PAGE VI - Ender Game

Hera then met us and informed us that the storm had passed and DC had survived. We all cheered. Hera is a cute, perky girl who hasn't had the pain and suffering of living in the real world beaten her down yet. She walked us around the rest of the Natural History Museum, telling us all about where they got each set of bones, each clay pot, and every last whale dingus. Don't get me wrong, I find that kind of stuff fascinating, but Firefly's Wash and I were just discovering way too many unintentional beastiality displays (see picture below), and unnecessary and waaaay too overly PC giant wings dedicated to stuff like "MODERN African Humans." Really? How is this exhibition housed in the Museum of Natural History? I mean, hey, Modern Africa, that's great and all, but what about a Modern Asian Call Girl wing? Why not a Modern Australian Pub Crawl exhibit? Why only one "modern" continent wing? And why a "modern" anything? Especially something that isn't "natural" that's being housed in the Museum of Natural History... But I digress. If not for that Modern African display I never would have met the black Cousin Itt.

"And here, dear visitors, is a reenactment of the very first domesticated goat BJ... Isn't it spectacular! Can't you FEEL the thrusting! The POWER! The satisfaction.... Excuse me for a moment, would you? I'll be in my bunk."

And fuck! That's all I can remember Firefly's Wash and I saying at the time. We had at least a good dozen lines about this one exhibit alone though. We were on such a great roll that we were making a ton of the other patrons laugh, and even more of the snooty ones scoff at us and our juvenility. Then we made fun of those fat fucks and got even more laughs. Ahhhhh, it was a grand day at the Smithsonian indeed!

He wasn't creepy, kooky, mysterious or spooky. He wasn't even altogether ooky, but his house was like a museum when I went to see 'im. And my God did that hairy dude love his elephant dong!

We finished our Natural History tour, left by the same way we had entered (minus the pandemonium and tramplings) and then Hera snuck us into the back door of the building she most recently worked: The National Archives Building. I felt kind of like a Mission Impossible guy, or Nick Cage in those totally shitty National Treasure movies, as we snuck around some back doors, kind of secret elevators, and waved at security guards who then frisked us down like it was going out of style. At least they were courteous enough to strip-search me when I asked for it.

We got to see lots of really old documents that you couldn't even read anymore due to their ink being all weathered and all. The Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and a copy of the 1297 Magna Carta were all (supposedly) on display there, but really, who the fuck knew for sure? The real ones could have been disintegrated or accidentally used as toilet paper long ago, and replaced by General Washington's grocery list since then... Hmmm, actually, that would still be quite impressive. Maybe even more so. Hell, they'd probably get a lot more visitors if they just say that they have private diary entries from Thomas Jefferson on display wherein he wrote his famous fanfic about some of his slave women and King George. Oh wow! Screw Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, I smell a blockbuster with Thomas Jefferson's Theater: King George, Napoleon, Ben Franklin's Electricity, and the 40 Hot Slave Chicks! I better remember to pick up that URL today.

I don't know for sure, but I'm going to say I'm 100% positive that this is the staircase that Indiana Jones walked down to meet Marion at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. That's just awesome!

After the National Archive, all four of us were starting to get hungry again (or in my case, for the first time that day). So Bloodberry asked Hera if there were any good local joints around that we could go to. When asked what we felt like I just blurted out the first thing on my mind: "Italian!" And so it was to be.

Dinner in Georgetown

We got back on the Metro and took it a couple of stops NW of where we were, then we hiked a few more blocks until we got to Famous Luigi's Restaurant. It was a cramped, noisy hole in the wall that seemed to think it was a lot more impressive than it really was, but goddamn was it good. Even though my stomach wasn't fully healed yet, I scarfed down my entire Vitello al marsala and simply thought "to hell with the consequences!" I even had a couple of Peronis too because I am a idiot and never learn nothin'.

