(For more Dailies, check out the Archive Here)
Note to self 136: 05/07/2001
Wow! What a weekend I had! It all started out on Friday night when Bob From the Future traveled back in time to see me again. He was in quite a panic when he told me that something was wrong with my kids in the future. Something horrible that would change the fate of humanity for the worse and possibly lead to an early apocalypse that will devastate the universe as we know it... unless I traveled with him forward a few years through time and space to stop the physics-bending anomaly and give my kids a spanking for causing a omnipresent white-out. Well, when we arrived in the year 2045 I immediately ditched Bob From the Future and proceeded to learn everything I could about the past 44 years of American History (including Presidential Elections, sports scores, wars and big news events [such as when that dude from Dawson's Creek: The College Years was kidnapped and tortured to death by rogue Canadian Separatists who tried to get the U.S. and China to break up their global coalition that was destroying the world's cheese resources in 2012, and that time that President Britney Spears III blew up Jupiter and 3 of its moons in 2038 because she thought that the Jovian Rocky Road Production Factory there was starting a coup de taut against the Federation of Desserts and Choice Mints]). Then I just went to a local Blockbuster and rented all of the kick ass movies that had come out in the past 4 decades (Let me tell you something, Star Wars Episode II sucked bigus dickus, but Episode III was/will be even better than Empire!!! And even though Arnold never makes a cool movie again, his clone, Arnold Prime, is fucking awesome in Kindergarten Last Action Cop IV!!! Don't let anybody tell you otherwise.).
After about 2 months of doing everything I possibly could in the world of tomorrow (like teleporting to the moon and to Scotland a few times, hanging out in the hologram bordellos where you can pay to screw any celebrity ever digitally encoded in the hardlight matrix [just so you know, Salma Hayek and Parker Posey are better than you've heard], and strapping on a gravity reduction belt and leaping around like Chow Yun-Fat in Crouching Tiger), I decided that it might not be a bad idea to save our future world, so I went and found Bob (who was apparently just crying in the corner of a crazy hospital for the past month while hugging his knees and rocking back and forth on his moist mattress). I checked him out and he took me to meet my future kids... Well, it turns out that they're half Asian, and considering my wife (Kirsten Dunst Ross) is not Oriental in the least I thought that something may have been up. Through some ingenious detective work (and a simple blood test) I was able to find out that Kirsten had had an affair with Jet Li a while ago and that the kids that Bob From the Future came back to the past to warn me about were his and not mine. I didn't mind going back with Bob From the Future to the year 2018 (right before Kirsten and Jet were going to meet and star together in The Money Pit 6) and killing the Kung Fu dude with a laser grenade from Bob's personal arsenal (thus easily and entertainingly averting the destruction that had been originally forecast by Bob).
Then Bob From the Future returned me to the end of the weekend (after the Simpsons, that bastard!) and tried to mind-wipe me so that I wouldn't remember too much of my own destiny. I had Robot Pedro help me mangle him up again though and then we kicked him back through the "Portal of Ages" to some time and place far away from us (those things are pretty tricky to figure out, and unfortunately he could have gone straight into the center of the middle star in the belt of the constellation Orion 1,000 years from now, or right into Boy George's shower back in '85 right as the dudette was starting to lather up). Then I made some informative stock investments (hint: when individual States of the Union go public, buy Utah and Rhode Island!) and went to sleep. As far as I can tell the future's looking bright for this Rossman :).
Note to self 135: 04/30/2001
Our little college town had its Twilight Criterium this past weekend which included us getting drunk and throwing bottles and sharp things at bands and people on a stage, bungee running and screwing up the minds and bodies of bikers. It was a typical weekend, only it was given an official name by the city this time. We started everything off by hitting the Mellow Mushroom on Friday, but Kuni got us kicked out before 9PM (a record) and we basically just wandered around, bar-hopping and stealing people's drinks when they weren't looking. Thomas got a bad brew of something or other and the last we saw of him he was taking off with a big hairy dude in a truck that had "Just Fucking" soaped on the back window. We still don't know where he is. Anyway, after a while we found the free jazz concert going on and from the stairs of City Hall we heckled the pianist because his profession sounded funny at the time. Then I kicked Kiff's and Robot Pedro's asses on the bungee running course thingy. They'd strap you into a vest with a bungee cord attached to the back and you'd see how far you could run and then place your velcro marker on the measuring line. Then you'd get your ass yanked back ten feet like a $2 whore who tried to sneak out of the room early. I broke my neck twice as the laws of physics repeatedly beat the crap out of me, but it was worth it to humiliate the competition so completely like that. I have to wear the neck brace for 24 months now though, and it's seriously hurting my chances with the ladies. The price we pay though.
