Curnon Beats the Buzzer – They’re In!

There’s a moment—right before the door slams shut—when the smart ones slip through. No fanfare. No speeches. Just instinct, caffeine, and a little bit of chaos.

That’s exactly how Asa Ward of the Unitary Republic of Curnon got in.

Early Bird pricing was dying. Flatlining. The clock was ticking louder than it should. Meanwhile, Curnon wasn’t exactly lounging around waiting for ticket deals—they were in the middle of hosting the largest micronational eSports Games ever staged, while simultaneously running national elections back home in North Carolina.

Three days. That’s all they had. Scrambling, juggling, probably questioning life choices somewhere between ballots and bandwidth.

And then—boom. Ticket secured. Just under the wire.

Curnon itself isn’t some vanity project with a flag and a dream. It’s got teeth. Founded on New Year’s Eve, 2022, it stands for something very real: fighting discrimination, advocating for LGBTQ+ rights, and pushing—hard—for a world that’s just a little less cruel, a little more fair.

Their motto? “For a freer and fairer world.” Not subtle. Not supposed to be.

They’ve been around the MicroCon block, too.

The kind of experiences that stick with you—not because they’re polished, but because they’re messy, human, unpredictable.

Like in 2023, kneeling in front of Kevin Baugh of Republic of Molossia, handing over a flag and makeshift certificates—watching him and Adrianne react in the best way possible.

Or getting crushed in a chess match by Christina Nowell, who would go on to win gold—while everyone in the room quietly realizes, yeah… this isn’t going to end well—but stays anyway, because the laughs are worth it.

Or the surreal moment of standing in a bathroom, mid-stream, realizing the guy behind you isn’t just some random dude… it’s security. Because the Sultan doesn’t travel alone.

MicroCon isn’t clean. It’s not curated. It’s alive.

By 2025, things escalated.

Speeches about justice. Diplomatic ties signed with half the room. Medals—real ones—stacking up like poker chips. And somewhere in a hotel room, grown adults launching coins at each other like kids who just discovered gravity.

It’s ridiculous. It’s meaningful. It’s both.

What does Asa take from all this?

That passion—real, unfiltered, slightly unhinged passion—is a beautiful thing.

Every micronation has a reason to exist. Some started as school projects. Others as cultural preservation. Some, like Curnon, as a response to injustice. And they all collide in one place, trading stories, ideas, and probably questionable currency.

You don’t really “explain” that. You just show up and feel it.

And for MicroCon 27 in San Diego?

Forget the panels. Forget the speeches.

“The yacht, babyyyyy.”

That’s the headline.

But underneath that—he’s coming for the Nemean Games. Redemption. Medals. Sand between his toes and something to prove.

So what does he say to anyone running a micronation who’s thinking about sitting this one out?

Simple.

“Why not?”

As The Sultan of Slowjamastan puts it:

“You can sit at home and watch history… or you can walk into the room and become part of it. The door is open—but not forever.”