At one point in the evening I had to use the head, and so traversed upstairs (after navigating through the dining area where the back of every chair was pressed against the back of another) only to find a large prayer meeting going on up there. It was weird as hell — the whole upstairs room was almost full of people all sitting down facing towards the back of the place (where not only their pastor or whatever stood, but also the johns), with huge tables of steaming food starting to cool down on the buffet behind them, and although I was tempted to pull a Fletch and just grab the mic from the guy and go off on a fantastic ramble about police officers, I focused on finding the bathroom first. While in there though I set my phone to the highest and most annoying ring tone it had on it, and then called Bloodberry and told her to call me back immediately. Just as I was emerging from the bathroom, 5 feet behind the guy preaching hellfire and brimstone to his hungry as hell audience (who kept looking over their shoulders at the delicious food behind them), Wannabe by the Spice Girls (that "I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want!" song, that I keep on my phone for just such an occasion) starting blaring from my phone holster on my belt. I looked around a bit as I pretended to try and figure out where it was coming from, all the while the preacher man's face started to turn bright red as he tried his best to ignore me. I then fumbled with the phone and answered with a booming "Hey!.... No, nothin'... Nah, I'm at Luigi's... No, LUIGI'S! Yeah. Yeah. There. No, I was just in the shitter.... Uh huh... Oh my God! They're going to have to shut this place down for a health violation after they see what I did in there!... Uh huh...." I continued as I slowly made my way down the steps, shouting louder as I descended into the din below. That preacher fucker STILL didn't let his people eat after that break in his concentration. Whatta dick.

We left Luigi's soon after that, and in the cool twilight we headed on up to Hera's apartment for me to get a Hello Kitty Band-Aid for a boo-boo I got on my finger after trying to point at the disgusting mole on the neck of the ugly dude catty-corner to me at dinner. I was honestly impressed at the size of Hera's Georgetown apartment for the price she was paying. I was expecting something about closet-size. Water closet-size. But it was pretty spacious and had a good view. Granted, she had nothing in the place other than a mattress on the floor, but still, nice flat.

After that quick stop, we walked to a local bar for a drink (I declined myself, my tumbly was acting a bit rumbly), and then through Dupont Circle, where we avoided all the couples making out and the homeless people smelling like poop. I had noticed that a ton of people were walking around with ice-cream cones at this time, and pretty much put my foot down that I had to get some. I think I made up some crap that I thought it would help settle my stomach, and eventually after all my whining everybody gave in to my quest to find the elusive ice-creamery. We found it in like 2 minutes unfortunately (I really wanted it to turn into a giant quest myself), and I bought the cutie Hera a scoop of the local's homemade dessert along with my own quadruple cone. Christ, I needed a fucking loan to pay for that shit. I easily could have bought a half gallon of the good store-bought shit for each scoop from that place, but when I'm on vacation and there's ice-cream around, I need to have some. That's the goddamn law. The Rossman Law.

After soothing my innards with the local 'cream, as I call it, we then marched down a few more streets, past a bunch more embassies, and eventually into a preeeeetty scary neighborhood until we reached a bar that Hera claimed would knock our taints sideways. I figured a declaration like that was well worth the risk, and soon we had made it to the Brickskeller.

The Skeller of Brick

The Brickskeller is the perfect bar: it's down a flight of stairs (like Cheers!), it's got over 1,000 beers to try, and it's got a Monte Cristo sandwich on its menu! Holy. Shit. Unfortunately this was one of the worst nights ever for me to find this wonderful place. I was back to feeling a bit queasy after that whole veal meal at Luigi's, and I knew there was no way I'd be able to try that Monte Cristo (one of the greatest sandwiches ever invented by mortal men), let alone more than a couple of those thousand brews. Christ, I think they even had MacAnally's Dark on tap. Anyway, the four of us sat around the 'Skeller sipping at our various beers and shooting the shit with our waiter Jeff, the ultimate beermeister, for a few hours. Jeff was awesome. I barely understood what he was saying half the time, but man he kept me engrossed!

