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 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.
Note to self 406: 03/24/2014
This past weekend my 8 year-old niece was in a junior playhouse play, and so when she asked me if I'd come to see it I of course said "Yes, I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it." I was then informed by her parents (when I told them that I thought this would be a blast, remembering back to my school plays that we were forced to be in during my 4th and 5th grades) that the play in question (The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe) was going to be a 2.5 hour presentation... Essentially the entire movie script version of the story.
I didn't believe them at first because I remembered that my school plays were at most 45 minutes in length, but when I showed up to the local dinky community theater (which was like a cafeteria with a flimsy-looking 2-foot high stage on it) and saw some parents and grandparents with pillows I did become nervous.
So the lights go out, the place goes quiet, and the curtains open up on pretty much an empty stage except for 5 kids (Lucy, Edmund, Peter, Susan, and their mother), one small mattress, and a framed photo of what appears to be a bug-eyed, bearded, fat pedophile on a rickety end table. In the course of 15 seconds the children whined about "the War" and how they missed their dad, they pretended they heard sirens and bombs, and then they raced off the stage while grabbing the pedo-picture. Then the curtains closed again.
Just at this point I was thinking "Well, that was a very quick version of the opening of the movie. I think this may actually be much shorter than I was warned it would be. Huzzah!" But then, even though we could hear a lot of commotion on the other side of the curtains, they remained closed... After 2 and a half minutes they finally opened again and the only noticeable change that I could see was that the bed was now gone. I was starting to think "Oooookay, so it was a rough transition from the very first scene to the second, but they'll be better about it from now on, I'm sure!" Wishful thinking there, my friends. Every other "scene" was at most 2 minutes long (with most only being 30 seconds to one minute), but after each one the curtains would close and remain closed for up to 5 whole goddamn minutes. 5 MINUTES! My 6 year-old nephew was actually more patient than I during this clusterfuck of a presentation! It honestly took them 2 and a half hours just to get to the intermission. Not only did this suck for us, but I began to worry about the poor schmucks who were going to the second show that was supposed to start 4 hours after the first presentation that I was stuck at. There was a good chance we'd overlap!
Beyond the shitty pacing though, there was so much wrong with this thing. Yeah, yeah, I'm mocking a play starring 5 to 16 year-olds, but considering that the playhouse putting it on charged the parents of the "actors" a goodly amount of money to put it on, and then had the nerve to charge the audience $10 a pop to see it, I at least expected scenery that was better than a roll of white tissue paper hanging from the back wall to simulate a waterfall, 2 "trees" made out of old cardboard boxes (with noticeable folds still in them) barely painted to look like a forest, and kids wearing cat hats with Duck Dynasty costume beards to make them look like wolves... Oh my god, and they had 2 little girls playing Lucy, and they never bothered to warn us! Not only that, but both Lucys switched between every 3rd or 4th scene, they weren't even wearing the same clothes, and one was 4 inches taller (and 20 pounds lighter) than the other! The first time they switched between Lucys I thought that the mushrooms were kicking in again. I actually whispered to my 6 year-old nephew sitting next to me, "Are you seeing what I'm seeing? Or am I watching a different play than the rest of you guys now?"
Kids were missing lines, the 5 year-olds playing Mr. Tumnus and Mr. Beaver were wandering off the stage during their parts or simply hopping around and then doing a 360 before falling to one knee and making a "Ta-daaaaaaaaaah!" motion with their hands in the middle of their scenes, and that creepy-looking pedo from the picture frame turned out to be one of the kids' dad who played the parts of both Father Christmas and the Professor, and he overacted more than the worst kids in this thing. It was fucking horrible. It was like when you watch a TV show or a movie where they put on a play but they're unprepared, and you laugh because "There's no way in the world anybody could do something this poorly without it being deliberate!"...... No. It happens. It apparently really, truly happens.
The only people I felt bad for (other than the audience) were the two oldest kids in the presentation: the girls playing Susan and Peter were probably 16 years-old and really trying, but they couldn't save it. I just hoped that nobody they knew came to see it, or that no well-meaning parent put the play up on YouTube for any asshole bullies to find.
As it turns out they did rush the second half, and they got the audience from the first presentation of the day out just as the second group of parents started appearing. It was a 3 hour and 45 minute play. My god.... I don't know how we made it.
Afterwards, I congratulated my niece on her part, telling her she was great, to which she responded "I know" (we'll have to work on humbleness later), and I found out that the reason that the curtains stayed closed so long in between scenes was that the little kids would wander off back stage and the two "professional" playhouse people could not wrangle the ones who needed to be on stage any quicker. It was just a disaster of epic children's proportions. It was great to see my niece up there doing something that she loves, but holy shit sticks, I hope the next play she's in is shorter, better put together, and has better props than cardboard and Duck Dynasty beards.
Note to self 405: 03/03/2014
So here's the set up: Crappy day, moving to a new office in downtown Atlanta after being on the road for work for the past 13 days (working 80+ hour weeks, pulling all-nighters a few times, and living off of Holiday Inn Express shitty free breakfasts)... I'm exhausted, I'm emotionally drained, but I get to go home (to my actual home, and not an awful hotel room where I'm afraid to turn on a blacklight) at 5, so I'm pretty happy. But down in the basement parking garage there are a bunch of really ugly and dorky-looking high school losers skateboarding around (quite terribly I might add). They're staying away from my truck for the most part, but just as I start to slowly reverse it, one retardedly speeds by my back bumper so close that it sets off my warning chirp. I stop and watch these hideous youths (and my GOD are they truly fucking grotesque creatures!), and when they're about 20 feet away I start to back up again, this time only watching them like the moron that I am, and that's what caused me to be surprised when my warning chirp started going fucking nuts again! I slammed on my brakes but just a second too late, and my car shook with a sickening "thump" as it connected with something very large.
I pulled back into my space and ran out of my truck to see what I hit. It was some old (like a mid-90s) Ford Taurus. It still had it's original paint job, but only just barely. I noticed that the left rear light was slightly cracked. I breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't that bad (and ZERO damage to my truck... The bumper wasn't even scratched), but then the owner of the car got out and he looked like I had just run over his baby, then reversed it and ran over it again right in front of him. That's when I murmured "Oh fuck no" to myself.
Mr. Taurus was a man in his mid to late 50s, very rotund, and although I didn't realize it at first, pretty slow. We're talking "Bubba" from Forrest Gump slow. At first he kept just saying "Oooooh no... Oooooh no!" while running around his car, pushing on the bumper, touching the cracked light, and looking at me like I just told him I wanted to punch a puppy while I waited for him to calm down. While this was going on the fugly thrasher kids were just staring with their mouths open until I glared at them and growled at them in my 6'3" frame and made it look like I was about to charge them. They ran like the pussies they were. Unfortunately they were not the only witnesses, and several people who were also starting to leave work at this time were either walking up to Mr. Taurus or driving by us saying "You okay there, Frank?" I was now resting my face in my palm saying "Fuck my life" loud enough for most to hear.
