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Battlebrats
Written on 2002-04-01, at 10:43 p.m.
dizboy’s disturbing daily diet…

˝ Quart Grape Juice

3 Sausalito Cookies

2 Bowls Cocoa Puffs

1 12’’ Quizno’s Sub


John Live*

I’m smiling because I’m not wearing pants.

John Live is brought to you again thanks to a Diaryland SuperGold membership.

*Not at all live


For the past five days, the soundstage next to the one I work in has been inhabited by killer robots.

And God, I wish I was kidding.

Last weekend, Battlebots moved into Universal Studios Sound Stage 23 for a three day competition/production shoot.

Now, it’s bad enough that this show, which is the metallurgist’s answer to “American Gladiators”, attracts a cross-section of the population that rivals only NASCAR events in their sheer vapidness and a mindset which thinks that donning your snap-up shirt, and a baseball cap cleverly displaying the image of a Bill Watterson cartoon character urinating sidelong onto the trapezoidal Chevrolet logo is “dressing up.”

No, that’s not bad enough, because it wasn’t a normal Battlebots competition, oh no.

It was called Battlebots IQ.

Which means that the aforementioned populous were there in full force, but only to cheer on their school-aged children.

Battlebots IQ is apparently the educational tax-write off that some ingenious lawyer dreamed up as a way to save the show a heap of money. It involves students designing the robots, and pairing with corporate partners to build, test, and ultimately destroy in a Plexiglas cage filled with spikes and buzz saws.

That lawyer is now cruising around in a Bentley, and I am stuck dealing with a small army of those kids you knew in high school who, to this day, still have not gotten laid.

I arrived at the soundstage on Thursday with the idea that it was burning down. The enormous breezeway which separates all the stages was filled with smoke, and there was a distinct burning smell in the air.

As I came around the corner in the golf cart (yes, that’s what we drive, shoosh), I noticed the cause of this was an industrial sized grill, set up in the hallway that connected the soundtages to the park.

Now, granted that the entire area is technically “outdoors”, the hallway, and the breezeway do have ceilings, with the former much lower than the latter.

This successfully trapped the smoke in the soundstage common area for the entirety of the day.

Not too much later, the area was also filled with the scent of roasting chicken, and the sound of one thousand geeks awaiting their barbecue.

They were everywhere, in the common area, around the parade floats, wandering into our soundstage, asking for beads, throwing food at walls.

Wait, what?

I was walking toward the central production building when I saw a small pack of them clustered in a tight circle, not seeing me, they started to move apart, as one hauled back and tossed the can of Chek Cola at the wall, simply to watch it explode.

“HEY!!!” I screamed at them.

They looked up at me quizzically, as if they couldn’t imagine why someone would chastise them for their actions.

“Get back to your stage before I have your team disqualified, and all of you kicked off the property.” I said fiercely.

It’s interesting to note that my job title gives me the ability to do neither of those things, but my commitment to the words, along with the perfect arch of my left eyebrow, set the fear of Jesus upon them, and they scuttled back to the Battlebots set.

The onset of these people, along with the temperatures in the mid-90’s, and the record breaking crowds this weekend have made the past few days incredibly draining for me.

Not to sound like I don’t enjoy this project, but Easter was yesterday, and we’re still running the Mardi Gras parade.

It’s time to put it to rest, people.

It’s all over this week though, as soon as I sign my timecard on Saturday night, I’m done.

And when I wake up on Sunday morning, I’ll have officially been transferred from the Projects department, to Event Productions.

And y’all, I ain’t ever been happier.

“And y’all, I ain’t ever been happier.”??

God, if I were any classier, I’d fart caviar.

Be well…

-JOHN-


Your Host and Emcee...dizboy.

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