Well, before I knew it it was Saturday night and I had vomited a total of 1.45 gallons of innards. I stayed sober for the Twilight bike race as it's a lot more fun to watch the pain and destruction of wipe-outs when you can remember them clearly. I also learned a few new things by experimentation: Twigs and small sticks in passing by bike spokes don't do much damage. But wire hangers and metal pipes can cause cyclists to flip like that Nazi riding the motorcycle in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Then more bikers hit him and die as they turn the corner (blind corners are the best test spots for this sort of thing too). I also heard a story about a chick who's drunk boyfriend peed on her cause he was a tard and she was desperate. She was hot, so the story was kind of a bummer (lord knows I'd never date her after hearing that).
Note to self 134: 04/24/2001
Holy fuck!! I had cracked a filling a while ago and needed to have it drilled then refilled since it was on a tooth that had a really deep cavity on it previously. To make a long story short I didn't feel like paying a dentist $20 (after insurance) to fix it, so I just went over to Dr. Dave's shady place and had him take a look at it. Well it turns out that Dr. Dave really doesn't know much about dentistry in general and he apparently has a phobia about looking into people's mouths (I guess it all goes back to that time I tried to have him fix Robot Pedro's lock jaw problem and Dr. Dave got his hand bitten off.... I was able to sew it back on later though for the big baby). Well, he kinda fixed the cracked filling problem (with 2 lbs of cement) but he said that he found 12 new cavities starting to show up on various molars and incisors throughout my mouth. I tried to tell him that they were only poppy seeds from my delicious deli sandwich I had just eaten before I came over but he had already begun to knock me the fuck out with a bunch of nitrous oxide and some of those date rape pills. I woke up 7 hours later with a mouth full of silver and cement (Dr. Dave's final solution to just about everything). My head hurt like hell and I could barely open my bloody and mangled mouth to see the good work that the Doc had done. My diet for the past few days has been nothing but 6 Motrin and 8 Advil every 20 minutes or so. I figure I'll be able to start smiling again in a few weeks, though I already am on the inside just knowing that I saved a whole $5 in total dental costs!! That's goin' towards a new toothbrush dammit!
Note to self 133: 04/16/2001
This year Kuni's mom tried to throw an Easter dinner for a lot of people. I was unfortunately invited and got tricked into going by Kuni's hot sister. Anyway, it turned out to be a fun time due to the fact that Kuni's mom had no fucking clue what Easter was about. I tried to explain it to her a while ago but forgot that she always gets things all screwed up. There was a huge hand painted poster above the table of a beaten up, bloody bunny with holes in his paws looking out of his rabbit hole to see if he had a shadow while Elmer Fudd was in the background lining up his cross-hairs. I think she did a good job capturing Fudd's likeness, but most of the rest of the neighbors were appalled and left. Those that stayed got upset when she presented the main course, a rabbit stapled to a cross that was charred on the grill out back for three days. I thought it was very tasty. Especially with the hard boiled chocolate covered eggs she served for dessert.