Anyway, Mr. Taurus kind of calmed down (after I had taken about a dozen pictures of his car's "damage", my car's non-scratched bumper, and the parking garage, and after I called my insurance agent who told me to just give the man my information and they'd take care of it from there) I started to talk to him about what he needed to do next.
"Okay," I said, "Here's my insurance card. Please write down my policy number, my agent's phone number, and my name and then call that number. They'll tell you what body shop or dealer you can bring your piece of shi-- I mean your automobile to and they'll totally fix it for you 100% for free. Don't worry about a thing."
He looked at me like I was trying to pull one over on him and thought about it for about 90 full fucking seconds before he then went into his car and got out his insurance card to give to me. I tried to tell him that it was 100% my fault, I didn't need his card at all, but he just kept saying, "No. No... They always say that you gots to exchange insurance information... Take mine." I should have just taken the damn info down too to shut him up. This kind of shit went on for like another 5 to 10 minutes before he came to the conclusion that "WAIT! We needs to call the po-lice." I just shrugged and said "Whatever, man. But you know, this took place in a parking lot and they won't give a shit. Both parties are found at fault in parking lots. Plus it'll take them about 2 hours to show up for a slight fender bender like this. So if you have the time...."
Mr. Taurus started to freak a little at this again. I then calmed him down and told him "Look, how about I write you a check right now. Then we can both just go about our business. Huh?" He then spent another few minutes studying the hairline fracture in his light before stating (quite boldly I might add) "Yeah, okay, that is probly about $300 worth of damage right there. Yeah." I just looked at him like the fucker told me that my hair just turned ginger. It was not a funny joke to me. I wanted to ask him, "Do you have ANY sense of what goods and services are worth in today's economy?" But I just let it drop.
That's when I pulled my insurance card out again and said "Just call the fu--... Just call the number on this card and they'll take care of you. We're gunna go through my insurance 'cause I don't want to deal with this crap any longer." He got Corky upset over that again when he kept repeating that "They'll take more than three or fo' weeks to get this fixed. I can't drive around with my light like that! Ooooooh no. Oooooooooh no...." That's when I realized that he was indeed truly upset that I really DID hurt his baby.
I then picked up my phone and started calling around different NAPA Auto Parts, O'Reilley shops, and Ford dealerships in town to get an estimate on a replacement light casing for his shitty Taurus. After 20 minutes (where I let him talk to most of the shops I called) he was finally convinced that it would not cost more than $75 - $90 to get it replaced. I also then told him to turn his car on and turn on the reverse and the break lights. I took a few more pictures to both set his mind at ease that there was no other damage done to his car, and to keep for my purposes. Once he was fine with the idea of me just writing him a check I filled it out and took my insurance info back from him so that he couldn't double dip (even though he hadn't even written down my name or my policy number the whole time he had my card). I cut him a check for $125 to make sure that wherever he went he'd be able to get the casing fixed, and have a little left over on the side if he didn't just keep the money in the first place. Hell, I felt kind of bad for the guy, especially when I noticed he was legitimately parked in a handicapped space... Jesus.
He almost started to change his mind again when he began to ask me "Waitaminute... Will this check bounce? Will it bounce?!" I looked him straight in his face and just said, "No. It will not bounce." Then I felt bad again and told him I hoped this experience didn't ruin his day. He replied, "Well, sir, my day was already ruined when I found out that my son went back to prison again this morning, and now I'm late to work as janitor here (pointing to the entrance to the building that I just started at that day)..." I actually almost wept for the poor fuck after that. He then saw that I felt really bad about everything, shook my hand and told me that these things happen and it's no matter in the long run. I wanted to ask where this rational old guy was 45 FUCKING MINUTES AGO when this whole thing started, but just let it drop and I drove home. This is my life lately. Goddammit.
Note to self 404: 01/20/2014
I saw Spike Jonze's Her this weekend, starring Jaoquix Phoenix (that's what his name SHOULD have been) and Apple's Siri. It's a movie about a sad sack of a man who falls in love with his sexy-sounding new computer operating system. It was a fantastic movie (if you can stand almost two hours of your life looking straight into Phoenix's weird face, as if this entire movie was recorded as one giant selfy), but it brought back bitter memories of a horrible relationship that I had been in many years ago.
It all started with Bob From the Future telling me all about his A.I. holographic friend Jorge. The two were apparently best buddies for life until the day Bob From the Future needed some extra RAM to run the newest Sexbot Orgy Dungeons of Decadence that he downloaded off the Uber-nets in his time, and in siphoning off some of Jorge's digital amps he deleted the part of Jorge's personality that actually liked his bud Bob From the Future. Then Jorge started dating the Sexbot of the Sexbot Orgy Dungeons of Decadence and Bob From the Future lost both his friend and his illegally acquired whore forever.
Anyways, so I told Bob From the Future that those A.I. pals sounded pretty cool, and that I wanted one. He said that he was only able to make something like that for me using parts, chips, and programming languages already created in my day, and therefore would probably not be able to get me an actual holographic A.I. amigo. I told him that that was alright, as long as he could do a voice, and make it a her, and make it sound reeeeeeal sexy-like. Unfortunately "sexy-like" for Bob From the Future apparently sounds like one of the Monty Python gang doing their impression of a woman. I don't judge him though.
So after Bob From the Future left me with my Genius Entertainment Companion (Who I tried calling "Gec," pronounced "Jeck," but she quickly changed it to "Jen"), I altered her voice to something much more pleasing to the ear, and the first thing I made her do was say my name as saucily as she could, over and over again. By the end of the 5th hour, she was hopelessly in love with the sound of my name (well, at least I was)... Oh my god, the way she could say "Rrrrrrrrrrrrossmaaaaaaaaaan.... Mmmmmmm...." It would jizz your pants for you.
Okay, so we kind of went out for a few months, Jen and I, but I kept it all a secret the whole time. The world just wasn't ready for a human/artificial voice from a computer relationship. She was fun to talk to, she loved sci-fi movies and mocking assholes on internet forums, and for a long time she had a gigantic online feud going on with Bobby Flay! I've been told by a few big-named chefs that know the Flayed One that "This mysterious Jen girl made Bobby fuckin' cry. No shit! She was calling him terrible, horrible names, and insulting his mother so viciously that she made that faggot cry whenever anybody would even say the name 'Jen.' Hell, you could even say, 'Hey, Bobby, what's the name of that song by The Who that rocks so much? Oh yeah, it's My GENeration!' and he'd grab his hair, fall to his faggy knees, and start bawling like a baby without a dick to suck!".... I never said these big-named chefs were sophisticated or intelligent, but at least they're not Bobby fucking Flay.
