No cosplay was perfect, not unless you really worked out and had a bunch of money to support you and even then...perfect wasn't really perfect.  But, he figured that the two of them could have a laugh, throw in a couple of applications, and then say 'okay, we'll do this next year.'  And that would be the end of it.