Future Bob Fails to Prevent Senator's Death

onfound it all!

Anger and severe frustration were the mood Monday, October 31—Halloween—2005 when Future Bob checked his notes for things to do and realized he had forgotten to prevent the death of Minnesota Senator Paul Wellstone.

Wellstone, a passionate former college professor and left-leaning Democratic Senator from Minnesota, was killed in October, 2002 in some sort of plane crash that also claimed the lives of members of his family and those aboard the plane. The details are long since lost to the ravages of time to 2005-dwelling Future Bob.

Prevention of the plane crash was on Future Bob's "to-do" list in the year 2005, though like many other events of that year have been unfortunately forgotten in time to change the future. Future Bob, as you may or may not know in 2002, has extensive bills and has to work two regular jobs in addition to his charitable contributions to the commune.

Had Wellstone's death been prevented, as per Future Bob's plans, the key Senate race in Minnesota could have been won by the Democrat and prevented Republican control of Congress and the White House in 2003, which of course led to several dark moments in recent American history such as the revoking of the 4^th Amendment and the passage of the "Sell the Homeless into Slavery Act of 2004."

With Wellstone's survival, a better period was possible for those crucial years of American history. Wellstone could have won re-election and unmasked his Senate opponent former St. Paul mayor Norm Coleman as the evil KGB mole Dmitri Raszokoff. As it stands now, history is unchanged and Coleman will not be revealed until the great Soviet Reunion of 2005.

Among other items on Future Bob's long list of regretfully-unchanged history: The Sept. 11^th attacks, a reign of terror by a trio of snipers, Will Ferrell leaving the cast of Saturday Night Live, the election of George W. "Nightmare" Bush, the release of Britney Spears' Oops… I Did it Again album, and several type-Os in his last commune article that weren't corrected.

To Future Bob's credit, he did prevent the noxious gas attack of December, 2001; the death of celebrity Tom Cruise at the hands of a gay lover; and the publication of Oprah Winfrey's Sex book.

Future Bob extends his deepest sympathies and sorrows to Wellstone's family, friends, and constituents, and hopes he can do more in the past (your future) to change history for the better. Please do not bog him down with e-mails questioning why he cannot change the past at any point in time from where he is now, it is a miserable experience trying to explain how the timeline and time travel works and it costs a lot of money to keep his futuristic past-broadcasting ham radio operating.

Once again, Future Bob is called upon to report to Long John Silver's for his first shift. Until next time, guard the country like the future depends on it—mine does. Future Bob signing off.

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So Conan O'Brien's people have yet to call me back. As you might know, or will by the end of completing this sentence, I used to have a sweet gig on that show doing a "walk on." Conan's gang thought it was hilarious when I came on and ate corn flakes, in any kind of setting or with any weak premise to. During a sketch, a fake commercial, one of those long sessions where the band plays. They thought it was a laugh riot, though the audience never agreed with them.

I really miss my Conan gig. It was a way to stay in the public eye and get a free bowl of corn flakes, plus sometimes I would sneak into the green room and meet A-list celebrities like the girl from Law & Order: Misread Miranda and the little girl starring in Daddy All That. Take it from one child star to another, you've got the goods, kid, you're here to stay. But that was before the phone stopped ringing. So I've got to get back on top as the novelty former celebrity of the week.

Which has led me to take guitar lessons. Nothing leaves an audience in awe more than seeing an actor or actress who can do one other thing moderately well. With that in mind, plus my secret fantasy of some day becoming a rock star, or sleeping with one, guitar lessons seem like the best option.

I didn't need a guitar, fortunately, since they let me keep the props from the Who's Your Daddy? show years ago. Or if not let me keep them, at least didn't check my bags very well when I left the set. It's a little small, sure, and the Fisher Price logo is sort of garish, but it works perfectly fine. At least as much as I know about guitars. So I saved a bundle there. Some guitars in pawn shops cost up to $50 or more. Not for me, sucker!

But if they haven't stuck it to you on the guitar, they plan on raking you over the coals with the lesson cost. The guitar teacher Lemmy at Music Barn wanted $40 a month to teach me lessons, or failing that, a good meal before each one or maybe trade for livestock or something. Not out of me, buddy. Clarissa Coleman has been self-educated all her life, why stop now? I'm teaching myself to play guitar.

Far as I can tell, you can save a lot of money by not buying any of those expensive "teach yourself guitar" books. You can learn a little just by reading the books in store until the clerk comes over and physically forces you out. I've skimmed every book by a well-known guitar teachers like Hal Leonard, Kevin Bacon, and Mel Bay, but they're all a little pricey for me. Which is when I realized those chumps at the library give out free books!

I went to the library and, let me tell you, it was better than I thought. They even give out free books on tape! Hot damn, no reading for me! So I checked out a couple of tapes on learning to play the guitar. They were out of the Mel Bay ones, but I got the Mel Blanc guitar method, so that was cool, I guess.

Well, it's not the best guitar lesson tape I could have gotten, I guess, if I wanted to spend money. It's been three hours and so far I've only learned the A chord, what with all his stuttering. And it doesn't inspire you to keep listening when he keeps calling you a varmint and saying your strumming is despicable. But I'm not giving up. I have a genuine passion for learning to play, or at least getting back on the Conan O'Brien show.

Now if you'll excuse me, the tape wants me to practice on "Michaew, Wow Youh Boat Ashoah."

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Grape. Fuckin'. Nuts.

That's what my mornings are reduced to these days, ladies and gentlemen. A bowl full of rock-hard gravel that's supposed to help me live to 120. Have you ever even seen a 120 year-old? Sweet Bubble-Yum Jesus, I saw a guy who was 118 once and I thought he'd come to tell me about Christmas Past, I almost shit my pants. He looked like he'd died three times already but kept coming back for the buffet. So I'm really starting to wonder at the wisdom of choking down this mole-food.

And yet now I find myself more in the mood for some kind of gooey sugar treat in the shape of a rabbit or bird. How fickle these desires, that tear my soul asunder.

-RIIIIING-

That's right kids! You've found today's magic vocab word, "asunder"! Congratulations!

-drunks cheer-

Now, for the grand prize, can you use today's word in a complete sentence? Let's see:

"Uh, yeah. Here we go: Man, if she gotta assunder that miniskirt, I'll give you TWENTY bucks for an hour!"

-DINGDINGADING-

That's it! Congratulations, you're now the proud owner of "EAT IT!", the board game that makes cleaning out the refrigerator FUN! If you can't name its atomic weight, you're gonna EAT IT!

Ah, what a precarious, flighty thing this day is, like a little bird lofted on the wing, a little, gentle bird, so small and downy, so delicate and blue-eyed, a precious drop of God's love on this sylvan sphere, like a-JESUS CHRIST, how did I get this gun in my hand? For the last time, I don't know anything about any mass shooting at Chuck E. Cheese's! And for the love of God, tell the voices in my head to stop arguing about football!

Remember kids, if you feel a tingle in your dingle, make sure she's single before you mingle; you know what I'm saying? I've got a scar here that taught me that very lesson, and I'm passing it on to you. Not the scar. Unless you get too close to my Mustang, then all bets are off.

And now, from your friends at Hallmark, a warm greeting:

Rub a double-dumpling

Stick it up your nose

Cease with all your mumbling

And take off your clothes.

Thanks folks, we've been getting a lot of requests for that one, a real throwback to the lyrical styles of yesterweek. I'm Dick Van Patten, and you've been great. Goodnight everyone, and smoke a doobie for Huey P. Newton.

-closing theme aka Darth Vader's Empirial March-

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