Besides the whole 1,000 beers that the place had, perhaps what impressed me most about our time at the Brickskeller was the fact that Bloodberry and Firefly's Wash had taken it upon themselves to tackle as much of the inventory as they could without a second thought to it. Not only had they been going strong since Luigi's and the first bar we went to that night, but they were just pounding them back at the 'Skeller. AND they went bananas the previous night too. I reeeeeally must have been off my game that night. Granted, it had been well over a year since I had come close to getting drunk (a horrible date that started out shitty and only got worse until alcohol made it all better and her face about 5 shades prettier), but I was out of the fight like Apollo Creed in Rocky IV. Bloodberry, Firefly's Wash, I applaud you! And you too, Hera. You kept up well with the others that night yourself. I wish I were half the raging alcoholics that you guys are... I kid, I kid... I don't want to be a raging alcoholic like you guys... I keeeeeed! I'm kidding about it all. Except about the part where you guys really need help. Seriously. AA. It's there for you. In the phone book. Find them. Please.

Jeff was his name. Jeff. Remember it well, dear friends, and if you ever visit, ask for him... The man known as Jeff!

If I recall, it was close to midnight when we got out of there and began our long trek back to Hera's place to drop her off for the night. Nothing really happened during that late night walk (other than us almost getting killed by a very angry gang of hoodlums, and me telling the homeless panhandler that a froofy woman walking her little yapping dog told me she'd pay somebody $50 to carry her dog for her, and then us running like hell when the froofy woman began screaming bloody murder), and soon we found ourselves saying goodbye to my new friend Hera. She hugged Bloodberry and Firefly's Wash goodbye, and even though she offered me her hand I was already fully committed to a hug as I went in for a squeeze myself. She looked a bit confused and scared at first, but soon patted me on the back and told me "There, there... There, there... It'll be alright... Stop crying... Please..." I wiped my nose on my sleeve, but before I could try a kiss she was already past the security doors in her building and halfway up the first flight of stairs. Firefly's Wash gave me the "smoooooooth move" hand gesture and smile, and we then waved down a cab.

Good God! It was like a sign from above! We had the blessing of the gods on our side that night! We could have gotten away with murder!... Well, more murder than a few frat boys and dogs I mean.

I went back to my hotel, and my friends theirs, but we promised we'd meet once more for an early lunch the next day. When I made it back to my room, I was shocked as hell at the cleanliness of it. Yeah, I wiped up puke and spilled mouthwash as best I could, but holy shit, they got it spotless. They even got rid of the bloodstains on the carpet and the dead hooker in the closet. I immediately took out a twenty and placed it under a glass in the bathroom. Hell, I could afford to be that generous to the cleaning staff. I mean, I didn't have to pay for that hooker, did I?

The Final Day

I actually got a pretty good 9 hours of sleep that night, got up without too much pain, and got cleaned up before packing and getting ready to leave. Then I ran down to meet Bloodberry and Firefly's Wash at the entrance to the Metro station in front of their hotel at the predesignated time we had all agreed on. We found a trendy Thai restaurant in Crystal City, and then just sat down and had a really relaxing lunch.

Bloodberry and I reminisced about our time at UGA, hanging out at Greenwood Parties, the freak of nature known as Da Schlong, and just remembering the good old days. Then talk turned to The Grizzly Man. Holy shit. I have got to see this movie. Apparently there was this fllllllaming psychopath who once tried out for the Woody Boyd role on Cheers (who lost out to Woody Harrelson) who then went a little nutso and every summer for like 15 years went out into Grizzly bear land in the middle of Alaska to commune with the feral 2,000+ pound beasts.

He apparently documented almost all of his time there, and miraculously was never attacked by any of the bears (or rabid foxes) that he "befriended" like a loon. He'd talk all baby-talk with all these creatures, approach them while they were eating, and get close to them when they had cubs with them... Everything a human should NEVER do — yet somehow he survived and has video of him doing the dumbest things a person should ever do in nature. Well, I mean he survived for 15 years.

