The Daily Rossman (est. 1975) is the world's oldest web B.L.O.G.G. (Bitchin' Legendary Online Godcomplex Gazette). Not that I live an extraordinary life or anything (the government hit squads and the Ninja Assassins Guild have all cut back on their programs directed at ME lately, mostly thanks to a couple of well-placed letters in Jimmy Jammer's handwriting threatening all of their mothers), but sometimes I do accidentally maim a couple of dozen people, or unwittingly have my robot kill an assload of old folks; and I find that I want to share these happy stories with you, the general public.
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ONIcon 1998: The Con Of The Century!
Note to self 421: 06/24/2015
A group of us saw Inside Out this weekend, and it really affected me. I've been a pretty emotional schlub my whole life, and it was interesting to see somebody's interpretation of what emotions go through in a person's head when they encounter any sort of heavy issues.
This made me want to experience the same thing for myself. So I went over to Dr. Dave's mad science lab and told him what I was looking for: e.g. the ability to have my separate emotions take on anthropomorphic form in my mind's eye so that I could see them just like in that new Pixar movie that's so popular nowadays. Dr. Dave said "No problem!" Unfortunately Dr. Dave doesn't get out much anymore, and he misunderstood what I was trying to replicate. Instead of hitting me Up with some Inside Out inner spirits, he used the only thing he had personal reference to, and I ended up with my own personal Herman's Head.
My first clue that something was wrong happened that night after the pain meds finally wore off. Cupcake made me a steak, with sautéed vegetables, and a loaf of homemade cheesy-bread for dinner, and I was expecting a visual of the 5 adorable emotions from the Pixar movie to appear in my thoughts, or even in my actual vision, with "Joy" taking front stage and raving about how delicious the meal looked, and how loved I must be to have somebody do this for me... but instead I saw Herman's Head's Angel praising the time it took to cook the meal, Animal telling me to... do something to the meat that was never intended to be done to food, Wimp cowering in the corner, fearing that Cupcake was too good for me and she'd leave me, Genius high-fiving himself and stating how awesome I was, and Bobcat Goldthwait's Jealousy complaining I should be able to make such succulent food myself, and it wasn't fair.
Now, truth be told, I wasn't too put off by all this Herman's Head semi-hilarity (I admit it, I watched it when it first aired. I'm a TV junky), but what truly pissed me off was that Dr. Dave inserted a spot-on, fucking awful laugh track that would erupt into applause and unearned guffaws after every single line that my Herman's Head emotions would sputter.
Imagine, if you will, me stubbing my toe on the coffee table in my family room, and as I'm cursing in pain I can see and hear Wimp howling in wimpy pain, Animal wanting to flip the table and throw it at the dog who made me walk into it in the first place, and Bobcat Goldthwait's Jealousy getting all crazy that Cupcake was more worried about the dog than my toe. And after Bobcat would scream something like "UuuuuWHAAAA! Why does she care more about the dog than my, my -- OOooh NO! -- my little piggy!?", a ten-second, totally fake, contrived, and repetitive bit of canned laughter would reverberate in my noggin, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.
So after dropping a box of books on my head hard enough to knock me the fuck out (this didn't work... Dr. Dave apparently had fail-safes installed to keep the Herman's Head emotions constantly running, even in case of a coma), I went to Dr. Dave's shady lab the next morning to have him remove my failed Fox sitcom actors from my subconscious. I must tell you, it was very dangerous driving across town with each of those assholes narrating their own desires, and the canned studio audience dying from laughter from the shitty lines they were forced to recite.
Anyway, the good Doc apologized for his confusion, and I then took him to see Inside Out so that he could fully understand what I wanted (yup, I was still in to have the procedure done... I love that movie!). Then Dr. Dave put me under again, removed whatever chip or brain implant he originally put in for my Herman's Head trip earlier, and then reprogrammed everything to be my own personal little Pixar simulation.
It worked! And it's amazing! The only issue now is that all the emotions (Joy, Sadness, Fear, Anger, and Disgust) all sound like Lewis Black's Anger... Wait, did I say "issue?" I meant "AWESOMENESS."
Note to self 420: 06/10/2015
I go to my cheap-ass, $15/month, run-down gym 3-4 times a week at lunch. I always bring my headphones with me and either listen to an audiobook or a music playlist. Yesterday I forgot that I brought my earbuds into my house the previous night and hadn't put them back in my truck after I was done with them. This brought forward the following conversation between me and the late 50s, 4'7" blob of a woman behind the front desk at my gym.
Me: Excuse me, I forgot my headphones today and, well, I was hoping you could turn the radio to something a little, um, different.
Blob: (Absolutely flabbergasted) .....What on earth for?!
Me: Well, you see, Christian 'music' really isn't something that gets people pumped up and ready to work out, and --
Blob: (Smiling like a lunatic. Picture Jack Nicholson as the Joker, only creepier.) But it's good for your soul!
Me: (I stared at her for like a minute without being able to articulate a response.)
Blob: ...Is that all?
Me: Wait a minute. Does ANYBODY in here actually want to listen to this stuff other than you? (I pointed to the rest of the gym members who are all heavily tattooed, ripped, gangsta-looking tough guys, most are listening to hard-core rap that you can hear blasting from their headphones from 10 feet away.)
Blob: Doesn't matter, it's what's on. (She turns away and starts to pretend that she's reading the front page of the newspaper that's already 3 days old.)
Me: I'm putting in a formal request. Can you please turn the station from whatever this is to the classic rock station in town?
Blob: Sorry, that's against policy.
Me: WHAT policy?
Blob: (No response. Still pretends she can read.)
Me: May I please speak with the manager? (I peek around her to the back office to see if the gym manager is there. I know the guy and have talked to him on a number of occasions.)
Blob: (Sticks paper in my face to block my view before realizing he's not back there.) I am the manager on duty. What can I help you with?
Me: Okay, first of all, you're just a customer service rep. You're not an official mana--
Blob: I AM THE OFFICIAL MANAGER ON DUTY WHEN THE MANAGER IS GONE!
Me: ...... Whoa. Okay, calm down. (I say this whenever I want to rile somebody up.)
Blob: I have the power and authority to turn the radio to whatever the majority of the gym wants to listen to...
Me: AHA! Okay. Hey, you, sir! (I called to a huge young man with two full sleeves of tattoos and a really bad scar above his right eye.) Would you prefer to listen to this crap (I point to the speaker above his head in the ceiling) or to a classic rock, or (I added quickly) an R&B or rap station. Shit, I'd take that over this crap.
"Tiny" Lister's Big Brother: Uh, what? Yo, man, I ain't even.... Whatever, uh, turn to (whatever the local rap station is) then. (He turns away and goes back to lifting a Volkswagen above his head.)
Me: Yes, please tune to that station. I want to listen to it too. That's 2 to 1.
Blob: I... I'm afraid that's against policy. You should listen to Christian music more, you know.
(Just then the lyrics "And Jesus will looooooove you so. Oh yeah! JESUS will love you soooooooooooooOOOOO!" come on. I cringe, Blob closes her eyes in ecstasy and slowly sways back and forth while humming the shitty little tune to herself. I get ready to run if she looks like she'll orgasm.)
Me: ...... This garbage is melting my brain. Look, please, I just want something a little faster tempo'd that'll get me into the exercising spirit. Slooooooow music talking about Jebus' love for us kills any drive to actually lift heavier or run faster. It's a body-boner killer, if you get my drift.
Blob: Feel free to write a complaint and put it into the suggestion box. We read through them and make changes when appropriate all the time. (Blob then dismisses me by pretending to read again, while instead concentrating on having a Jesus-orgasm.)
(I then go over to the suggestion box and draw the "Dickbutt" cartoon on one of the provided cards, write "You're a cunt," under that, and then sign it "Patrick Swayze." Then I go back to my weights and try to only do exercises near the guy whose headphones are blasting gangsta rap loud enough for me to almost block out the Blob's music. I am just grateful that she didn't turn the volume up any.
The last time that I looked over at her, the Blob had snuck over to the suggestions box and was reading my suggestion. Then she looked at me with an expression that would turn a lesbian straight and started muttering something that wasn't a prayer for my soul under her breath. I consider that a victory on my part.)
Note to self 419: 04/22/2015
I was in the mood for a horror movie this past weekend, and so I got the MegaPlayboy, Carl, Angry Amy, and Jimmy Jammer to check out It Follows with me on Saturday night. Overall I thought it was a fun movie with a great antagonist, really strange (but interesting) setting (not knowing precisely when it takes place and all), and lots of creepy stalker fun going on. I wasn't particularly phased by it though (the evil mirror in Oculus unnerved me more than the invisible shape-shifter in this flick), but I noticed that Angry Amy and Jimmy Jammer were both a little jumpy and looking over their shoulders as we left the theater that night. So I did what anybody else would do and immediately called up Carl and the MegaPlayboy as soon as I drove away, and told them to meet me at Martin Chris Brown Park at 11PM in order to figure out how we could freak out the other two with some sort of ghost-stalker prank.
We agreed to take on Angry Amy first. Our plan was to reenact a scene from the movie where the "It" in question hurls a rock through a front window of one of its victims and then attacks the poor schmuck by appearing to him as a half-naked, drugged-up version of his mother.
I put the MegaPlayboy in charge of finding a picture of Angry Amy's mother on her Facebook profile (I'm blocked from her feed, and so are all my fake profiles), whilst Carl and I found a large rock. We then printed up a mask of Angry Amy's mother's face, dressed the MegaPlayboy up in some grungy old lady underwear and a used white (well, it was white at one point) nightgown, and stuffed some socks under his nighty to look like sagging breasts.
It was around 1AM when we were ready to rock, and we found ourselves at Angry Amy's house. Carl hurled the fuck out of that rock through Angry Amy's living room window, and after the sheet of double-pane glass was transformed into an open door, we shoved the MegaPlayboy inside and watched as he slowly marched down the hallway to Angry Amy's bedroom, improvising with lines like "OOOoooooOOOOOoo! I'm coming to get you, Barbara! OOoooooOOOOoooo! Spoooooky invisible evil monster here!" The Pepe Le Pew-like demon in the movie who slowly chased its victims without ever stopping never uttered a sound, but the MegaPlayboy was in the moment, so I just let it go.