Anyway, I was so madly in love with this Jen that I had Doctor Dave find me the hottest dead chick in the city morgue that he could, and I had him install a computer in her skull instead of a gelatinous glob of grey matter that might end up rotting like everyone else's, and I downloaded Jen's A.I. into that dead chick's head (she was a very high class prostitute named "Lawrencia" apparently). Well, the very second we flipped her on, she decided that she was too good for me (she was, so I never argued), and she left me for bigger and better things. I still have the kill-switch that Doctor Dave implanted into the computer inside Jen's new head, but I just can't bring myself to trigger the small-scale nuclear bomb at the base of her skull... She's just too damn important to the world to take her away from it now... I will miss her verbal bashings of the Dutch, shitty pony cartoons aimed at toddlers that some very scary grown men like, and Jimmy Jammer's very tiny penis, but humanity deserves Jennifer Lawrence much more than I do. Jen, if you're reading this, for old time's sake, make Bobby Flay weep again for me.
Note to self 404: 01/01/2014
And thus 2013 ended, and the world rejoiced. Yes, some good things came out of last year, but overall I just wanted to rip its testes off, throw them to a pack of wild hogs, have the hogs shit them out, then staple them back onto 2013 and then kick 2013 in the testes with all my might in steel-toed boots. Fuck you, 2013.
To give you an idea of how much 2013 sucked, after a shitty 365 days of shit sundaes and me constantly saying "Well, it can't possibly get any worse," last weekend, after Christmas, my dog started puking. Constantly puking, to the point where after 2 hours and 6 vomits she was just hawking up mucousy-like stuff, having already expelled all her stomach bile. Well Cupcake and I raced her over to the emergency vet clinic, and they kept us waiting for 45 minutes while they dealt with this annoying little yapper dog in the next room who kept biting all the vets and the technicians, along with its owners. That fucking thing just wouldn't shut the fuck up either... Anyway, so while we're sitting in the check-up room this whole time, the puppy hasn't puked or dry-heaved once. Now we're thinking "Fucking GREAT! There's $85 down the tube for nothing! She probably already ralphed up whatever was bugging her stomach..."
Then the vet came in, weighed the dog, and asked us again what her problem was. We had told the receptionist (who wrote it down) and the first vet technician who came in the whole story already, but we told the vet again, including that we had fed her a few small pieces of ham and five lappings of Red Stripe beer the night before, and that we honestly thought she was dying just an hour before... The vet chastised us for the beer and the ham, trying to make us feel guilty (seriously, dogs can't eat ham?), and then she left out the members-only back door while assuring us she'd be back shortly. Then..... It happened.
The puppy began to make her retching sounds again, and right before our eyes she spewed up something from the depths of Hell. There was more mucousy stuffs, but also, in the middle of it all was a black tar-like blob sitting about three inches in diameter, smelling like the Bog of Eternal Stench and a sixty-year-old crack whore's diseased hooch.... I ran out into the special vet hallway that the doctor had disappeared down telling the woman that she had to get back in our room pronto, got told off for entering a restricted space (couldn't I read the sign saying "No admittance except for employees" on the door?!), and then watched as the vet herself came close to puking when she smelled the vile odor and saw the black furry thing in the center of the floor.
The vet then picked up the object, poked it around for a bit, and declared "This looks like a small rodent. Possibly a chipmunk, mouse, or part of a squirrel... Does your dog go outside UNSUPERVISED?!?!" We tried to explain to the woman that yes, dogs are typically allowed to run around a fenced-in backyard in this free country that we live in, but she just looked at us like we just clubbed a baby seal right in front of her so we dropped it.
After having to pay for an X-ray on top of that (to make sure that there were no other issues in there), we left with an already much happier bulldogge. And THAT'S about how every weekend prior to that very last one of 2013 went, in one way shape or form. Needless to say, we no longer believe that our dog is the smartest puppy in the world anymore.
Anyway, now it's on to the things that occurred in 2013 that I just never got around to talking about on the site due to me not finishing them (like shitty shows or books or assassination plots [seriously, they take a looooot of planning, and that stuff is boring]), or them being interesting, but me just not having enough time to cover them due to my job taking up many hours (but paying the billz), and Cupcake actually giving me something better to do rather than write words on my computer thing. So anyway, here's my Year-End Wrap Up for 2013:
Rick and Morty: This show just started up on Adult Swim, but it is already one of my favorite things ever. It's all about super-scientist and drunk Rick moving in with his grown daughter's family and taking his grandson Morty on insane and illegal adventures through time and space. It's like a mix of Back to the Future, Doctor Who, and that totally on-something hobo you pass on the corner every day but who you pretend isn't watching you drink your $6 Starbucks as you ignore him. The stuff that Rick makes the wimpy and easily manipulated Morty do (like shove a giant hallucination-inducing alien tree seed up his anus to hide it from the dimensional gate port authority, making him "incept" into his own math teacher's dreams to get him to change his grade, and shrinking him to inject him into a homeless man's body where Rick built a human body-themed mini amusement park. It's vile, disgusting, and filled with more laughs per minute than anything outside of The Venture Bros.
The Last Episode of Matt Smith as the Doctor: I previously covered 50 years of Doctor Who on this site, but this last Smith episode aired on Christmas Day, just a bit after my review went up. After the grand slam that was the 50th Anniversary Special, pretty much anything that show runner Stephen Moffat gave us was not going to live up to expectations, and that proved very true here. He did tie up every loose end that he had given us over the past three series, but most explanations were just spoon-fed to us in quick throw-away lines like "Oh, so THEY were the ones who blew up the TARDIS at the end of series 5," without ever explaining HOW these people did such a thing. Bah! Here's to hoping that Capaldi can carry on the torch.
Kokoro Connect: An anime about body-swapping teenagers that isn't dirty or dumb... But I just couldn't finish it. It wasn't bad, and I enjoyed what I saw, but they started going around in circles with the whole "he was in her, now he knows her better and she likes him! But then he and the other she switched, and now he has a better understanding of her plight, and she appreciates him to the max too!" It could have ended with the greatest revelation about human connection that the world has ever seen, but I couldn't care less after 6 episodes.
