The Rossman's California Dreams and Adventures
(05/2001)

This was the fifth year in a row that I went to Los Angeles in the Spring/Summer for one reason or another. This was also my 4th E3 Convention. The first E3 I partook of was in Atlanta though, and my first 2 trips to California were for different social gatherings (that you can read about in previous con-coverings I wrote somewhere else on this site). Confused? Well, you're an idiot cause it's not that hard to comprehend. But to simplify: I love SoCal and I truly love E3 with an animal passion typically reserved for Sarah Brightman.

This year I went to LA and E3 for a mix of business and pleasure, and the business of pleasure, so I found that I had to do a bunch of workshops and conferences for a good portion of my trip. But I promise not to talk too much about the non-fun shit. Those vocational related mornings were tedious and monotonous for me so I can just imagine how much you'd rather have Hitler yell at you with a megaphone about how un-Arian you are while you're constantly being hit with raw fish shot by midgets with fish-launching guns and you can't do jack-squat about it because your tongue is glued to an unbalanced washing machine. One of my friends has already drawn out blueprints for that gun, but I digress.

The following story starts out at the very beginning and goes well beyond the point at which you can even fake interest. Enjoy (there is a test afterwards though, so try and pay attention).

E3!! Yes, it was a California Dream/Wish/Pinky Promise come true. After robbing the elderly and punching babies for money for an entire 365 days I was able to save up enough cash to spend a proper and decent amount of time lurking around the LA Convention Center for the premiere convention of the year. Ogling the booth bunnies who (un)dressed nicely to pimp the electronic wares and give me pleasant dreams at night made up for the fact that I was not at E3 purely for fun times. But as stated above, I won't regurgitate all the boring panels, shmoozing and learning that I actually participated in (if my boss is reading this, those parts were really the best parts of the con and I loved them... lots). Instead I'll focus on the flashy, giant-boothed, big screened display halls and all the very nice hot chicks who saw fit to hit me in the face with many hard objects. And now, on with the show!!

I had to get up pretty early in the morning to catch my flight. Instead of going to the real airport in the city I had to take a 12-seater prop plane from the fake airport out in the boonies. I had the displeasure of sitting next to some business woman who had never flown in a bathtub (the relative size of our 'plane') before. The pilot was on the crack-rock though and kept having flashbacks to the Gulf War where he apparently had to "drop the big one on those communist ass fucks" like Hussein (I'm guessing). The barrel roles were a bit unnerving, but the bizatch next to me kept screaming at every bump and twirl we took. She was praying to "Jeebus" and saying stuff like "I swear, if I ever make it back to Mutha Earf in one piece I'm gunna become a nun and pray to you, Jeebus, all noon an' night!!! Fuck my family!!! Those muthafuckas ain't here wid me right now!!! They can screw demselves with they own goddamn dicks all I care!!! Jus' get my ass down!!!"

The slightly insane grandma in front of us shut her up in her own special way though. Granny kept turning around in her seat (even when the "fasten your seatbelt" sign was on! Whatta whore!) and yelling out "I eat garbonzos and prunes for breakfast!" Then she'd rip a few nasty ones like Carl on a typical morning visit to the porcelain office god right before I have to take a leak. At first I thought that the psycho wrinkle-bag was faking the noises like that little kindergartener in Billy Madison, but then the stench of a full Depends undergarment hit me! My olfactory senses have only been hit that hard two times before (once by the extremely rank outhouse at the camp I went to as a kid [no running water at all, and the john was just a hole in the ground with a shitload of shit, dead animals and chemicals poured into it in a beyond-pukey combination of filth], and another when my college roommate ordered Tai and Mexican within a 12 hour period). I was able to stay conscious (due to my rigorous Jedi breathing training), but thankfully the loudmouthed Jeebus freak got a mouthful of foul air and died. That was okay by me, but the pilot also whiffed the recycled old-person waste and passed out on the control stick. The maniacal old bitty only responded with "Raúl likes to lick the dog, Dildo, after mowing the lawn in the rain." I had to punch her in the face (well, I didn't have to) before pulling the pilot out of his seat and making some middle aged fucker behind me give him mouth to mouth (then I had to punch him in the face to get him to stop).

Landing safely was only the first scary adventure I had to endure. Finding a cab that doesn't have puke on the floor and jizz on the windows is an all but impossible task in LA LA Land. Fortunately I was able to find a cabbie who didn't mind cleaning up his wheels a bit for a fare. He also let me drive as long as we put the top down, picked up some of his homies and drove by the home of some "mutha fucka bitch ass dick licker". The cabbie and his friends opened up a can of pure whoop-ass on the "dick licker's" place in the form of automatic and explosive weapons. And apparently in LA, when you're driving the car from which those grenades and bullets fly from you're responsible for some of the damage and death that results. That rule fucking sucks cod piece!