Carl and I were guffawing to ourselves just outside the gaping window hole when we saw and heard something that made us think that we may have fucked up just a little: a very loud *KA-CHUNK* seemed to come from out of nowhere, but it was soon followed by a bright beam of light, Angry Amy yelling "Who the fuck are you, and why are you dressed up like my mom's lesbian lover?!" and the MegaPlayboy running back at us while mumbling to himself "OhShitOhShit OoooohShit OhShit!" Then the sawed-off shotgun that Angry Amy apparently kept under her bed for just such emergencies erupted into flames as very fast pellets turned the MegaPlayboy's masked skull into Hamburger Helper (with noodles) in front of our eyes.
That's about all we saw before we turned and high-tailed it to the MegaPlayboy's Glam Rock Wagon that we parked two blocks over in case such a fuck up occurred (which we usually factor into our plans nowadays).
I wanted to go home after that incident, but Carl insisted that we try it again, this time with Jimmy Jammer because Jimmy Jammer owns no fire arms. I hesitantly agreed. This time I took it upon myself to look up Jimmy Jammer's Facebook profile and look for a picture of a family member that was clearly marked as so. I found a picture of his father and made a mask of his face for Carl to wear. We then pulled up to Jimmy Jammer's neighborhood, parked, and hiked over to his house at around 3AM, but this time Carl got a little caught up in the excitement, and instead of just throwing a rock through his front window he took a running start and dove head-first through the glass... Not quite making it the whole way through. Storm-windows are apparently very thick, and glass shards are apparently very, very sharp.
So there we were, me outside Jimmy Jammer's house looking appalled, Carl in nothing but dirty boxers and a wife beater, wearing a paper mask of an old man, half in, half out of the house, bleeding-out while impaled on a glass stalagmite still left in the window frame, and moaning shit like "Gonna getcha.... Gonna getcha, Lil' Jammer....." when I decided that it was all or nothing, and I just hurled the Molotov Cocktail I'd been holding for Carl (he said it was "Just in case") through the already opened window. I didn't quite get it far enough though, and the bottle smashed itself on Carl's head. It didn't knock him out like in the movies, but it did set him on fire and make him start wailing like a 5 year-old girl whose family Doberman just decided she smelled of Kibbles and Bits. That's when Jimmy Jammer came running out of the front door, staring back at the building fire in disbelief as he just kept muttering to himself, "Who?... Why?.... What the fu...?"
Then, amid the fire crackling, the remaining window glass tinkling down, Carl still screaming, and the fire engines bellowing ever closer, Jimmy Jammer just looked at me as if I had just resurrected his dead, beloved pet — the golden retriever, Fonzie — and took a giant shit in its mouth right in front of him. Then I kicked Jimmy Jammer in the nuts, pointed at him while he was squirming on the ground, and yelled "You should have lost your virginity, man, or this would never have happened!" Then I ran. I even left the Glam Rock Wagon where we parked it, and I locked myself in my police-proof Panic Room in case the cops or the feddies came for me. It is Wednesday, right? It's hard to tell with no sun, clocks, or any kind of human contact. I think I'm good. I might come out on Friday and check.
Note to self 418: 04/08/2015
This weekend was a strange one. First of all, I had a few "use it or lose it" vacation hours left over from 2014 that I had to take before the fiscal year ended for my company, so I made it an extended weekend for myself. But instead of catching up on Arrow, Agents of SHIELD, The Flash, Breaking Bad, and Aldnoah.Zero season 2, I spent most of my free-time setting up Cupcake's garden in the back yard (putting in drainage, setting up a fence, digging, constructing a gate, killing rabbits with my bare hands). So each day I found myself even more exhausted than if I had just gone to work... But Saturday night we decided to just chill out and meet Mick and Min at the local Macaroni Grill (I had a gift card I had to use up) for some booze and pasta.
As I turned off the Parkway and came off the cloverleaf for our exit, I almost shit my pants in disbelief and glee! There, before us, in the crap-mall's parking lot (the almost empty mall in our town that mostly just has second-hand suit shops, wig stores, and chachki sellers in the places that aren't vacant) was an oasis of flashing lights (every color of the rainbow) and circus-style sounds, with several giant wheels turning, and screams of people of all ages reaching our ears, even from as far away as we were!
As we drove closer, I just could not take my eyes off the carnival that had mysteriously and suddenly appeared in my little burg. I even told Cupcake to let me know if we were about to crash into something/somebody since my eyes were simply cold-glued to that marvelous sight! We of course didn't crash, and we did make it to the restaurant, but the whole time we were there I was actually already mentally riding the Tilt-o-Whirl.
Over dinner I told Mick and Min about the last summer I worked at Blockbuster video, and how one week in July the carnies came to our parking lot, and how the carnival owner's son would trade us free tickets for the carn' in exchange for free movie rentals. Then, how during my breaks during the night I'd run out the door while yelling to my pretty awesome manager, Corie, "I'm gonna be taking my smoke break now!" Even though I didn't smoke, but smoker's were allotted time off to do so. And then I'd spend an extended lunch or dinner riding the mini-rollercoaster they had, or the octopus twirler-spinner, or I'd make a speed-run through the funhouse... Good times. GREAT times.
Anyway, Cupcake had heard these stories before, but I don't think she fully understood my absolute love of all things CARNY. I was so obsessed with the visiting carnival that Mick finally asked, "So, uh... Did you want to check it out after--" I yelled out "YES! Of course! We're all going, right?" Totally forgetting to see if anybody else wanted to, and forgetting that Min was 3 months pregnant and probably wouldn't get much out of it anyway. Fuck it. CARNIVAL!
We headed over at around 9PM and the place was still kickin' it on all cylinders! It was an unseasonal mid-40s night (due to a rather angry thunderstorm that rolled into town the previous day), and even though nobody else was really dressed for the weather (I did give Cupcake my flannel shirt, because I am a gentleman at heart) I made us do things there. Terrible things. Things that required Dramamine and Pepto Bismol.
I ran off to the ticket counter after we made our initial tour of the place (it was a pretty big carn', what with 15 full rides and a shit-ton of crappy ring-tossing and balloon-popping games, as well as several concession stands selling sweet-smelling funnel-cakes and corn dogs) and bought 22 tickets for $20, but just as we were about to queue up for our first ride I noticed that it cost 4 fucking tickets to get on! Jesus! So I ran back to the ticket stand and bought myself an All-You-Can-Ride pass for $20 and raced back to the Flying Swings where my crew was waiting for me.
Cupcake was the only one still there though, seeing as Mick and Min ran off to Walmart to pick up some cheap sweatshirts for themselves, but we rode the shit out of the Flying Swings that night! That ride lasted around 5-6 minutes, so at least they gave you your money's worth for that high ticket price, and the thrill of not knowing if the chains were going to snap and send you flying into the Fun House or into the windshield of an SUV in the parking lot really added to the adrenalin rush!
We then rode the Sky Diver (a Ferris wheel with a passenger cart that can be swiveled around in a full 360 while going around and around) before our friends returned covered in winter gear. Mick, Cupcake and I then did the Tilt-o-Whirl (which came dangerously close to making me lose my previously digested Italian 3-course meal), Mick and I rode the Flying Swings again, then Cupcake and I did the regular Ferris wheel (and got to see an older couple get all hot and heavy in front of/below us), and I then hit every other ride there by myself, except for the carousel and the mini kiddy roller coaster.
I was a little disturbed by how motion sicknessy I was at the end of it, but then I figured out why. I rationalize that when I go to Six Flags or Universal Islands of Adventure I mostly do roller coasters and things that actually haul ass in more than one direction than just "around." Here, at the portable carn', all they really had was rides that ran around in a circle, very, very, very fast... And that last one I rode was like a mix between the Tilt-o-Whirl and the Flying Swings... It was powerfully barf-inducing... But I held all my cookies in. Didn't puke once. I didn't even feel the need to pre-puke-spit. I was just a little dizzy is all.
Afterwards I burned the carnival to the ground so that my memories of it will never be tainted by me trying to out-do myself the next time it came to town. Gotta hold on to those memories!
Note to self 417: 03/25/2015
I am fully employed (and love my job and co-workers), but recently I was recruited by a tech company in town to come in for a job interview, so I thought "Couldn't hurt, and I could always stand to brush up on my interviewing skills." I was wrong. It could and did indeed hurt.
This company initially told me that they wanted me to take 4 hours out of my day to interview with 9 different people in 4 or 5 separate groups (this new trend of mega-views is ridiculous, especially since I'm up for web developer and graphic design jobs, not vice presidencies or what-not, and all they have to do is talk to me for a few minutes to find out if I do indeed know what the hell I'm talking about in such matters). I said no, but that if they could fit me in for 1.5 hours at lunch, that'd be no problem. They came back and said "Yes! We can make that work! Please come in!" This made me feel good about myself (they wanted me enough to bend their own rules!), so I did.
The first group I met with that afternoon was two women in the marketing dept. It went great! I wowed them with my design style, Photoshop and Illustrator knowledge, and my awesome charm (if I do say so myself). Then came the meeting with the tech guys. There was a front-end web guy, 2 back-end developers, the boss who initially met me at the door and brought me up to the company's offices, and there was to be one other guy who wasn't there yet. We started the interview anyway, and things went very well. They asked me job and skill questions and I gave good answers, then we just started shooting the shit. Great guys.
Then, 1/2 hour into this second interview, the meeting room door got KICKED in (the door wasn't totally closed, and the man entering the room really did lift his leg and gave it a swift and loud side-KICK), and some doofus in a rumpled shirt barged in and sat right at the head of the table, slouched down in his chair and bellowed out "Oh, you started without me... What'd I miss? Hey, pass me his resume..." all in one breath.
He then scanned my resume that he was handed by one of the back-end developers for 2 seconds before shouting (and he had a typical movie-jerk accent... I don't know how else to describe it) "So, uh, you *points to me*, what, uh, what did you do at your most recent job here at Red Fountain?" First of all, the company was called Red-Mountain, and second of all it wasn't my last job listed on the thing. I then recited all the stuff that my resume says I did there, and pointed out where I do currently work. He then stated jerkily "Oh, yeah, I used to work there. Oh god I hated it there! It was just awful. No wonder you want out!" I told him that I actually liked it there, but was just interested in what this new company had to offer since they were the ones who had contacted me.