Note to self 132: 04/13/2001
Timmons is out of town trying to sell his company's crap, Angus is still in Hawaii, the Wolfman and Chi-Chi are God knows where and even Robot Pedro took off to find some cheap luvin'. So Carl and I just ended up watching movies and playing some Street Fighter III and MvsC2 all week. On Wednesday though, we thought about how cool it would be to start our own Fight Club where we could make up the rules and experience the violence and life lessons of pain first hand! But we're not stupid, so instead of us actually punching and getting punched by people we talked a bunch of second graders into doing it. We threw most of them into a pretty deep quarry that we found a while ago and yelled out "Let mortal combat begin!! Survival of the fittest!" We were kinda hoping that they'd start beating each other up and throwing rocks around in the hopes of being the last man standing and therefore winning the ice-cream sandwich that we offered as the prize. But they just stood there looking around and a few began to cry for their mommies. Carl and I tried to motivate them a bit by throwing pebbles and small boulders at them but that just made them cry some more. Even after we made them memorize the rules of Fight Club (#4 is "No crying")!!! It was for the best though as Carl had already eaten the ice-cream sandwich. By then it was pretty dark and we didn't bring a flashlight, so we just left and went home to watch some episodes of Buffy that I taped.
Note to self 131: 04/10/2001
Yesterday we had a new addition to the family make his first appearance. I'm now the proud uncle of little JD Ross. I'm a little bit sad though. You see, everybody was placing bets on when he'd be born and what the baby'd actually be. The date that I picked was two months earlier than the due date and I guessed that the baby would be a baby monkey. My thought being that monkeys take less time in the womb. Well, I was wrong (JD turned out to be a human baby boy... though he does snort like a piggy) and it turns out that Robot Pedro won the whole bet by guessing not only the correct species and sex, but also the correct birth date and time down to the last micro-second. Well, we can't actually prove that he got the right fraction of a second but he assures us that he did. Anyway, he plans to take the whole box of money that he won and make himself a girlfriend out of a brand new vacuum cleaner. He ruined my last two and he still hasn't offered to buy me a new one. I think I'll change the settings for his new "woman" from suck to blow (or bite).
Note to self 130: 04/06/2001
Angry Amy, Carl, Robot Pedro and I went out to lunch today at some uppity-buppity, fancy-schmancy restaurant downtown. Everything was going alright until Angry Amy got mad when I said something about her mother and a great dane. She tried to throw some of her complimentary water on me but I dodged and used Robot Pedro as a shield. Well, to make a long story short a lot of people got hurt and died and I had to take a shorted out Robot Pedro to Dr. Dave's place on the shady side of town. Now, Dr. Dave is supposed to be a medical doctor, but he's also pretty good with electronics (he was the one who fixed my toaster when I made the MegaPlayboy try and fish out a stuck bagel slice with a knife a while ago... it turned out that the toaster wasn't broken before that, it was just plugged in and turned on and the bagel had yet to pop). So Dr. Dave took Robot Pedro apart and was trying to fix him with some of the schematics that "Bob From The Future" had left behind when he first gave Robot Pedro to me. But the makeshift instruction booklet was written on a napkin and I partly used it a few years back to quickly get some cobra venom out of my eyes. To make another long story short, Robot Pedro is fine now, only he can't read, speak or really understand English anymore. He thinks he's a Puerto Rican. I don't know what fucking wires Dr. Dave crossed but I'm seriously pissed! I hated studying Spanish in High School, and I don't remember how to say "Hey, Robot bitch! Pass the Chili Cheese Fritos this way! And a Killian's too!" in any language other than American. This sucks!
Note to self 129: 04/02/2001
That bastard Kuni tried to "April Fool's" me yesterday by saying that Nicole Kidman had called asking for me and my support through out the whole messy divorce thing with Tom (I had sent her a letter last month stating that I would stick by her side no matter what). He said that she forgot to leave her phone number though and I started to go a little insane. I threw Kuni out the window again and then I quickly got started turning Robot Pedro (fyi: Robot Kiff-boy changed his name to Robot Pedro when he found out that Jaime's fiancee's name was also Kiff) into an expensive caller ID machine. After spending several hours trying to search the day's worth of calls for a California number Robot Pedro came to the conclusion that since it was April the 1st perhaps Kuni was just playing a trick on me and he was not in fact stupid enough to forget to ask for Nicole's number. After thinking about it, it made a lot of sense and was probably true. I then felt kinda bad about throwing him out the window so I decided to make up for it by playing an April Fool's Day prank back on Kuni. So I went over to his place and set his room on fire.