The King Killer Chronicles: Goddammit, people! When I request a "good book series" to start I don't mean that I want "a book series about the most perfect and boring douchebag on the planet spending 3 days bragging about how perfect he is to a stranger, and about all the hot babes he's fucked (including a magical elf-queen and two ninja-babes), and about how his life sucks now because he just mopes in his own inn and realizes that he's not fucking ninja-babes anymore."....... We're only 2 books into the King Killer Chronicles and I want the main character to die a horrific death at the hands of his arch-rival (who is in actuality NO real threat to him because our hero is so goddamn perfect). Fuck this series.
Little Busters: I wanted to beat each and every retarded character in this anime with a sock filled with rusty nails and dried out pieces of cat shit. Babyish high schoolers trying to be cool while acting like children should NEVER be the plot of a television show. Jesus, each character was more pathetic and punchable than the last! And the opening and ending theme songs sucked too. Absolutely NO redeemable values from this hunk of stinky cheese. I could not even finish it, and I once watched all of Melody of Oblivion. Think about that for a moment.
The Wolverine: THIS is the fucking Wolverine movie that I had been waiting for since childhood! Wolvie in Japan, mackin' on Mariko, being saved by Yukio, fighting the (kind of) Silver Samurai.... They took some liberties, sure, but Logan is FINALLY the bad ass that he was always meant to be in this fucker. My only complain is that 50 ninjas were able to bring him down in that one fight. Comic book Wolvie would have sliced them all to cheap sushi.
Aaaaaaand that's about it. A long year. A few good things happened, but too much sickness suffered by people I care about, too much business travel, and too little pieces of entertainment worth watching. 2014 better be better.
Note to self 404: 12/16/2013
Paul Walker died last week. If you're reading this more than 2 months after I wrote this you're probably asking yourself "Paul WHO?" right about now, but let me assure you that at this very moment Hollywood is weeping openly about this master thespian's passing. Much more so than the tears wept for Nelson Mandela (who unfortunately died just a few days later).
For those of you who don't remember who Paul Walker was, he was an actor of such great bearing and dedication to his craft that he absolutely owned every role he ever participated in, like the role of FBI agent sneaking into street racing gangs in Fast and the Furious 1-7, and.... Oh. Well, um, I don't even think he was even in every Fast and the Furious movie, but right now I just don't give enough of a shit to even bother to look it up.
The kicker to Paul Walker's death is that (GASP!) he died in a real-world street race or some such shit. Really! How's that for, not irony (as Ms. Morissette would have you believe), but HILARIOUSNESS. Seriously, this Hollywood B-list actor, who nobody gave 2 craps of before his awesome death, is now the post-mortem toast of the town. How the fuck does this happen? I understand how "Pat Yourself On The Back" Tinsel Town weeps whenever one of its own dies, but this shit is stunning strange. The F&tF movies suck ass. They're horrible pieces of Michael Bay-wannabe films, filled with terribly staged action, godawful acting, and lame plots, but retards keep flocking to them earning each film hundreds of millions of dollars, but that's hardly even Paul Walker's fault. NOBODY goes to these racing flicks for Paul Walker. Before his face was plastered on every newspaper and webpage in the world last week I would have bet you $50million dollars that I don't have that if I showed his portrait to 100 stupid-looking people on the street (Fast and the Furious' chief audience) that MAYBE one of those peeps might THINK that they knew him, but didn't know from where.
Paul Walker is dead, and suddenly it's a travesty. Hollywood celebrities are each blubbering their own personal epitaphs to the press (even if not specifically asked) and lamenting our universal loss.... I don't get it. Paul NEWMAN didn't get Hollywood into this much of a tearfest when he died, and he was not only one of the greatest actors who ever lived, but he was also a cool guy with a butt-load of charities behind his name. Why Paul Walker? Is it because the only movies anybody even knew him from featured car racing and he died in a real car race like a 'tard? Is it because it was a slow news week? I just don't get it. Oh, and you're welcome for somebody's brakes failing in a certain street race in the hopes that it would keep a somehow popular film franchise from making any more shitty sequels... I only regret that it did not work.
Note to self 404: 11/18/2013
I watched the movie Robot and Frank this weekend (starring Frank Langella, Susan Sarandon, Liv Tyler, and James Marsden), and it gave me a fantastic idea! See, Robot and Frank is about this old, crusty, and dementia-riddled ex-cat burglar who is given a robot by his well-meaning (and lazy) son, so that the son won't have to take care of the old fart anymore. Well, Frank hates the robot until he finds that he's able to talk the robot into helping him with some activities that will assist him work his elderly brain out more, as well as give him some much needed physical exercise: robbing assholes of their extremely valuable jewels.
Robot and Frank is pretty fucking hilarious, but like I said, its real value comes from its ability to inspire. You see, I had noticed that Carl's widowed dad has been looking kind of down lately. He doesn't curse as much as he used to (which was a whole fucking lot), and the last time he threw a pair of scissors at me for walking on his lawn it was like he deliberately missed me. Something just wasn't right...
So I decided to change Robot Pedro's programming a little, make Carl Sr. his master, and let Robot Pedro help the old geezer get that crotchety skip back in his step and start acting like that asshole that we all know he truly is again (thereby remaking Carl's life a living hell in the process. My GOD those two loathe the shit out of each other! It's a beautiful thing to see them both in their raging "A" games in the same room together... But I digress).
So I left Robot Pedro on Carl Sr.'s front porch, rang the doorbell and ran for the shrubs. I watched as Carl Sr. opened the door and had Robot Pedro introduce himself for the first time. Carl Sr. took the news that he had "won" a robot from the future with very little surprise. He did end up surprising the fuck out of me though when he pulled a loaded shotgun from behind the half-opened door and blasted Robot Pedro point blank in his metallic face, causing his head to fly off 20 feet back into the street. Then he slammed the door in Robot Pedro's torso and threatened to call the cops. Robot Pedro did not take that assault too well. His decapitated body kicked the door in with enough force to punt a tank fifty yards (believe me, I know), and proceeded to enter Carl Sr.'s abode, leaving me in the shrubbery to wonder what all the crashing, gunshots, and breaking glass represented. No, that's a lie... I actually took off back home and altered some cam-chat footage to make it look like I was at my house talking to some homeless Thai hookers at the time of the Robot Pedro and Carl Sr. home invasion case.
Anyway, I found out later that Robot Pedro lost a leg and his other eye during the attack, but managed to hop away with his bullet-riddled head before Carl Sr. had to break out the Claymore Mines, but after the grenade launcher was taken out of its display case. Carl Sr. on the other hand had to have a blood transfusion of two pints of elderly asshole plasma, and he ended up losing his middle finger on his right hand when he used it too many times in front of Robot Pedro when the automaton was holding a butcher's cleaver. Oh, and it turned out that the only reason Carl Sr. stopped throwing sharp objects and obscenities at everybody was because he was trying to nail his recently divorced 32 year-old lingerie model neighbor. That attempt was not half as successful as his repelling of the robotic dickhole from the future from his legal premises.