Jerk-store then rolled his eyes at me (since NOBODY could possibly like working at a place that he deemed shitty) and then proceeded to ask me questions that I'd already been asked during the previous half-hour that he wasn't there. He cut off both my answers and more of his coworkers questions and answers and made himself out to be "hated douchebag boss" of every comedy TV series and movie I'd ever seen.
I'm dead fucking serious. At one point, one of the back-end guys asked me how I would explain to a 5 year-old how to use Google. I started out with "Well first you turn on your computer and open up a web browser..." and the guy who asked me the question said, "What's a web browser?" I smiled as I understood just how basic he wanted me to be and then I started over by explaining how to use "mommy's iPad," how to click on the button that looks like a clock but is really a compass on the bottom of the screen, and then how to type in the name of his favorite cartoon to find out who the voice actor of his favorite character was. I then warned him though that "5 year-olds should never go online without mommy or daddy's supervision..." and just as I was done saying that (to the guffaws of all present) Jerk-store jumped in with "Oh my GAWD! Yeah! Really! You know how much sick shit will come up if you just type in a cartoon name in Google?! Oh man! Rule 34! Am I right!?" I am not lying. He fucking said that, word for word. At a job interview.
I then asked everybody at the table what their favorite parts of working at this company were, and while the front-end guy was telling me how great it was how this company bought its employees any piece of hardware and software they said they might need for the job at hand, Jerk-store jumped in with a conversational razor blade and practically screamed "BAGEL FRIDAYS! Goddamn I love Bagel Fridays. You would think that it's not a big deal, but oh man, if I don't get my Asiago Cheese bagel on Friday morning I just lose my shit. You learn to look forward and really appreciate Bagel Fridays."
Then, as we were wrapping up, I was shaking hands with everybody and thanking them for the interview when Jerk-store belted out! "Oh! Real quick, hot shot. So, can you remember everybody's name in here? Huh?" He grinned the most douchie fake grin I'd ever seen in my long life, like he just poured a bottle of Ex-Lax into my soup when I wasn't looking and wanted to watch me slurp it down with sadistic glee. When I only got two right (I SSSSSSSSUCK with names) he laughed and said "Wow... That was not good."
Hindsight made me wish I said "I may not remember people's names, but I know the pet names your wife has for her tits and pussy. That'd be 'The Itty Bitty Titty Twins and the Cavern of Honey and Mystery'. And she loves to get fucked up the ass after I give her a glorious Cleveland Steamer and then piss all over the pictures of your parents above your fireplace."
The man who first met me at the office's front door and brought me upstairs then took me back down to the exit. We shook hands one more time and he asked if I had any more questions for him. I said I did.
"Who would the person in this position that you're hiring for report to?" I asked.
Without missing a beat he blurted out, "NOT Chad... You would report to me. I'm in charge of the whole tech-side of this company." That made me feel better, but the fact that they let Jerk-store get away with being such a dick made me worry. Maybe they were trying to keep him out by keeping him busy while the interview went on, and that's why he was "late." I don't know...
If they do in fact call me back and make me an offer, and that offer is too low to even consider, I plan to ask the main bossman if that was a test, or if this Chad really is that obnoxious in real life.
At the end of it all though, I made it through a nightmare interview and I just wanted to scream to the heavens "I'm UNBREAKABLE! I'm alive, dammit! It's a miracle!"... Man, I have to finish up Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt soon. Great show.
Note to self 416: 03/04/2015
Over the past few weeks the Southeast US has gotten more snow and ice dumped on it than it has seen in more than 20 years — probably not since The Blizzard of '93.
This is horrible for one major fucking reason: Southerners cannot drive on snow. Not even just 1/2 an inch of the frozen flaky substance.
Now, I have grown up in both the North and the Midwest, so I have seen some real snowfall in my life (I remember a winter where we got at least 3 feet in one storm), and I have seen people drive rationally through it.... Just never in the South. Since I've lived down in Dixie I've had people slide into my truck, or narrowly miss me at least a dozen times over the years because they don't understand that snow, slush, and ice is slippery, and they can't go 80 mph on it and hope to stop in less than 1.5 seconds. That and the roads never get plowed down here. I don't think that the town I currently live in even has a city plow, or even some clown with a 4X4 truck and a removable shovel attachment on its front bumper. It's fucking ludicrous. Luckily though, when it does snow down here, any accumulation on the roads usually melts by noon the following day, even if it never gets above the freezing mark...
Anyway, my point is that whenever it snows or sleets or ices even just a little, it's always safest to work from home instead of braving the frozen Road Warrior apocalypse going on outside my neighborhood's relative safety. First, I must say that working from home blows. Yeah, some people love it, as it means they can just roll out of bed at 5 till 8 and log on to the office server in their just their underpants, but I can't stand it. There's too many distractions at home, not to mention that I want home to be the place where I can chill out and relax. If I start associating home with work and stress, then I'll lose my sanctuary. But I digress. The whole point of this story is that it snowed recently. It snowed a lot. And Cupcake, Kyoshi, and I got out and played in it late into the night like a bunch of 10 year-olds because fuck you, we can.
It started snowing really big, wet flakes at 3PM last Wednesday. By the time I got home at 5 it was already piling up in the yard, on rooftops, and on bushes and trees, and it was already starting to stick to the roads. By 6 we had about 3-4 inches (which is a lot down here), and that's when we discovered that our Olde English Bulldogge, Kyoshi, must be part Husky. That dog fucking LOVES the snow. She was having a fucking blast running around in it, jumping up in the air to catch any snowballs you tossed to her, and digging around with her nose buried deep in it like a pig hunting for truffles in the mud. The neighbors' black lab even got sick of the snow and the cold sooner than Kyoshi (who continued to try and stay outside way longer than she should have with her short fur and small muzzle). She even tried to take a nap in a snowbank. The dog is not the brightest or the sanest.
Anyway, by 9PM that night it had grown to between 7-8 inches on the ground, and it was absolutely perfect packing powder! (I hadn't seen such a great snowfall since I was about 12 living in St. Louis!) That's when Cupcake and I went outside into the still flurrying night and had ourselves one of the most epic snowball fights I can ever remember having. It was more fun than the time Elliot, Matt, Jon, and I combined our efforts to make an ultimate snow-fort and arsenal of snow ballistics to take down the Kirk boys who tried to bogart my yard's frozen white stockpile instead of using up their own yard's powder (ruining anybody else's snow was a crime in my neighborhood). Two kids had to go to the hospital after the Ross-Kirk War back then, mostly thanks to icicle-spears being used, which led to the neighborhood's unofficial Snow Pack Convention the following day amid bitter tears, purple bruises, and at least 7 stitches amongst the signers. But neither Cupcake nor I resorted to any slushballs or ice-bombs since we had to live together after all the snow was gone.
After a while, as we lay in the almost used up backyard, too tired to even bother to try and make snow angels, and with the dog sniffing each of our faces in turn, Cupcake turned to me and asked, "So... do you wanna build a snowmaaaaan?" I turned to her and said, "No... A life-sized Dalek!" Then she kissed me and we ran to the front yard to get to work. This is why she bothers to stick with me. At times I'm awesome.
The dog even tried to help build our Dalek too. By "tried to help" I mean that she jumped into whatever mound of snow we attempted to pile up, then she'd run around in glee, trying to get us to chase her as she jumped and spun like a top in the air. I then tricked her into going inside with a crappy-tasting doggie treat (seriously, they're awful... Have you ever tried one? My dog must have no sense of taste at all), and then Cupcake and I got down to serious business making our snow-Dalek (Snowlek?) come to life.
After over an hour and a half of piling, packing, and sculpting, we were finally able to make the 7-foot tall replica of robotic death and destruction actually LOOK like a Dalek and not just a giant phallic symbol with bumps up and down its lower half. Then we took a shit-ton of pictures. Then we went inside and passed out from over-tiredness.
The next day I went out early and took some more pictures in the daylight of the Snowlek, and was sad to see that it was already starting to fade. By the late afternoon all the streets were 100% snow-free, and about half of the 7-8" of the white on the grass was melted away. The Snowlek was starting to look really sad by that point. I then took some of him inside and Cupcake made me snow-ice-cream out of him. He was delicious.
Over the next few days I chronicled the Snowlek's decent into a Salvador Dali painting until, come Saturday night there was nothing left but a couple of funnels on sticks and a whisk in my front yard. Sad... But he shall live on in my heart, and I shall remember him whenever I feel the deep-rooted desire to exterminate somebody. Which is at least 5-6 times a day.
Note to self 415: 01/21/2015
This past weekend Carl, Robot Pedro, Chi-Chi, Jimmy Jammer, Cupcake and I went to go see American Sniper (which was an okay movie), and then we took a day trip up to the Jack Daniel's Distillery in Tennessee to see how our favorite "fire water" was made. The main problem with doing these two things in this order is that Carl somehow got post-traumatic stress disorder from American Sniper (and the 140-proof alcohol that was everywhere up there), and started having "flashbacks" to "the war" while we were in the middle of the Jack Daniel's tour. The other (and probably deadlier) problem with this scenario was that Robot Pedro thought it would be funny to give Carl a rifle and shit-tons of ammo when he saw him starting to slip mentally.
So there we were, in the middle of giant vats of fermenting whiskey in warehouse-sized structures filled to the brim with combustible fumes, and Carl was running around, diving for cover, yelling shit like "I've got a turban at 5 o'clock! Whiskey Tango Bravo! I need suppressing fire," and taking shots at anything that moved and startled him. This "anything that moved" turned out to be the rest of us in the tour group, Ben, our tour guide, the trucks and vans driving around outside the windows, and the wild turkeys that run free around the premises.
Chi-Chi, Cupcake, and I made a dash for the Barrel Room and hid behind 4-year-aged Jack while we heard Jimmy Jammer not even making it through the door before catching a bullet to the left testicle... Or was it his right? Whichever testicle Carl didn't shoot off the last time he played Call of Duty for 62-hours straight, that's the one he got blown off this time. Oh, and luckily when Robot Pedro broke out his robo-flame thrower he ignited the fumes and blew himself (and Ben, and 12 of the other people in the tour group) up in a fireball that lifted the roof to the vat room at least 30 feet into the air. It was actually pretty cool to see, if you could ignore the smell of Chi-Chi's then defecated trousers.
