Why I Love Buffy (page 2) Enough rambling. I'll get back to the point. The point being Buffy. The third thing that makes me have to think of baseball whenever I first think about her is her total devotion to everything that she is and everyone that she knows. What a turn on! She can and does stand up for family and friends, truth, justice and the rights of the living. There's even been the occasional ass-whooping for the sake of your average de-fanged or re-souled vampire. And one of her best friends is in fact a recently humanized individual who was once responsible for her death and the deaths of everybody that she knew and cared for in an alternate reality. That's not something one can easily get over either. I guess if Buffy can rationalize one's worthiness in her noggin she'd stand between oneself and the fires of hell if need be. How nice is that? The way that I see it, if/when I get sucked down to the bowels of Hades and am about to be charred for all eternity I could probably whistle for the Slayer and have her kick some hell spawn around until they apologize, kiss my arse and let me go. That's pretty damn convenient in my book. But, if in fact she loses she could at least show me around the neighborhood and make me feel a little more comfortable considering she's actually been to hell herself. It's win - win for me. Here we see Buffy modeling the gift I gave her last year for Arbor Day. I'm only showing you this picture that she sent me back and not the 76 remaining ones depicting the most glorificus strip tease I've ever bore witness to in my wasted life. Is she a sweetie or what!

The argument that I've heard the most whenever I tell people that I'm going to bag the Slayer is, "But, for the sake of argument, Rossman, what if Ms. Summers eventually grows tired of you and starts bitch-slappin' you around every night like the weak and pathetic rag doll that you are?" To which I always have to explain that the probability of a chick so fine as the Slayer actually growing weary of me is pretty small. The odds are around 87 in 100. But, for the sake of argument, if she ever does decide that I'd make a better substitute for a red-headed step child and she starts to pound me I can thank Christ that at the very least it'd be a quick death. You see, most women do end relationships with me by pounding my head into oatmeal, and I am in fact a total wuss. So I just figure that if I'm going to die by the hand of a pissed off ex-lover the honors might as well fall to the hottest and strongest woman that I could ever find. That would be Buffy. Here I am in one of my famous dream sequences with Buffy. Even in heated, passionate tonguing I have to wear my security hat. It just makes me feel more manly. Well, in all honesty a decent Pina Colada has the same effect.

So there you have it. Buffy the Vampire Slayer was meant to be my mate. It's probably even written in the stars too. Before I go though, there was one more reason that I love her that I almost forgot. Through a series of bizarre incidents that included a man-made über-demon out to destroy the world, a secret government research and containment facility designed to hold and study monsters from beyond our reality, and the essence of the first ferrel Slayer the world has known, my Buffy met the "Cheese Dude". Rock on, Cheese Dude, rock on. I hope he gets his own spin off show. It's gotta be better than Angel. And before you leave, here's one last picture of the lesbian witches. They're at the beach here... Unfortunately no bikinis :( Notes from the EDITOR: I initially had planned to edit this article in such a way as to make the Rossman look like the biggest pussy in the world. I would then turn in my resignation and simply walk away leaving him in such a manner that he would never think of looking up this page again to see my handy work. Fortunately for my paycheck he did it to himself. I'm willing to bet that his "blind Canadian rage" has even cleared his memory of all traces of this article too. What a pud. Go to the EXAMINER Homepage And as you already know, none of the pictures and characters and crap that I used in the above article are mine. They're all trademarks of rich people who live in California. I don't claim ownership of any of them (the pictures or the people who live in California).