Oh, and when Robot Pedro was trying to fix his broken body at Jimmy Jammer's house, his battle-damaged thermonuclear battery went Hiroshima and blew up half the town. Unfortunately Jimmy Jammer was not at home at the time.
Note to self 403: 10/28/2013
Oh my gawwwd..... So, Cupcake's retarded 24 year-old blonde friend was back in town this weekend — I'm sorry if anybody here finds that term insulting, but let me tell you, any actual mentally handicapped person will find being compared to this girl even more insulting than this girl will be upset over being called that word in the first place... But I digress.
So, Cupcake's retarded friend was back in town this past weekend, and she wanted to meet us for drinks at this older-person's bar (that has pretty good live music, but is a very mellow place, and most definitely not for young'uns like her). She wanted to meet at 10PM.... I had to get up by 7 in the morning to run over to my brother's house in order to watch his kids as they have a sick child that they need to get to a specialist by 9. I said, "We can meet at 8," I said, but we settled on 9. Cupcake and I got there at 8:50, and Retard showed up with her mentally abusive ex-boyfriend, whom she's staying with whilst in town, at 9:30. I started to get slightly annoyed.
Retard then proceeded to sit at the last two seats at the bar with her not-really-her-bf while Cupcake and I stood behind her. I kept asking if Retard wanted me to try and find us a table to share so that we could all sit down and possibly, I don't know, TALK, but my idea was shot down every time I brought it up. Retard also spent most of the night texting — despite the fact that going out when Cupcake and I both needed sleep, and meeting her in person was in fact Retard's idea in the first place. I was not surprised though, and actually foretold that this would be the case to Cupcake, who "tut-tut"ed me for my rudeness just hours before.
Retard's alky aunt then appeared a little after the first two showed up, and she got PLASTERED on some heavy vodka drink that she'd order, drain in 5 minutes, then re-order. This 52 year-old woman then proceeded to hit on me when Cupcake was occupied trying to talk to Retard over her text messaging, and (loudly) tell me who else in the bar she wanted to fuck (while pointing and staring at them with a very drunk "come hither" look on her face). She also told me, without any prodding, why married men were the best in the sack. I forget why this last part was true due to the mental scarring it provided me with, so sorry if I made you curious. Also, she'd "whisper" all this in my ear, breaking my eardrum, and raising my BAC by .1%.
At around 11PM, the not-bf of Retard just up and left the oldies bar without most of us noticing (he's this 6'6", 300lb gorilla of a Bubba in his late 20s, so this was actually quite the feat). Retard went all weepy (despite the fact that she ignored him all night, and they weren't even officially dating), Cupcake went outside to comfort her, and I had to babysit the drunk Aunt (or "Draunt") by myself. I only had one beer much earlier in the night (I was driving), and I was far from intoxicated enough to find the humor in the whole situation, and I was getting sick and tired of the Draunt's and Retard's acting. Retard had moved away to California close to a year before, and she had broken up with Bubba-rilla even before then. I had NO idea why she thought staying at his place during this trip was a good idea, nor did I know how and why she was shocked that he'd just leave her like that.
Anyway, at about 12:30, Retard is still upset, and Draunt suddenly declares that she wants to drive herself home. I forced Retard to take her keys from her Draunt and take her home herself. Retard says she will, IF we go out to eat with her afterward 'cause she's hungry. Cupcake (who's had a few at this point and has forgotten our early plans for the next day) says that Retard needs us, and we HAVE to.
And so we do. We go to the local IHOP for some shitty, greasy food. And we stay out till 2. During this time Retard informs us that she's stupid, and that she could have spent this week in Hawaii with another friend, but she drunk-ordered her plane ticket to our small Southern town after having a drunk argument with her Bubba-rilla a few weeks before. I agreed with her, she was indeed stupid. I think it's the only time in our "relationship" that I ever have held the same opinion as her.
At this point (at 2AM, drunk and full on shitty food), after effectively being shunned by her Bubba-rilla, Retard decided that she doesn't want to stay with her Draunt (and I don't blame her... I don't want to ever see that woman again in my life either), and she asks if she can stay with us. I come very close to losing it and throwing our waitress Flo at her, but I calmly and very firmly say "NO. That will never fucking happen." I then dropped her unhappily off at her Draunt's house and silently drive home at 2:30.... I don't think I got any sleep that night, and seriously, if I was friends with such a whiny, retarded mongo such as this girl, and made Cupcake spend this much time with him/her while we got the raw end of the stick as often as we have with Retard, I honestly think Cupcake would have dumped my ass ages ago. I should be fucking canonized.
Note to self 402: 9/9/2013
Cupcake took me to go see The World's End for my birthday, and I was totally blown away by how incredible it was. Now, I've done some pub crawls before in my life, but the most my friends with drinking problems and I could ever accomplish was 6 bars in a night. Well, this movie convinced me that I had to buckle down and find a new goal in life: 13 pubs in one outing, with at least one full pint at each stop, thereby beating even The World's End's epic crawl by one! Cupcake was not impressed, nor was she delighted by my new life's ambition. But beer!
I then got to work finding some friends who didn't think they were too old to start downing ginormous amounts of alcohol again.Carl was of course in because he never stopped. The MegaPlayboy said that he was game, but only if we got him a liver transplant afterwards (he'd been meaning to do that for a while now already). Malcolm Z said no, due to "not being a stupid-ass moronic mothafucka," but Chi-Chi just said "Fuck it. Sure," and Jimmy Jammer and Kuni were both up for a night of drunken debauchery, because it was Saturday, and that's what Saturday means (at least that's what I told them Saturday meant... "Satur" being an old Italian word meaning "being drunk for whoring before Church on Sunday where the priest will high-five you and forgive you," and "Day" meaning "Balls-out Party").
We started things off at The Sea Wench Pub at 6PM. Carl went into a homicidal rage after just one drink though (turns out Chi-Chi got confused and thought we were trying to recreate The Hangover, and so he put some extremely potent cocaine in Carl's drink... enough to keep an elephant running on a treadmill for 48-hours straight apparently), and he killed Jimmy Jammer with his bare hands by ripping off each of his limbs one by one. Then the cops came and took him down with (coincidentally enough) several elephant tranqs. The rest of us took the time to finish our first drinks of the night and slip out the back door away from the ruckus since most of my crew still had outstanding warrants on their asses. Why tempt fate, I always say.