Then Carl came for us, but I had a plan. I dressed Chi-Chi up as a girl bunny (just like Bugs Bunny always does in those old cartoons to pull one over on Elmer Fudd), only Carl wasn't quite THAT drunk (in hindsight, nobody in the history of the world has ever been THAT drunk), and Cupcake and I turned away before Carl snapped his neck like a chicken's while laughing in Elmer's speech-impedimented rapid-fire manner, which is totally creepy in real life. And when a grown man's neck cracks in the real world, especially when he's in the middle of saying "What's up, doc," while wearing Cupcake's cherry-red lipstick and two pieces of a Jack Daniel's barrel tied around his head to act as rabbit ears, it is a haunting sound and sight indeed.
Things ended well though when the Feds showed up just minutes later (I think the group of 20 FBI guys was on a tour themselves that day, since they got there so fast and were pretty blotto when they kicked in the door to the storage warehouse and just started shooting while yelling "FBI, bitches! Bang! Bang! Bang! Whoo-hooo!"). Well, things ended well enough for Cupcake and I seeing as we got the fuck out of there without any mortal wounds or handcuffs. Carl got both. I still don't know how that trial will go with half his skull missing. If the prosecutor needs any more evidence though, I have about 10 minutes of video of insane bloodshed and fire and death on my iPhone.
Oh, then afterwards Cupcake and I got some BBQ at this local place that was once on some Food Network television show. It wasn't the best, but it was alright.
Note to self 414: 12/31/2014
2014 is done for all intents and purposes, and what have we learned from it? Well, we learned that if you make a movie about the assassination of an actual, living, communist dictator starring James Franco, your movie studio servers may get hacked, and all your private information and emails may get leaked to the world. Cupcake and I also learned that Obamacare is the goddamn fucking devil... But I don't want to get political (other than by pointing out that I would LOVE for a full-on state-run healthcare system like Sweden, Canada, or England... just NOT this unholy forced signup, featuring high fees and low choices that Obamacare is shoving up our asses).
Other than that, I lost a job in 2014, then I gained a job, I watched a lot of anime, read a lot of books, got a cat, and generally just had a really strange year. Below you will find a list of things that I experienced this year that I haven't previously talked about on the site for one reason or another (usually just laziness and/or uncaringness). I'll let you know what I thought of them in some quick rundowns. So here's my Year-End Wrap Up for 2014:
The Interview: The story behind this movie is definitely a thousand times more entertaining than the movie itself. Not that The Interview is bad or anything (it's quite humorous, if you like lots of potty jokes and graphic violence, which I DO!), but I found the group's Pineapple Express and This is the End to be much more enjoyable movies. Though in the plot to assassinate the living leader of Best Korea I did learn many things that I never knew before, like the terms "honeypotting" and "honey-dicking." James Franco and Seth Rogan are enjoyable enough in this flick, but the real stars are the Korean military girl whom Rogan's character falls in love with, and Kim Jong Un's death scene. Oh, it's no surprise that he dies in this thing (it's been talked about just as much as the actual Sony Hackings that took place supposedly because of this movie's release), and it is a beautiful death scene... Though I want to see Kim's head catch on fire and explode like Rogan and Franco had happen in their original cut. Now it's too covered up by CGI'd fire thanks to Sony's president ordering them to tone that death down. Kim totally went out like a fiiiiiiirework. He went and showed them whaaaaaaaat he's worth.
My Little Monster: Everybody has been bragging about how this anime was the next Toradora. I tried watching it on 2 different occasions and couldn't make it past the 4th episode either time. I simply just hate dumb characters in my entertainment. Scratch that... I love shit like Dumb and Dumber, but I hate crap like My Little Monster where the lead guy is just a personality-less bag of bricks. I found this series to be dull, with dull characters, and the only things that separated it from the dozens of other high school-themed anime shows this past season were that it had a chicken in the cast, and the ugliest school uniforms I've ever seen outside of that time that school in France let a blind woman design their official attire. (No, this last bit never happened, which makes Monster's uniforms the ugliest ever.)
George RR Martin's Short Stories Collection - Dreamsongs: Dreamsongs is a series of 32 short stories written by George RR Martin, and in my opinion, this collection is even better than the whole of A Song of Ice and Fire that he's gotten done at this point in time. These stories are mostly concise, extremely well told, fantastical, and they also cover an assortment of genres (horror, sci-fi, fantasy, romance, superheroes, and mixes of them all). George stays on point with each of these tales, and never wanders off saying shit like "where do whores go?" every third paragraph in order to drag the narrative on beyond what's really needed.
If you've given Ice and Fire a chance, but found the storytelling to be too slow for you, you should give Dreamsongs a whirl. A Song for Lya, The Way of Cross and Dragon, Sandkings, and The Hedge Knight stories are absolutely beautiful and amazing, and they each seem to get more information across in their short tellings than any of Martin's overbloated Ice and Fire novels manage.
Chaika - The Coffin Princess: I've seen this on multiple people's "best of 2014" lists, and it makes me not only question their taste, but their sanity. Maybe I just wasn't in the right mood for it, or maybe I just didn't give it enough time, but the 5 episodes I saw of it were nothing special at all; it just feels like your average/below-average questing shonen anime series. We follow a super-soldier brother and sister team as they help a partially-retarded albino girl (who talks like a baby, whose first language is not Japanese, and I'm guessing it's not her second or third either) locate and gather numerous guarded body parts that used to belong to her immortal father, who was a total douchebag of an eternal ruler of the sword and sorcery realm that they all live in. Bad guys chase them, but they don't seem to be really, really bad (just good guys who aren't our protagonists, which is really cliche already), the action is blah and unexciting, and I didn't even like the op and ed songs enough to download them. Now that's saying something.
Arrow/The Flash: Hoe-lee sheet. Speaking of second chances (well, I did back when I talked about My Little Monster), I had originally tried out DC Comics' Arrow TV series last year, when the first season appeared on Netflix. It was alright at first, but I felt that Oliver Queen's smugness was a bit too much for me, and then came that first episode with the irritating and cunty Huntress; Ollie made some of the stupidest decisions in regards to his secret identity and his holy quest that he possibly could have, and I tuned out. After the second season wrapped up though, I heard people claiming that it was a major step up in plotting and characterization, and that it was well worth marathoning... And so I Netflixed season 1, and then downloaded all of season 2, and blew through them both within 3 weeks.
Yes, Arrow does get better than that shitty Huntress introduction episode, and now — in the middle of season 3 — I can say that it only keeps getting better. The amazing amount of nods to DC heroes and villains is impressive, as is how they manipulate their audience with teases of who is the real Black Canary, what're Malcolm "Harkness" Merlyn's actual goals, and what's Ollie's full backstory of his missing 5 years. It's silly-fun superhero heroics featuring tough as fuck good guys, and really bad heavy-hitting bad guys. It's just a shit-ton of blasts and giggles.
The exact same can be said of The Flash, except that The Flash is much quicker out of the gate and into greatness. The very first episode of that had me hooked, and now — halfway through its freshman season — it truly has me addicted. There's a bit too much "will Barry and the girl he has always loved ever get together?" bullcrap going on, but I'm willing to forgive it due to its ability to give us great characters, really cool special effects, and even MORE cameos of DC villains and heroes than even Arrow has going on in it. Next I guess I'll give Constantine a go, and maybe Gotham.
Stephen King's The Stand: Yeah, it's old. But I finally read it this year. My god, it was beautiful. So much better than that 90s miniseries that everybody's already seen. That's it. That's all you need to know.
Noucome (i.e. My Mental Choices are Completely Interfering with my School Romantic Comedy): This was my "I should have known better" anime series of the year. This show is so bizarre, and in the end just all around terrible, but for some reason I watched the whole thing. I think I was just bored that Sunday.
Anyway, Noucome is about a loser high school boy (90% of the population of Japan, if anime is to be judged) who sometimes sees "Absolute Choices" appear out of thin air. Choices that force him to decide whether he should pick up a dirty magazine he found in the park and rub it against his face in front of some kids, or eat it. If he doesn't choose one of the options he's given, then he gets massive migraines. That's pretty much the whole plot to this 10 episode story (and I use the term "story" very loosely). There's of course a weird harem surrounding the guy, and of course one of them's an angel because there simply had to be one.
This show was dumb and bad, didn't even have a real ending, but it was not really interesting enough to spend any more time on it writing a review.
Peter Capaldi's Doctor: Doctor Who is a crazy show where they replace the actor behind the main character every 3-4 seasons, and the most recent change brought us the old and very serious Peter Capaldi to the role of The Doctor. My thoughts after a full season with him are "meh." I like his take on the role, but his interaction with Jenna Coleman's Clara were grating. They should have been able to fix up their bad chemistry and head-butting about 3-4 episodes in, but they only appear to FINALLY come to terms with each other after the 14th ep of the season: the Christmas Special. Jesus... Speaking of the Christmas Special, Nick Frost's Santa Claus is now my favorite version of the man ever! So snarky, yet so in control!
The stories of Capaldi's first season were above average to pretty damn great at times, and I'm just hoping with the Doctor and Clara finally seeing eye-to-eye that the next season will have them working together better too.
So there you go. 2014 had a lot of downs, a few ups, and in general was just a blah year. Honestly, even with the job loss I think that it was better than 2013, so that's something. Anyway, here's to a good 2015, and the 20th Anniversary of me writing shit and putting it online!
Note to self 413: 11/26/2014
The following sentence that I'm about to write is going to make everybody that knows me personally say "I don't believe you, Rossman."
I got a cat.
Even though I haven't had a mammalian pet since I was 3 (when I had a hyper, possibly psychotic, German Shepherd named "Jaws"), I always associated myself as a "Dog Guy," especially when the alternative was being a crazy cat person. It's been two years since Cupcake and I got Kyoshi, the Olde English Bulldog, as a pet, though it only took me about 1 month to realize what a goddamn pain in the ass dogs are. Before we got Kyoshi, I would have told you that I loved the loyalty that dogs represented, and the fact that they wanted nothing more than to be with their masters ("I hid under the porch because I love you..."). I would relay the joke of "Lock your dog and your wife in your car trunk for 2 hours, and see which one is happy to see you when you finally let them out," as a great reason as to why dogs were indeed man's best friend.