Apparently on his last trip to this Grizzly preserve he stayed much later in the season than he ever had (and ever should have), and hung around with all the hungrier, grumpier grizzlies that didn't find enough food in the summer months to go into hibernation on time like the healthier bears. Then one night just before his hired pilot was to pick him up he and his girlfriend beard were attacked and eaten by the bears they so stupidly loved in life. That last night, the Grizzly Man actually turned his camera on and those who found it had full audio (the lens cap was still on it) of the insane weirdo's last moments on Earth. There's apparently a shit ton of screaming, and you can supposedly hear the giant bear crack the man's skull in his jaws while the woman with the coulda-been-Woody screams her head off, which attracts more bears who then eat her. This is the greatest Darwin story ever told. I must rent it some time. They should show this shit to every high school student who thinks that "nature is nothing but butterflies and rainbows, and we're all God's creatures." Yeah, we may all be the big G's creatures I guess, but that doesn't mean that taunting a starving bear with your tasty man flesh will keep you safe in the middle of the foresaken wilderness.

Anyway, the meal was good, I was fully recovered from my reception debauchery, and soon the final three of us parted ways. I walked around the town for a little bit longer, then headed back to my hotel to grab my gear and check out. Post Con Depression began to set in.

I couldn't believe that neither Bloodberry nor Firefly's Wash knew why I wanted to take my picture on Bifröst! And what did Bloodberry mean when she handed my camera back with a knowing smile and asked when I would tell my parents? I called them up and told them of my journey to Asgard that afternoon! She can be silly sometimes.

Luckily my cabbie back to the airport was a pretty funny old guy. He'd lived in the D.C. area his whole life, and in the short ride to Reagan International he told me how "all them stupid gangs is makin' this area a shithole... But it's all the mothers and fathers' faults, see? All they have to do is take out the belt every once in a while and whip them boys' hides. Tha's it! Jus' like my momma done whipped me, and I whipped my boys. They never did any of this hoodlum street pimpin' shit in their lives. No sir! Hell, man, if their parents don't want to do it, I'LL do it. I got me a belt that's a quarter inch thick. I'll whip the livin' shit out of those punks... Take back my city.... Damn straight..."

The airport wasn't crowded at all, and although I saw Bloodberry and Firefly's Wash at the airport, they apparently didn't see me. Even after I shouted their names, chased after them, and followed them into the women's restroom before the cops tackled me. My plane ride home was uneventful, and I made a new friend on the flight, JoAnne. JoAnne did not stop talking the entire 2 hour trip. Even when I closed my eyes and laid my head back on my reclined chair and started humming "The Bitch Is Back" loud enough for her to hear. Honestly though, she was pleasant enough, and soon I actually started talking back to her. I told her all about the upcoming Fall and Winter movies and TV shows, she told me that her husband was an unappreciative loser who never paid any attention to her. After looking her up and down and discovering that she really was kind of hot, I then taught her about the mile high club and how much fun those rolling beverage carts can be if you know how to use them properly.

We then landed and I drove home (in my Exploder which was about to go ka-put for good), listening to old anime theme songs and remembering the good old college days. When I got back to my house, the first thing I did (after washing the smell of used and recycled airplane air off of me) was to watch a movie set in Washington DC. I try to do this after every trip to a new city (no, not watch a movie set in Washington, but one where most of the action occurs in the place I had just come from) in order to see just how well the filmmakers captured the feel of the town, and how realistically they used the genuine geography. Well, this time, instead of watching some boring old spy caper, or some shitty government thriller as my flick of choice, I chose the always awesome DC Cab. Holy crap, it's absolutely flawless in its presentation of Washington! Future filmmakers should take note and follow just how precisely they captured the look and mood of the town. And they should also put Mr. T in their movies too, because the T just makes everything better. EVERYTHING. Even breakfast cereal.

And so, that's pretty much it. 4 days in total in the nation's capital, marveling at the landmarks, pissing on the elected officials (only when they asked for it, and when the Secret Service gave their silent permission), and partying as hard as I could with the old UGAnime and Greenwood crews. Together again, for the 45th time. Once again, congrats to Mulder and the Mrs! Fantastic party! Muldercon was great success! We should do this at least 2 or 3 times a year (with open bar of course). And I must also thank all of Team Greenwood and UGAnime for forging my invitation for me.

Well, here's hoping that the next time we all gather it'll be for RossCon One... As soon as I can get Natalie Portman to accept my proposal and repeal that restraining order.

Just one more pic for the road.