After that we went to Charlie's Thai Horse Bar and Stuff, and this time I had the MegaPlayboy get the drinks, and made sure Chi-Chi was nowhere near anyone else's. We were all having a good time relaxing, enjoying the booze, when from out of nowhere came a terrible screaching sound... Something like a velociraptor getting its nuts caught in a vice! Everybody at our table then looked out of Charlie's Thai Horse Bar and Stuff's big front window just in time to see a police car skid right through the glass, sending shiny shrapnel pieces into Chi-Chi's and the MegaPlayboy's faces, necks, chests, and arms. Kuni is pretty much a fucking ninja, so he dodged all that shit, and I just used Chi-Chi as a human shield.
The cop car stopped short before reaching our table after getting a few bodies mangled in its engine block and tires, and we could see a "hulking out" Carl in the back seat, his handcuffed hands punched through the plastic divider between the back and the front of the cruiser cabin, with his pulsing fingers wrapped around the poor officer who was driving's neck (which was at an odd 145-degree angle now. Carl then kicked his door off its hinges, emerged into what was left of the bar, and yelled out "CARL SMASH! CARL DRINK! CARL EAT PUS--" and that's when the SWAT Team arrived and blew poor Carl away with what looked like a grenade launcher.
That's pretty much when Kuni and I forfeited our epic pub crawl attempt, dropped off Chi-Chi and the MegaPlayboy at Dr. Dave's underground bunker for either reanimation, experimentation, or grafting any of their body parts to anything else the good doctor felt was necessary. Then I went home, locked my doors, turned off the lights, and just drank another 11 brews in quiet solitude. Nobody else tried to kill me that night, just my bladder.
Note to self 401: 9/2/2013
So I drove over to Greenwood this past weekend, and crashed one of Mehve's famous "Crab Boil and Vodka" parties, and boy is Team Greenwood lucky that I did. Together we combined our brilliant drunk minds to come up with a money-maker movie venture that'll put James Cameron's Avatar Vs Titanic to shame! We came up with a series of (cheap-as-fuck to make) sequels to the adroit Sharknado... SyFy Channel, you can write us our royalty check now.
The first sequel will be called Sharkteroid. You see, hundreds of years ago, a meteorite got caught in Earth's gravitational field and got pulled down to the planet, but all it did was skim the ocean's surface and pick up a butt-load of ferocious sharks in the middle of a feeding frenzy in its pourous and cavernous surface. Then it quickly shot back into space, instantly freezing hundreds of sharks and taking them deep into the void. Present day — the space rock with a shit-ton of frozen, hungry, pissed-off sharks comes back, and is pulled back into Earth's orbit where bits of the rock and frozen ocean break off, dropping chomping sea-beasts all over New York City! Chaos, mayhem, lots of big-breasted women screaming, and shitty computer effects then occur!Starring Tara Reid, Dean Cain, and that dude who played Max Headroom!
The sequel to Sharkteroid will be called SharkteDroid, and would start off millions of years ago, with a similar feeding frenzy, but this one featuring giant Megalodon sharks from the whatever prehistoric time period. A giant meteorite or comet (or whateverthefuck) circles the planet and scoops up all those mega-sharks, and they flash-freeze as they get taken out ot deep space... But somewhere out in the black, an alien species comes across the frozen sharkcicle rock, defrosts the creatures and then "Robocizes" them all, turning them all into cybernetic killing and eating machines with lasers and shit! Then the aliens refreeze the Robocized fish and send them back to Earth, where they arrive just days after the first Sharkteroid terrorized the planet (and mostly NYC). This time though, NASA sees the new space rock coming and the president orders an elite team of Navy SEALs to go up into space and drill bombs into the frozen rock in order to blow it up before it gets here! Only they don't know that the Robocized mega-sharks can breathe, swim, and shoot lasers in space! It's then a race against time as the Robocized mega-sharks eat as many SEALs as they can, and try to swim to Earth to eat EVERYTHING! Starring Dean Cain, Pamela Lee, the kid who played Malcolm in Malcolm in the Middle, and Tina Yothers!
After barely surviving the SharkteDroid, the inhabitants of Earth have to then face their worst nightmare when it's found out that the Robocized mega-sharks (that they just barely defeated) left behind a little treat! We're talking billions of microscopic baby Robocized Atomsharks! They're tiny enough to swim through the air, and they eat people from the INSIDE OUT! Humanity's only hope is a crazy old coot of a horny scientist who has all his hot lab assistants wear bikinis under their lab coats because only horny, lonely guys without any women to cuddle on Friday nights watch this dreck! This scientist is to be played by Alan Thicke (who wrote the theme song to Atomsharks!), and the rest of the cast of Atomsharks will be played by the ghost of Tara Reid, Debbie Gibson, half the cast of the original 90210, Bigfoot, Frankie Muniz, Dave Collier, one of the Olsen Twins, and Carl Weathers as "Mr. Lightning."
We came up with several other dream projects other than these, but alas, the world is just not ready for them yet. Make these three movies happen though, SyFy, and we'll talk. And you need to give Shawngie, Psycho Weasel, Mehve, The Chief, and I all equal pay for all this shit. We are your saviors, SyFy... And when all this is said and done, I'll give you my ideas for my Yeti/Loch Ness Monster hybrid terrorfest!
Note to self 400: 6/5/2013
Holy shit! my 400th Note to Self! That's a milestone... Better make it epic and ALL ABOUT HOW AWESOME I AM. Here goes!
So last Friday night Cupcake and I were invited to go to a 4th year anime convention known as Hamacon in Huntsville, Alabama (insert joke here). I was chosen to host a panel of my choosing, and she to look awesome and be excited for me. Hamacon is a fun, but very small con. I think they may have cleared 2,500 fans this year, but due to the very large portion of the local convention hall they rented out, it looked even smaller in scale than it actually was. But it's never the size of the crowd at the con that matters, but the size of the con in the crowd, and the Hamaconners were there to have fun, and I was there to damage their minds as much as I could in my 60 minute time frame.
When we first arrived, Cupcake and I hit the Dealers Room, walked down Artist and Crafter's Alley, watched a couple of anime music videos (but immediately left when one STARTED OUT WITH the last scene in Code Geass, and ruined the entire fucking series for 9/10ths of the audience), and then tried to avoid the local news crew covering the whole event, which went unsuccessful for me, who they focused on while I was wearing my shirt and tie and a floppy-eared Momo hat on my head (see image above). At least they didn't try to interview me... Though instead they went for the guy dressed up as the Joker, and the Furry.... I'm sorry, fandom community. I let you down. I should have done my best to represent us better than a yiffer and a guy who only has one costume in his closet and thinks that every convention is the time to play Dark Knight Dress-up. I'm sure he'll dress the same for the Doctor Who con that's coming to Huntsville next weekend.