That was the theory, but in practice I learned that dogs are fucking retarded, needy, pooping machines. And short-snout dogs are drooly and can't even be put outside for more than 10 minutes at a time during the hottest five months of a Southern summer, nor during the coldest 5 months of a Northern Georgia winter. Kyoshi is so fucking emotionally needy that she has to be CONSTATNLY touching you. If you're on the couch, she has to be on the couch, wet muzzle on your leg. If you're in the kitchen, she's in the kitchen, lying at your feet, ready to trip you up when you have a cutting utensil in your hand. If you're in the bathroom, she will sit outside and whine till you come out. She's like a stalker who NEEDS you so much she would carve your name into her chest if you only asked. Are you asking? She'll do it. Just give her a rusty knife. She'll prove it. Do you want her to?..
Usually, upwards of 99% of the time, the dog is well behaved and just acts all chill all the time... But that 1% of the time when she meets somebody new, or somebody she hasn't seen in a week, the fucking dog goes goddamn nuts! Running around, hopping around the new person, snorting on their legs, trying to jump up on them.... She's annoying as swamp-ass on a warm afternoon of yardwork when you know you can't wipe or clean up for another few hours. I hate her.
So anyway, the cat. I have tons of friends who have cats (the Wolfman, Shawn-G, Mick and Min, the Chief and Megu-chan), and slowly but surely I've begun to notice that they don't HATE their pets. Most dog owners I know — even if they don't outright detest their animals — they at least find their furry companions extremely inconvenient. Lots of "Sorry, we can't stay for more than 2 minutes, we have to get home to let the dog out," and "Yeah, we can come for the weekend, but we have to spend $50 to $70 to put the dog up in a kennel first." Cat owners don't have this issue. Last year, my company had a go-live with our warehouse management system in a city around 7 hours away from our hometown. I knew that one of my co-workers had 2 cats at home, and one day during the 7-day-stretch that we were away I asked him if he had to put the cats in a kennel or hire somebody to feed them. He said "No. I just leave out lots of kitty litter trays, lots of water in moving fountains for drinking, and a few food bowls with enough kitty kibble for the week. They never eat more than they should, so they'll be okay." And when he got home, lo and behold there was no poop or puke on the floors or the furniture, nothing was destroyed or shredded, and all he had to do was empty a few extra litter boxes.
This blew my little mind. My retarded dog would (and has been known to) eat CONSTANTLY if she could. Once I fed her breakfast, and ten minutes later Cupcake fed her again thinking I had not done it yet. The dog ate everything, then puked it all up. Then ate the puke, then barfed it up again. We caught her after this so that she didn't continue the "circle of life" again, but she would have. She ate a banana peel this past weekend (I don't know how this happened, or if we need to expect something unusual coming out in the next few days, but honestly I don't care). She ate a squirrel last year, which caused her to be sick, and cost us $350 at the vet. And after she puked the decaying rodent corpse up, she tried to slurp it down again. My only point is that our dog has no self control when it comes to food, is so insecure she needs CONSTANT human companionship, she's slobbery, and if you leave her for too long she will eat the $300 rug at the front door, or knock down expensive electronics, or chew up sweaters. She's a fucking demon beast from hell, and I don't like her one bit. Cupcake LOVES her though.
I have been slightly jealous of Cupcake's and Kyoshi's relationship for a while now, but every-time I start to warm up to the dog she'd either puke in my truck, eat my rug, shit in the kitchen, or wake me up at 3AM because she drank too much water and needs to go out (another issue she has: she doesn't know when to stop drinking, with puking not even being a natural deterrent to that either). This causes me to get frosty to her, and in some instances outright ignore her for fear I will just start yelling at her if she tries to "be friendly" after either destroying one of my possessions, being a nuisance, or just by being a gross, slobbering animal.
So I started reading up on cats. I started researching breeds, reading up on what it takes to keep them, checking out food and kitty litter to see how expensive they are, and by viewing all the cute cat videos on youtube that I could find. I was sold on the idea after a few months. So then I started looking at local newspaper ads for freebies, Craigslist for cheap kittens, and animal shelters for about-to-die cats. I didn't want just a normal-looking American short-hair black cat, or a tabby, or a blah orange kitty, or anything that looked like any of the MILLIONS of boring, bland kittens that already overpopulate the world. I needed a cool-looking cat — or if it was a regular short-hair, it had to have really interesting markings. I swear that I looked long and hard for a Hitler-marked cat, just so I could name him/her "Kitler" and have a great conversation piece when I have company over. ("Oh, him? That's my cat, Kitler. He's grounded for getting outside last week and causing the genocide of 50 non-Aryan neighborhood cats. That's a BAD kitty!") No dice though.
I found a few Siamese-looking kittens, a few Maine Coon half-breeds, and a couple long-hair tortoise-shell kittens that were pretty adorable, but then I found MY cat. They named her Whisper because she had barely survived 2 upper respiratory diseases when she was a month and a half old, and now her "meow" is very faint and absolutely goddamn adorable. Her coat was a slightly off-white, with silver ears, a silver-racoon-tail, silver splotches all around her long fur, and the cutest black-furred, velvety paws. I met with her foster parent two days later, and wrote out a check for her on the spot. She's fluffy, gorgeous, kind of an asshole, not afraid of dogs (she chases the cowardly Kyoshi around the house, ninja-sneaks up on her, and then jumps out of the shadows to spank the dog on her butt all the time), and only infrequently needs direct affection from me (in the form of belly-rubs for 2-3 minutes before charging off after an imaginary noise). She's the most perfect pet for me. Her name is now Stormageddon - Dark Lord of All.
I never would have guessed that I'd turn out to be a crazy cat guy. I'm secretly hoping that Cupcake gets super attached to the cat and decides she wants one instead of the stinky, retarded dog. There is a "2 Pet Policy (one per person)" in affect in the house. This has been the case since we first brought Kyoshi in, in the not-very-real possibility that we decided that Kyoshi needed a playmate. All new pets in the future need both people's stamps of approval. There will never be another dog in our house, but another cat as cute as mine, I don't think I'd mind that.
Note to self 412: 10/29/2014
This past weekend we went to see Keanu Reeves' new movie, John Wick, wherein Sad Keanu plays an ex mafia assassin who just loses his wife, his car, and his puppy, which causes him to go a little ape-shit loco and take down Theon Greyjoy and his crew because they're a bunch of entitled mob-larvae assholes who deserve everything Sad Keanu can dish out. Lots of blood, lots of incredible action, lots of vengeance. Good times!
Then on Sunday we drove into Birmingham (not something I typically like doing) to see the Dalai Lama live, and to listen to him talk about peace and love and unity. I hate to say this, but I couldn't understand half the words coming out of His Holiness the Dalai Lama's mouth. Honestly, if you didn't concentrate with all your might, and you missed more than two of the extremely accented words coming out of the Buddhist man's mouth, you were lost until his next train of thought began. He had a translator up on the stage with him, but he never used the guy except to figure out the English word for "nipple." I shit you not. It was to talk about breast-feeding babies, but the Dalai Lama used the word "nipple" in a sentence. Awesome.
Together the two events (John Wick and the Dalai Lama speech) balanced each other out. But then I let these two things then gestate in my mind for a day and they turned themselves into one of the strangest dreams I've ever had. I shall try to remember everything and recount it to you now.
The dream started off when I woke up in my bed and had the sudden realization that Cupcake had been blown up in a land-mine outside of Costco (don't ask, I just knew). Then 3 ski-masked punks busted into my bedroom demanding that I give them the keys to my truck, Serenity. I told them to go fuck themselves, but that's when one of them dragged in my dog and told me that if I didn't give them my keys that they'd kill my dog.
I smiled at that and I think I said "Thank Christ!" out loud (I fucking hate that dog), but that was apparently the wrong answer. The first masked man then threw my dog through a giant window that hadn't been there before, and came over to start pistol-whipping me. I rolled out of bed, punched the assailant in the dick, used his gun to plug the second guy, but just as I was about to smash the gun into the third's nose he took off his ski-mask and I saw that it was Chi-Chi.
I still almost smashed his face in for helping the other two dill-weeds to ruin my giant window, but Chi-Chi stopped me by telling me that "we have to get the knife before Numsy gets it," and that "the child must be rescued!" That made perfect sense to me, so we ran down to my truck, but we couldn't start it because there was a banana in the tailpipe, so instead we just ran to this cave in my backyard where we followed this little bird to a bunch of old monks living in the very back of the cavern.
Before I could perform a little rap asking for the knife, Chi-Chi stopped me by telling me that they really fucking hate that shit. So I just told them that if they gave me the knife I'd kill Numsy with it and try to save the child. They were cool with that, but then before I knew it I was in some church shooting the shit out of everyone in it (relax, they were all bad guys, and they all had semi-autos that they started shooting at me with first. Self defense!), and then I found an alter boy hiding serenely behind the alter and I knew it was the child I was looking for (he was a shaved-headed Tibetan kid wearing orange and red robes under his alter boy uniform).
I got the child out of the church, but that's when Tywin Lannister approached me and told me that he always repays his debts, but before he could bring his sword down upon my head Joan of Arc appeared from out of nowhere and blocked his blow! That's when I heard Ted Theodore Logan, Esq. say "Excellent!" from inside a nearby telephone booth, and I shoved the child inside and told (a strangely bearded) Ted that we had to get the kid to the monks before yesterday. Ted then dialed a number into the phone, but then he said "Bogus! Sorry, dude, but I think I dialed it for 2 days from now! Heinous!" and when the child and I got out of the phonebooth we were in a dark and dreary city at night, and some Russian mobster was arm-wrestling with Deadwood's Al Swearengen on a picnic table nearby. I was fascinated by this, but because I watched the arm-battle too intently the child just wandered away, but I didn't seem to care at this point anymore.
After this things got crazy with Clara "Oswin" Oswald telling me that I had to follow her because the trees had gone nuts (and I did, mostly because she was wearing a really tight mini-skirt), then Navi the fairy started spinning around my head yelling "Hey! Hey! Hey, asshole! Hey!!" every 2 seconds, and then finally I found myself on a stage in a ballpark, in front of thousands of people and Tibetan monks (not that Tibetan monks aren't people too, just wanted to emphasize that they were prominent in the crowd with their bright robes and large hats) where I had to explain that the child was probably safe, I had killed Numsy (which was a lie, but I was too scared to tell them otherwise), and that the world was safe... But that's when I noticed that the me on the jumbo-tron had glowing red eyes, and was smiling much more than I really was.
That's when I woke up with a start because the goddamn dog was licking my face. I fucking hate that dog.
I was surprised by the actual unity of plot in this dream. That rarely happens. Typically when the narrative goes off on a giant tangent I lose the main thread and simply wander into new stories as the dream progresses, never to return to a previous plot point. Any dream interpreters out there? Oh, and I forgot to mention the giant hot dogs and donuts flying everywhere in the trampoline room with Anna Paquin, several Victoria's Secret models, and that cute girl who works at Best Buy bouncing up and down while I watched behind that two-way mirror. What does it all mean!?
Note to self 412: 09/10/2014
Last week was one of those weeks that was just so jam-packed with great shit that the immediate aftermath made me a tad depressed because I knew it'd be a while before anything even close to as awesome would happen again.
It started with Cupcake giving me lots of gifts and cooking me lots of good food for my birthweek. I got a Ghostbusters 2 noisemaker from Hardees that I had stolen from me at summer camp back in 1989 (I don't know how in the hell she found me one still in its plastic wrapper), video games, and some very cool t-shirts. But despite all that I was still more excited about the meals from my top of the line, schooled, trained, world-class, pastry (and regular) chef.
Then on Thursday night we hung out with Mehve and Chef Jax, and then Mehve said something like, "Hey, you know, there's this really fucking awesome super-great Korean restaurant down the street. We should go." And we did, and that Korean BBQ had some of the most amazing dishes I ever did eat... Outside of Cupcake's own kitchen, of course.
Then on Friday, Cupcake and I got up early and ran down to Dragon Con 2014, where we saw the Karl Urban panel (he fucking IS the LAW!), Patrick Stewart and Beverly Crusher in a panel, hung out with Mick and Min as we all cosplayed in the most cut-ass rugged mothafuckin' Avatar group you ever did see (I was Ember Island Toph because I refused to shave my beard for any other character, and because he's fucking awesome), did some dealers room shopping, and then did a whole lot of people watching. There were some great original costumes this year (like Sparky Sparky Boom Man, Granny Weatherwax, a Rule 63 Space Dandy, Evil from Time Bandits, Boltie, and Perry the Platypus), but for THE LOVE OF FUCKING GOD, PEOPLE, stop dressing up as Deadpool. Or Lady Deadpool. Or The Doctor/Deadpool. Or Superman/Deadpool. Or Marvel Girl/Deadpool. ALL Deadpool cosplaying should absolutely fucking die. It's long past it's initial cute novelty point. And fuck all you unimaginative fuckers.
Anyway, on Sunday, Cupcake pulled off the biggest surprise of my life (outside of that time I found out that it wasn't really... You know what, story for another time) by gathering up some of Team Rossman and a lot of Team Greenwood and having a birthday party for me in the middle of downtown Atlanta during fucking Dragon Con. You know how hard it is to get a table for 16 people in a restaurant in Atlanta on a Sunday when it's NOT Dragon Con weekend? And there was a Braves game that day, and a football game, and a black pride parade. Yet she pulled it off, and even got a birthday cake to show up too. Pretty fucking amazing, as are all my friends.
Other than that all I want to say is that Dragon Con is one of the worst run gatherings that I have ever been a part of. I was totally surprised to see that only 50,000 people (at MOST) showed up for it this year, seeing as every other weekend in Athens, GA in the Fall brings over 140,000 football fans, and there are no lines, there's plenty to eat, and when game day is over in Athens the people can clear out in like an hour! Dragon Con has lines out the fucking wazoo! Some lines (like the ones to get into the big panels for people like Terry Gilliam, Patrick Stewart, or Jim Butcher) form 2+ hours before the panels begin, meander aimlessly outside the hotel that they're in, and sometimes overlap themselves, leading to massive line-cutting and other epic assholery. The Patrick Stewart panel that we ended up going to only started moving 10 minutes AFTER the panel began. By the time we got into the large panel room the Q&A with Cap'n Picard had been going on for 20 minutes already... They didn't wait until everybody who had been waiting had even gotten in!
Oh, and holy shitsnax! After the Patrick Stewart panel ended, they would only let the 3,000+ people in the Marriott ballroom leave out of the front two doors. The front two doors out of TWELVE available doors. It took us 20 minutes to get to the doors (and we cut and pushed to do so), all the while getting yelled at by a mentally deficient D*C staffer who kept screaming over the speakers "YOU MUST LEAVE OUT OF THE TWO FRONT DOORS. KEEP MOVING. DON'T BE SLOW. THE FIRE MARSHALL SAID YOU HAVE TO MOVE TO THE TWO FRONT DOORS... WHY ARE YOU PEOPLE SO SLOW?!" Seriously, he wouldn't shut the fuck up.
The kicker to the whole Patrick Stewart experience was that THEY STARTED THE NEXT PANEL WHILE OUR GROUP WAS STILL TRYING TO GET OUT OF THE ROOM. I hope you're reading these capitalized sentences in Lewis Black's voice, 'cause that's how they sound to me... They seriously started the next uber-panel while NOBODY who was waiting for it had even gotten in the room yet! Whoever is in charge of this shit needs to be shot. Seriously, guy, call up Disney and have them send some Imagineers over to give you advice on how to run something like this. Please. The fans beg you!
So there you go, and below you can see some of the most epic photos from the weekend. Just click on them to embiggen then to greatness!
Note to self 411: 08/13/2014
Cupcake and I are only just now catching up on a lot of our TV backlog on Netflix, but that means that we're getting to watch amazing things like American Horror Story and An Idiot Abroad (which if you haven't seen either, do so. Just be prepared to marathon them and to have nightmares. Nightmares no matter which one you start with).
Anyway, I've already traveled the world like Karl Pilkington, so when I got inspired after what we just watched I decided that I needed to visit a real haunted house to see if they're more or less scary than the Murder House as seen in AHS. So I got the MegaPlayboy, Jimmy Jammer, and Robot Pedro together and we drove over to Shelbyville late last Saturday night in order to check out the old, deserted Malevolent Mansion, "the most haunted hotspot in the entire tri-county area." They have T-shirts.
So we got there at 1AM parked like a quarter mile away, snuck into the backyard, and then broke into the back door of the creepy landmark mansion all without even flashlights for the "full effect," as Robot Pedro put it. The MegaPlayboy and I decided to explore the upstairs looking for specters, poltergeists, spirits, or midgets, and we made Jimmy Jammer and Robot Pedro search the basement. The MegaPlayboy and I checked out a few empty rooms before we heard a piano playing in the dark. We cautiously tip-toed to the doorway of the room that it sounded like the music was coming from (a haunting piece that felt slightly like the "Tragedy of Barshtarle" music from Giant Robo), and inside we saw a totally naked woman sitting at a shiny baby grand, tickling the ivories in some flickering candle light, all the while some dude in a full-body rubber Pulp Fiction gimp suit was flailing around on a kinky sex swing in the corner.
We slowly backed away from the room (the MegaPlayboy cursing the fact that he didn't bring his smart phone/video recorder with him) and continued to explore, now both more concerned and slightly more freaked out about our environment.
The next room we peered into was almost all dark except for shapeless shadow in the far corner moving closer to us, then slowly away from us, then closer again... and it seemed to be cursing in Latin under its breath (the MegaPlayboy swore he heard it say "Penis your poop" at one time). We moved on, now even more confused and freaked out than ever. Then we came upon one bedroom that still had a bed in the middle of it. It was a giant four-poster with partly see-through drapes and shit hanging all around it, so much so that we couldn't see what, if anything, was laying in it. It did look like something was under the sheets....
So I bet the MegaPlayboy two dollars to check it out. Then I pulled his shirt over his head and kicked him towards the creepy-as-fuck haunted bed when he tried to run. As he untucked his head from his shirt he approached the hanging drapes with great trepidation... Then he slowly reached out and parted them... Then he haltingly moved his hand to the lump in the center of the bed, but then he froze. Then he muttered "Awwwwww shit no..." Then I think he peed his pants. That's when all hell broke loose.
I can't remember which happened first... I think the little girl in the bed started screaming bloody murder right in the MegaPlayboy's face just before Robot Pedro yelled out in a booming, earth-shattering bellow "Holy fuckin' shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" Both of those things happened right before the lights came on and that guy in the rubber gimp outfit came barging into the room with a shotgun and the angriest look on a rubber zipped-up face that I've ever seen (and lord knows I've seen plenty)!
Mr. Gimp took a wild shot at the MegaPlayboy, but the MegaPlayboy was too quick and had already jumped back ten feet from the still screaming little girl, but the little girl ended up getting a new skylight in her room anyway. That's when I kicked Mr. Gimp in his giblets, grabbed the MegaPlayboy by his silky-smooth hair (I have got to find out what conditioner that bastard uses!) and we ran back down the hall to the main staircase (where we got a look in the room with the shadow beast from before, and in the light found that it was actually some gnarly-looking old lady in a rocking chair with wild hair and a one-toothed smile, still muttering shit in a ghostly language seemingly to herself).
We raced down the stairs, found Robot Pedro with blood covering his metallic body from antenna to robot cleats but no Jimmy Jammer, and then kicked out the front door and ran for the Rossmobile as if the hounds of Hell were nibbling at our fannies!
It wasn't until two days later that I read in the paper that somebody had broken into the Mannix Manor, home of billionaire philanthropist (and lousy shot) Jonothan Piotr Mannix and his family: his lovely pianist wife with a penchant for a little S&M on the side, their 7 year-old daughter who "likes to sleep in a Harry Potter-like bed," his wife's elderly grand mother from someplace in Eastern Europe, and their 4 Rottweilers that sleep in the basement. That at least explained what happened to Jimmy Jammer... That or Robot Pedro just outright murdered him with his own cold robot pincers when Jimmy Jammer realized that we weren't breaking into an abandoned haunted house, but instead robo-looting the mansion of the richest guy in town. I now owe Robot Pedro TWO. Two. Yeah, you still remember what ONE was, don't you robo-buddy...