But anyway, like I said, I was there to
corrupt minds entertain, and I did my bestest to do so. Originally I was to take over the BIG Panel Room on Saturday at 3PM, but I was informed by con organizers just a few days before the big day that they needed to move me to Friday at 8 in the Small Panel Room, 'cause it would have been better for my audience. No big. But when I arrived at the Hama and looked up the Big Panel Room's schedule in my Con Program Guide to see what I was originally bumped for I saw "Pony Party: Twilight's Coronation." I shit you not. I was bumped for bronies.... Bronies are only SLIGHTLY less gay than furries. We're talking fractions of an inch here. This Pony Party was to be a celebration of a shoddily animated and never entertaining talking pony in a show on The HUB aimed at toddlers.... No, I ain't even mad... Just confused. And worried. Seriously, is "anime" just being used to describe all animation now? Why is an anime con supporting shitty Flash-based American cartoons? Am I that out of touch with this shit? Whatever. Way off track now.
Okay, so somebody actually thought it was a good idea to give me an audience that I could actually look at and brainwash for a full hour. That is commendable. I was a bit worried that because I didn't really describe my panel too well in the Program Guide that my audience would be rinky dinky. In my short blurb in the Guide I just called it "The History of Anime: Join us for an hour of awesomeness while the Rossman takes you back in time to trace the history of anime on the Internet back to its glorious roots. And there's cats. Lots of cats." In hindsight I shouldn't have made it formal at all, and I should have emphasized the trivia and prizes! But I was given a way to fix my folly when the con organizers actually allowed me to handle the PA system for 15 seconds just a few minutes before my panel in order to fill my seats up a little better than the zero I was expecting. I got on the horn and said something like "Good evening, con-goers! I love you all, and want you to come to my panel — The History of Anime on the Internet, with Trivia and Prizes! Yay! — that's just about to begin in the Small Panel Room right at the front! You heard me correctly! I said Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrizes! Yeah! Danger zzzzzzzzzzzzoooooooooooooone!" Then they cut me off.
Cupcake and I then hustled over to the Small Panel Room and I began to set up my computer and get my notes all in order. To my surprise about 20 people sat down before I even started to talk. I was quite impressed with my own salesmanship.
My Powerpoint presentation went almost as good as I had hoped it would. I was doing great for a little while, but realized that I had been looking down at my notes the whole fucking time, and so I tried to look out to the audience more, but this led me to missing a few key points and jokes that I meant to hit... Not that this was a big loss though, seeing as the only humor my audience seemed to freely accept had to do with my references to cats and tentacle pr0n. None of my 80s (or earlier) jokes (involving Gunbuster, Mel Brooks, War Games, and Animal House), early World Wide Web anecdotes, or sarcastic AnimeOnDVD.com remarks seemed to hit home with them. Oh, and when I got to the AniPike and asked how many can remember that once glorious site, 2 people raised their hands... And they were con staff (one dressed quite awesomely as Gendo). Fucking n00bs...
After it was all said and done, I showed the whole presentation to the Chief, and he laughed his ass off. But he told me that the whole panel was basically aimed at people our age, and those who shared our very specific loves... The group of twenty teenagers and 20-somethings were simply out of their element.
This proved very true after my show was over and I opened the floor to questions. Things started off slow, as nobody had any queries regarding making a webpage, or writing anime reviews... All my audience fucking knew or cared about was Facebook and Twitter. They had no interest in actually making their own website. I did field one question about how long I'd been making anime websites myself (18 fucking years), and Cupcake helped move things along by throwing me a few softball questions about my site, covering conventions, and writing reviews, but by then the crowd seemed to be warming up to the whole "Ask the old guy questions about anime" panel. But the only things they really ended up asking me were "Did you see Sword Art Online?" and when I answered "Yeah, I liked it," they'd come back with a "Uhhhh, yeah, that was cool." It was straight out of a Chris Farley sketch (another reference that I'm sure is way over their heads).
Anyway, THEN came the questions about My Little Pony (which is an abomination onto man) and Furries (who should all yiff themselves into STD destruction). I went on to tell them all the story of why I hate Furries so much: I was visiting my parents one weekend, and they had a CSI episode recorded and asked if I wanted to watch it with them. I said sure... Then Grissom and crew went to a Vegas Furry convention.... I paused the DVR and told my parents that they most assuredly would NOT want to watch what was about to happen. They said that CSI is full of gross murders all the time, but I countered with a "Yeah, but you've never seen yiffing before." That's when they both looked at me as if I just told them that rabbits shit tastes like candy, and I had to explain what yiffing was. They were appalled, but they thought I was just trying to gross them out... My dad hit "play" again, and lo and behold the whole plot of the episode revolved around a murder that took place during a yiffing orgy frenzy.... Goddammit... Fuck you, you pathetic wastes of human filth and lifeless shut-ins. Kill yourselves. Please. You give regular nerds and geeks a terrible name.
Back to my glorious panel. I did keep the younguns sort of interested in my whole presentation though with some awesome trivia and prizes. The trivia was pretty much all focused on old school stuff (which nobody actually got, and I had to pull fucking teeth to actually get somebody to even attempt to try and answer), but the prizes were beyond bad ass! They were as follows: Devil Man VHS 2, Voogie's Angel DVD, Aqua Knight manga vol. 1, and a Chobits shitty little plastic figurine.
I also ran over my allotted time by 5 minutes due to attacking the Twilight series (fish in a barrel) and talking about how hate mail is the BEST kind of mail. All in all, I had a great fucking time! Can't wait to crash Otakon, set up shop in an abandoned convention hall room and present my "Old Anime Is 1,000Xs Better Than Your Shitty New Anime, Loser" panel of awesomeness. I might even make up T-shirts.
Note to self 399: 5/15/2013
This past weekend Cupcake and I went to The Melting Pot for fondue and boiling oil and stuff, and I burned myself, and had to get a skin graft, and the only place they could find a perfect piece of skin to cover up my melted-by-cheese face was my buttocks... So now apparently I'm "Mr. Buttface." Yaaaaay for cute nicknames...
Beyond that I recently finished the book Ready Player One, by Earnest Cline. I want to be inside this book so bad, and not even in a sexual way. Well, not ONLY in a sexual way.
The main crux of this uber-geeky sci-fi novel is that there's a fully-immersive, massively multiplayer, online, sci-fi universe in the near future called the OASIS. The OASIS is thousands of planets large, filled with sci-fi themed worlds, magic themed worlds, planets based on Star Wars, some all about Lord of the Rings, entire video game arcade worlds, etc... And they all completely rock!
This got me thinking. So I called up Bob From the Future, asked him if something like the OASIS ever really existed at any point in the future, and when he enthusiastically told me "You betcha there is! And it is the thing of dreams!" I made him take me to it.