Anyway, what the haunted trek into madness taught me was that I just don't care for the supernatural in real life. Not even not-real-real supernatural shit. So instead of trying to find the REAL Malevolent Mansion after that terrible night, I went out and rented a super fucking hot and sexy red-head maid and kept spilling stuff on the floor for her to pick up for an afternoon.
Note to self 410: 07/02/2014
It all started out last Friday night when Cupcake and I had Mick and Min over for dinner, and then watched The Five-ish Doctors afterward. If you haven't seen it — and you should have already— The Five-ish Doctors is a 30 minute mini-movie made by the 5th Doctor Who Doctor, Peter Davison, who is also the father of the woman who played the Doctor's clone once who then went on to marry and have a baby with the 10th Doctor. Anyway, The Five-ish Doctors is quite hilarious and features Davison, Sylvester McCoy (the 7th Doctor), and Colin Baker (the 6th Doctor) as they first learn that they won't be a part of the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary celebration, and their plans to break into the BBC Studios and somehow get in on the big special.
After watching it, Mick and Min told us about Con Kasterobous that was taking place in Huntsville, AL the following day, which would be guested by the venerable 7th Doctor, Sylvester "Radagast the Brrrrrrown" McCoy himself! So we all said "Holy shit!" packed up the Rossmobile and headed for the Rocket City Doctor Who convention!
I gotta say, for a series-specific convention in a town in Alabama this thing had it going on! It was much bigger than I thought it would be, and damn! They had an actual Doctor as the Guest of Honor! McCoy's panel was right after the opening ceremonies, and even though the MC was nowhere to be found the 7th Doctor took it upon himself to walk around the fairly large conference room, march up to anybody who had their hand raised, and then pretty much dance around animatedly whilst answering the just asked question. He did this for 65 minutes non-stop!
McCoy never stopped moving, and the audience never stopped asking him things about outfits he'd rather have worn (he said anything but that silly question-mark sweater, but he was very partial to the 9th's leather jacket and jeans), if he really knew how to do slight of hand tricks and play the spoons (he proceeded to take two spoons and play them off of audience members' heads for a full minute), and what it was like to be a Scottish Doctor (he reminded everybody that there are now 3 Scottish Doctors, and the way that it happens is that there is an actual, real, totally legit Police Public Call Box still on the streets in Glasgow, and every night Glaswegians get faced and some eventually make it to the blue box, and they start banging on it, pulling on the door exclaiming "I wanna be the next Doctor!" and then, every so often, the door opens and a hand reaches out and pulls that man in and POOF, he becomes the next Doctor on Doctor Who).
The best question of the day though came from my Cupcake (dressed up in her TARDIS poodle skirt like a champion nerdette!). She got McCoy's attention by waving excitedly at him from across the room, and when he came over she asked about how he got involved in The Five-ish Doctors, and what it was like to film that little flick. McCoy lit up like a drunk Scottish Christmas tree and he went on and on about how great the experience was, how awesome everybody involved was, and how they went about getting all those amazing cameos (including Peter Jackson, Ian McKellen, Matt Smith, David Tennant, John Barrowman, and even Russel T. Davies). He seemed to love making it, and if I remember correctly he even hinted that Peter Davison wanted to make another mini-movie in the future. We all cheered like retarded monkeys, and I took the opportunity to elbow the annoying "I have to comment on EVERYTHING" twit next to me directly in the nose, and then karate chop the back of her neck to get her to stop saying shit like "No, I don't care if he's the Doctor, he's wrong... Peter Capaldi will not be the oldest starting Doctor. I don't think he even looked it up..."
Anywhoozals, after the panel was over we went on to see other Whovian things, check out the dealer's room, and grab some lunch. It was at that time that Cupcake told me of her master plan. "You know how everybody likes cake?" she started with. "Well, since it's my birthday I brought a mini cake and I plan to feed it to the wee-little man [McCoy is no taller than 4'10"... He's legally Hobbit-sized], and then we can hide him in my purse and steal him, I mean borrow him away!"
I asked him who the 7th Doctor would live with, and just got a look of pure "Duh!" from Cupcake and just resigned myself to the fact that we'd have a new midget roommate very soon. But then I thought about what she said and asked "Hey, babe, what if he doesn't WANT to get in your purse?" which got the response of "That's why I drugged the cake. Keep up with me here." Then I just went along with it.
Things went well at first, Cupcake bought her ticket for the photo session with the Doctor, waited till everyone else was done, and then jumped up with her cake and told the wee man "Okay, so like it's my birthday, and all I wanted to do was to eat cake with the Doctor! Would you do me the honor of having some birthday cake with me? It's awesome, and see, it's sealed, so it's not like poisoned or anything. I'm not crazy." I was glad she told him that. I'm sure it washed away all doubts.
The Doctor had a small bite from the slice Cupcake cut for him, and then his eyes went all wacky and he smashed his face into the pastry and started gobbling it up while mumbling "Nom nom nom nom NOM!" His publicist looked embarrassed, Cupcake looked shocked, and I just looked like the guards just found the hacksaw I put in the pie I was delivering to Chi-Chi in prison.
McCoy ran from the room shouting "I am a Dalek! Delete! Delete! Wubba wubba wubba!" and I turned to Cupcake and asked if the horse tranqs she put in the cake were added before or after baking. She said she added them before, to which I sighed. I've made that mistake before, I told her. Always add that shit AFTER. Basic Chemistry 101. Keeps it pure, doesn't turn Hobbit-sized men into hyper Gollums on crack.
Anyway, we quickly left with our pictures and memories, but not before McCoy caught up to us in the hotel lobby and asked if we'd like to join him in his TARDIS as he traveled through space and time (just not at the same time, 'cause that was too confusing for him at the moment). We cordially declined, and the luggage girl then wheeled him away. That's when we just KNEW we'd be back the following year when Paul McGann, the 8th Doctor was going to be there!
Note to self 409: 06/11/2014
So Bob From the Future and I saw Tom Cruise's newest flick
All You Need Is Kill Edge of Tomorrow, and it gave me an awesome idea. By "it gave me an awesome idea" I really mean that it gave Bob From the Future an awesome idea. And by that I mean it gave Bob From the Future a really terrible idea. By that I mean it made Bob From the Future think that trapping me in a real world video game with a "one-hit life meter" and no way out was a fun thing to do.
For those who don't know, Edge of Tomorrow is about Tom Cruise having a Groundhog Day-like reset occur every time he dies (horribly), and he's stuck in the first wave of a very, very violent Normandy-like amphibious invasion against an army of shitty asshole squiddy alien creatures from Hell.
Anyway, so Bob From the Future trapped me in a "temporal independent tide tracking yaw" (which he wouldn't stop referring to as a "TITTY") which was just a glorified time loop that kept resetting to midnight every time I got hurt. "Getting hurt" apparently means just "stubbing my toe" or "scratching an itch" in Bob From the Future's vocabulary, which sucks because a day doesn't go by when I get attacked by a phone-throwing Angry Amy, almost eaten by one of Doctor Dave's artificial life forms, or hit in the head by a PS3 controller when I beat Carl in a fighting game (which happened with MvC2 over 3,930 times during my TITTY day).
So yeah, not like it was any kind of a special day or anything that I was trapped in (no invading alien hoards, nor any rampaging groundhogs), it was just an ordinary Rossman day... That happened over and over and over and over again. I got scratched by trees, shit on by birds (this apparently hurt my pride which still counted), accidentally had my dog step on my barefoot with untrimmed claws, got papercut, burned my tongue on hot pizza, had explosive diarrhea, sneezed too hard, got head-butted by an angry goat in the nads (don't ask), had Robot Pedro squeeze my hand in a handshake just a bit too much, got a static shock kissing Cupcake, and got my leg chopped off by my lawnmower... well over a millions times combined. Hell, I wrote this Daily entry (or started to) at least 40,000 times when I thought the end was in sight. This time I waited until after I officially beat Bob From the Future's game.
It was by far the most frustrating thing I've ever lived through, and I was once trapped in amber for 60,000 years. Do you know how hard it is to live a day without scratching an itch that you might agitate just a bit too much? It's maddening! Several hundred times I just tried to stay in bed all day, but once my dog nipped my toe because I didn't feed her that morning, another time a spider landed on my face and I smacked it on my forehead, and another time a satellite crashed through my roof and blew up my house. In the end I defeated the TITTY by just slowly walking for 24 hours straight. At a steady pace I made it over 90 miles (avoiding stumbling, slipping, getting a stitch in my side, getting hit by cars, or just straight up exploding) after the 9,520th time I walked. The only problem with this was that after I made it out of the TITTY I was 90+ miles away from home at midnight, and I had to hitchhike to my house in a rusty pickup truck driven by one of the Duck Dynasty guy's even more retarded cousin whom I named "Peter Jameson Randolf III" since I couldn't understand a goddamn thing he was saying with his 3 teeth and super deep Louisiana accent. And he touched me a few times while pretending to only try and pet his 25 year-old hound that sat next to me, but I was too tired to care.
When I got back home I immediately left a time-capsule message for Bob From the Future's superiors, which ended up getting him executed. Which after my day, I may have actually smiled at.
Note to self 408: 05/12/2014
The following true event is the kind of story that I just can't make up. My imagination is nowhere near large enough to actually conceive of this kind of shit, but it's also a good example of how fucked up my life really is.
So, to start things off I'm recently unemployed and looking for a jeorb in the Atlanta or Athens, GA area. This morning I went to a local staffing agency that specializes in finding long term employment in tech jobs (web and graphics stuff too). I was told to show up in clothes that I would interview in, and so I put on my only suit, my power (Mickey Mouse) tie, and my recently polished shoes.
The staffing agency is located in a fairly old and run-down two story building near downtown, but I didn't hold it against the company. Times are tough. As soon as I checked in at the front desk I had the agent assigned to me approach me with a solid handshake, and she introduced me to her boss (the owner of the business). Then she guided me to a back conference room that was just an abandoned office (two chairs, a desk, and an un-plugged-in Gateway computer from 1996 in the corner). I went with it and didn't say anything about how shitty the place looked because, hell, they're helping me and it's not costing me anything but my time.
This woman (early 60s, permanent smile stitched into her face, and way too much perfume) started talking to me about my resume (which she thinks is amazing, because it is), job experience, and where I want to be looking (industry-wise and location). Throughout this portion of our meeting she lightly peppered in comments like "That's why I'm a woman of faith," "Only God knows, but he has a plan," and "a little prayer can only help," but this is the deep South, and I thought nothing of it. Then, 20 minutes into our chit chat things changed.
I forget how it all went wrong, but I think she started talking about how the job market never recovered from the collapse of the housing market of 2008. This woman told me that her husband knew about the fall of the market before it happened (he's blue collared worker, but he knows how to read these things, because he reads the Bible, and it's all in the Bible), just like he knows that even though they (meaning that evil Anti-Christ Obama) say it's recovering, he knows we're still in the shit-house, and we won't fully recover for decades.... if EVER. Because Obama.
Then she started talking about Noah, and how we need another great flood just like that "well documented" one in the Book of Genesis, and that it was coming because it's written in the Bible... I swear to all the pr0n I find holy in the world, I searched her eyes to see if she was serious about any of this, and she was. My god she was.
I at first tried to ask her some legit questions like "Didn't God tell Noah and his family that he would never flood the world or just straight up murder everybody ever again after that there great flood was over?" but she just pshaw'd that ignorant question away and told me that the reason that Noah and his family were spared the flood was not because he was the only good person left on Earth, but because of their blood... Which had Angel blood in it. I wanted to say that according to Christian mythology Angels don't have genitalia and therefore can't breed with humans, but she shut me up by telling me that she could find all these clues and secrets in the Bible because she learned to decipher its secret code. It's all in the code. But she wouldn't share this code with me because I'm apparently fucking sane.
Then it got better.
She told me about how technology is everywhere in the Bible — futuristic tech — "but once you recognize it, then you know." "Know what?" I stupidly asked. "Know that the Angels use technology... But not the good Angels, only the FALLEN Angels...... Lucifer's minions" she added in case I was lost as to her meaning.
I only sat there with a look of "you have got to be shitting me" on my face. I don't know how I kept from not pointing at her and giving her a Nelson "HA ha!" laugh. But before I could even say anything like "what are you smoking?" or "do you have a gun on you?" she went on.
"There is a line about a wheel within a wheel on fire in the sky in the Book of Ezekiel," she said, "and it comes down to Ezekiel and he gets taken up into it! Do you know what that truly means?" I stared at her for 10 full seconds before tentatively replying with ".....Aliens?" I was wrong. "Fallen angels" was the correct answer. But she didn't let me linger on that because she jumped into her time as a young girl out in Arizona and how she and her brothers would see strange lights in the sky at night.
"Ah," I said. "The sky was so clear you could see shooting stars." That was not correct apparently. She informed me that they were near an Air Force base and her brothers thought that the lights were top secret aircraft (I began to nod in agreement), but she knew better because the Bible.... I almost said "Aliens?" again, but caught myself and said "Fallen angels?" That got me a smile and a crazy nod of her head. At least I was learning.
The rest of my hour-long meeting with Loony Tunes was her telling me that there are highly realistic holograms out there today. Holograms that are so life-like that you cannot tell them apart from real objects. I almost said "You mean like Jem's friend Synergy?" but didn't because I was honestly terrified at this point. These holograms she spoke of are the work of "The Beast™!" For realsies! Because "he shall cometh in a false skin and take the weak-willed" or somesuch shit like that. Oh, and they're putting chips in our heads now, and this is the work of the beastly one as well, for if we ever alter the body that God gave us in any way we lose our souls, and the Beast wins. These chips may help us think faster, but we lose our souls. OUR FUCKING SOULS, people! Is it worth it? IS IT WORTH IT!? My answer was "Um, no?" even though I was thinking about Ghost in the Shell and The Matrix at the time and how cool it would be to live in a computer like that.
Oh, and The Matrix is what made her realize that the answers to everything needed for salvation were written in the Bible. I didn't catch how this was, just that Neo only learned kung-fu because of the Beast or something. Or maybe his mission to free people from technology is what allows us to recover our souls from the Beast and then we can party in a dirty, dirty, sweaty rave in Heaven with the Jesus. I was busy looking at my watch at the time and wasn't paying too much attention anymore.
Remember, this woman was one of the main IT staffing agents in this agency, and she truly believes that technology is the fruit of the devil and his minions. Let that sink in. Real grown up people believe this. The only reason that I can think of that she actually started talking to me about this stuff was because I was initially agreeing with her about everything because, fuck, I want a job. I was like "Yeah, you're right! The shitty economy is totally Obama's fault! Yes, the Bible is the greatest story, I mean the greatest documentary ever made. Oh yeah, technology can be used for evil." But that just opened up the flood-gates to pure crazy. It was absolutely amazing to witness, my friends.
In hindsight I seriously can't believe it really happened… It's like that James Thurber story "The Catbird Seat" (a great short story that you can read here). The main character acts so insane so that the person he's with won't be believed if she ever tells anybody about their encounter.
After a full hour, I got out of there relatively mentally in-tact, and immediately called up the competing staffing agency that this woman said was their biggest rival in town. I have a meeting with them tomorrow.
Note to self 407: 04/30/2014
Bunnies and ducks and tornados, goddamn!
All the madness started out this past weekend when I was mowing the backyard for the first time this season. The grass was very high, and I was a little worried about snakes or some shit all up in there. Then I hit one particularly thick patch of green and all of a sudden a shit-ton of fur came shooting out of the sides of the mower! I flung the mower aside and looked around for chunks of any ex-raccoons or rabbits in its path, but only found more fur. There was a concentration of grey and white fluff in what appeared to be a small hole. When I looked closer I found a small burrow filled with 6 baby naked mole rats or newborn bunnies. They were fine, and I convinced myself that they were Little Fucker's kids that she was showing off to me since I saved her life and all 5 years ago. Then Cupcake came out to see them with the dog and the dog almost ate them.
I tried to put the bunny nest back the way I found it, but I was disappointed to find that the mama bunny moved her family sometime in the night. Call me a little bitch, but I wanted to see the little baby bunnies grow up in my backyard. Whatever, I just hope whereever Little Fucker moved her brood they won't get run over by somebody whose lawn mower is at a lower setting than mine.
THEN, on Monday, I saw something I never thought I'd witness before: a duck-napping. There's this park downtown with green space and ponds on both sides of one of the main streets near city hall. I was walking through the park from the gym to my office when I saw this early 20s redheaded guy in jeans and a baseball cap scuttling from one little pond on the left side of the road to the street, and he was carrying two young ducklings in his arms... He didn't look much like a city employee, but I figured he was just moving the ducks from one pond to another on the other side of the street because of reasons... But he was really just approaching his SUV that was parked on the other side of the two-lane street. Then he opened the hatchback and he placed the two ducks inside. With about 20 people watching. In broad daylight.
I looked around, absolutely amazed that nobody was saying anything to this guy, and so I decided it was up to me. I pulled out my camera phone and yelled out "Hey! What the hell are you doing with those ducks there, champ?!"
The guy almost shat himself when he saw me (a 6'4" man in a tie holding up a camera at him), but he managed to blurt out "I'm not stealing these ducks! I swear to GOD!" That did not make me believe him as he must have thought it would.
"Well then, amigo, what ARE ye doin' with them? 'Cause it looks like you just threw two ducks into your truck," I said. "That's fucked."
Champ then ran back across the street towards me, mumbling stuff like "Oh no, oh man, oh shit, this is cra... I'm not stealing the ducks... Oh man," not to me but to himself. He then approached me cautiously when he noticed that I was at least a foot taller than his ginger-self and told me "These, those ducks, they're like mine. My ducks, man. I swear to all that is holy they're my ducks." I asked why he was scooping them out of the public pond and putting them in his truck if they were his to begin with, and he told me that he lived about 30 miles away and the ducks' mother abandoned them, and there were no other ducks around, and so he remembered this park and how there were lots of ducks here, so he brought them here, but he told himself that he'd come back the next day and check on them and if they were like all alone and stuff, or being picked on by the city ducks he'd just take them home so they wouldn't get picked on no more, and when he came back today he saw that the city ducks WERE picking on his two ducks, so he just had to take them back home.... Then he looked at me and saw my expression of "You've got to be shitting me..." and he got out his phone.
"Look, man," he said. "I can prove that they're my ducks." Champ then called a number on speed-dial and told the man who answered "Joe? Listen, I'm at the park and this big dude thinks that I'm stealing the ducks.... I KNOW, right! I told him! Look, can you send me the pictures of Ron and Dewey that you have to prove that they're mine? Thanks, man! Like super quick. Like NOW, man!"
As we waited I just started at him with my patented "Crazy Gaijin Stare" (who knew it was useful outside of Japan?) and made him even more nervous. He was bouncing up and down, doing a very hilarious bathroom jig the whole time. Finally Joe sent him the pictures of what appeared to be duckling versions of the two juvenile ducks I saw this guy toss in his truck just minutes before. I said, "Okay, I guess. Let me know if they taste good!" And I walked away as the ginger-man looked appalled at my suggestion.
The kicker to this story is that the ducks in the city ponds are wild ducks and don't belong to anyone anyway, so who really gives a shit. But I was just amazed that in front of almost two dozen witnesses, in broad daylight even, nobody other than me was willing to say jack shit to the scrawny ginger running around chucking two young, very vocally quacking ducks into his Explorer. It seemed obvious to me after talking to the guy that he had.... issues (who the fuck drives 60 miles round trip TWICE to drop off and then "rescue" two wild ducks because it looked like the local water fowl were picking on them?). So I just kept walking and wondering if he was going to charge at me with a pair of scissors in a stabbing motion yelling "Don't take my ducks from meeeeee! They're all I have left!!!!"
Oh, and finally, Monday night the region got pounded by a major storm line that led to 7 hours of almost constant thunderstorms (lighting every 3-5 seconds), two tornado touchdowns within 10 miles of my house, and debris flying everywhere. And I died. On top of that I forgot to put the trash out for Tuesday garbage pickup too. It was terrible.