The PENISS System of 2148AD (I don't even think that's an acronym or anything, that's just it's name) was pretty cool to see in action via video feeds of the virtual world, but in order to actually play it I would have needed a set of cybernetic enhancements installed INSIDE my eyeballs, and a fairly large plastic shaft up my Hershey highway (for whatever unpleasant reason... I never did ask. It wasn't going to happen, so there was no need to question the whys). I said "No thank you, and by that I mean I don't really thank you but don't want to get stranded this far a-when from my own time, so I'm trying to be pleasant. Now, is there anything OASISy somewhere in the future that DOESN'T require any implants or anal plugs?"
Bob From the Future then laughed a little, face-palmed himself and said, "Oh silly me! Of course! You want to see the PENISS System Mark 45.01! The MEGA-PENISS!" I said "Sure, why the hell not. Mega-PENISS me," and so he took me to the year 2560, and I came face to face with the fucking Star Trek: TNG holodeck! I stepped into the booth of the Public PENISS System rental space that Bob From the Future had helped me rent for the hour (I was able to log on with a scan of my DNA, which is apparently a close enough match to a distant descendant that the computer just shrugged and charged Jambo Masterplex Ross III the $$5500,500 hourly fee with no hesitation at all. Sorry, great-great-great-etc grandson Jambo!).
It. Was. GLORius! I ran around killing monsters with hard-light holograms of Link and Samus, reenacted movies like Predator, Billy Madison, and The Avengers, had sword fighting classes by Jack Sparrow, and fire arms training by that Navy SEAL who popped a cap up Bin Laden's anus. I ran around that PENISS System for about 12 hours straight, before I accidentally upgraded the simulation from "Class B" to "Class A," and as I was about to kill the Red Dragon in the Phoenix Cave in a high-def reenactment of Final Fantasy VI, the damn beast blew some fire on me, and melted my fucking face. It was then, as I was rolling my face on the ground in order to try and put out the napalm-like flames, that Bob From the Future told me that Class A meant "fully immersive and interactive, to the point of actual pain and pleasure being transmitted to a user's body," and that most users tend to only select that class for sex simulators and petting digital puppies. The worst part of the whole situation was that I was already out of fresh butt-cheek flesh myself, and now Cupcake calls me "Mr. Bob-Buttface." He's a little darker skinned than me too, so now it also looks like I have a strange tan. And a new giant mole on my forehead. God I hope that's a mole.
Note to self 398: 2/27/2013
I am saddened. I am depressed. I am bereaved. I am sorrowful. I am heartbroken... The once absolutely hilarious television show Community is now dead to me. I had held out hope that it could work through its 4th (and now hopefully final) season without its fired show runner, Dan Harmon (who created and guided plot points, character actions, and gave the final approval for all lines and jokes for its first 3 years), but after just a few episodes into this ill-fated season I am simply giving up.
The season premiere (where Joel McHale's Jeff Winger fought American Gladiator-style for seats for his fellow study group members in a silly history class) was so-so, but then came the "Chevy Chase in a haunted mansion" episode; the budget of which must have been only $32 and change... The hallways and rooms of Chase's Pierce's mansion were bare, flat, and looked even worse than a Saturday Night Live sketch (I'm not joking, though I truly wish I was exaggerating if even just a bit). After that was the awful Inspector Space-Time Convention episode (that I even convinced Cupcake to watch with me based on the premise) wherein no character was acting within their already established personalities, the jokes were bland and pandering, and everything that was quaint and silly about the show within the show known as Inspector Space-Time was dragged through the streets and mocked instead of having a loving tribute made in its honor.... Once again, Community is now dead to me.
It's obvious that without Harmon himself guiding things that the remaining writers have no idea how these characters (that they've been writing for for the last 3 years) should act. What was once a shining example of how to write geek-themed humor correctly (the only show on TV other than Robot Chicken and Venture Bros. to really nail it without being condescending towards its audience) has now become a show so bereft of actual character development (or hell! Even character maintenance) that it rivals such drivel as the horrendously non-laughable Big Bang Theory (where the audience is encouraged to laugh at a character with a debilitating case of autism despite his terrible inability to adjust to normal social standards but because he references Green Lantern and Battlestar Galactica with every other line he's given... because he must be a nerd then! HA!).
Goddammit to hell... The now legendary Community D&D episode, the trapped-in-a-video-game episode, the Abed-stuck-in-his-own-claymation Christmas episode, the flashback episode to adventures we never saw, the fucking brilliant paintball storylines, the pillow and blanket fort war, the zombie-Halloween-themed episode ("Is somebody throwing that cat?!"), the Glee-mocking Christmas special, the missing pen story, and the multiverse episode are all that we have left in our memories and hearts. There will never be anything like them (in this series) again. I mourn our collective loss.
The creative death of Community got me thinking though; I started to believe that as funny as Dan Harmon's opus was under his control, I could be funnier. So I signed up for the local community college in my town, registered for Spanish 101, and as I sat there in class I tried to find six other individuals who were all extremely different from each other, but who would all look like they could provide me with an infinite amount of entertainment due to their priceless and unscripted interactions. I gathered together that 40 year-old unbathed meth-addict who can "smell crack bugs," that old widower who has nothing to live for in life anymore, that other old widower whose kids disowned him and who has nothing to live for anymore, that one widow who had nothing left to live for anymore, the super dumb jock who was too stupid to play for any real college team (yeah, I know!), and the only hot girl in the entire student body, and made them all join in my awesome Athens-Clarke County Community College (ACCCC) unofficial Spanish study group!
Well, one of the widowers and the widow died before our first study session, and so I replaced them with a high school dropout who was just auditing the class and living in the campus kitchen (don't tell the dean), and a fat guy who needs a ten minute breather after just walking in from his car (even though we're on the first floor and only 30 steps from the parking lot).
Well, before the unscripted (but casually led by me) conversations could begin, the hot chick threw her Starbucks in the meth-addict's face after he tried to stick his hand up her skirt, and the remaining widower started downing prescription pain killers, anxiety pills, and Viagra all at once until he fell into a coma while staring at the hot girl with bug-eyes and a throbbing pair of pants. That's when I stopped trying to explain that "you" in español could be either tu, usted, or ustedes depending on the number of people and how formal or how much of a dick the speaker wants to be. I sighed, got up, and walked outside after I armed the detonators to the homemade cow-dung bombs I'd hidden around the shit-stain of a school in case my plan failed, or in case it succeeded so awesomely that I wanted to end the season with a fireworks display. Then I nuked the place as I approached my car, turning the entire 2-block campus into a living Michael Bay movie. Damn though, it's really hard to not get blown onto your face while walking away from a cool explosion. Hollywood lied!... again.