Note to self 128: 03/29/2001
Redoing the whole Rossman.com site is a bitch and a half. I tried to program Robot Kiff-boy to do the bulk of it but that actually set me back a good two days cause he turned it into this whole "Robot Rights Manifesto" page. He was preaching to his fellow automatons on how to rise up against their "human captors" and how to stage peaceful sit-ins and even more aggressive "kick in the nads-ins" to get their revolution the publicity it (doesn't) deserve. I erased the whole thing so that nobody'll ever get the wrong idea about this site.... And I think that Robot Kiff-boy doesn't think I found the page he made on "501 Ways To Kill a Human And Making It Look Like an Accident". Looks like I'll have to punish the jackass again. This time I'll delete all the files in his head that remember Punky Brewster (the cartoon and the real show), but I'll make him recall that he used to love it. If that doesn't make him repent I'll have to program the pain of a knee to the testes into his body. I should be able to just push a button on a remote to activate it. I know it's a harsh treatment, but seriously, how would you like it if he kept on making those pages and a robot punted your jewels one day while you were just walking around minding your own business at a nudie bar (that's where robots usually petition)? My guess is that I've saved a lot of people a lot of unnecessary pain.
Note to self 127: 03/26/2001
Okay, so on Friday I went over to Jaime's place where a bunch of guys were getting ready to play volleyball on the sand-court there. All was well and it seemed to be going okay until my knee actually shattered into 5 pieces on an attempt to set the ball. It of course hurt like a muthafucka, but since I'm not a pussy (like Jimmy Jammer) I decided to keep playing like I was Anna Kournikova. She's tough. Or am I thinking of that bitch that had that big, fat dude in the mask smack her knee while she was ice skating before the Olympics a few years ago? Anyway, my knee was a broken and pulpy mess and everybody seemed to be taking unfair advantage of the fact that I was covered in human blood (the first time it was all my own) and could barely walk, dive or even see the ball. So I called in a replacement player for myself, Robot Kiff-boy. I did a quick reprogramming of his matrix CPU and told him to kick ass. With the help of his acid sprays, rocket punch and patented "robot bitch slap" he destroyed the other team, and then soon after his own. It was only after he had tried to step on Matt's head with his cleats that everybody teamed up and held him down until they were able to find a chick to flash Robot Kiff-boy her rack (this is the only sure fire way to stop his frequent and savage rampages). Unfortunately they let Robot Kiff-boy drive too soon after he saw boobies and his mind was still Jello-O. He ran over Thomas again and everybody took his sorry ass to the hospital. I had already blacked out from the constant throbbing pain and loss of blood, otherwise I would have followed.
Later that night I came too and met everybody who was still alive at the Mexicali Grille for a late dinner. We ate outside where the weather started out as warm and nice, but by the time our 5th round of Dos Equis and our Burritos Especiales arrived the temp was a chilly 47 degrees. Not even the Dead Man's Tequila could warm us up at that point. We tried to slice open Paul like a Taun-Taun so that we could climb into him and keep warm like Han and Luke in Empire, but nobody had a lightsaber (mine was with Robot Kiff-boy, and he was still out joy riding), so we just went over to a party we'd heard about that was close by. There we watched some Elite Eight B-Ball and mooned some cops from the balcony while Jason and Matt forced some girls to do keg stands. After the cops raided the place we all took off in seperate directions through the woods to throw them off. It turns out that I was the only one that wasn't caught (well, I was caught, but I was able to bribe the police to let me go by telling them where Jimmy Jammer and his 24 live cannibus plants lived). Normally I'm not a stool pigeon, well not to any cool people anyway.
Note to self 126: 03/22/2001
I saw Enemy at the Gates this past weekend and I thought I'd found a new career for myself. I wanted to be a sniper! Not a Soviet sniper, or even a Nazi sniper, just a sniper sniper. The only prey worthy of my mad sniping skills would be other cool snipers. None of those pussy political assassinations for me. I mean, anybody can kill a fat and lazy American or Japanese diplomat, but how many people would be able to pick off Ed Harris when he's lookin' back at you through some crosshairs of his own, huh? The only problems I might have had are my inability to sit still for more than 4 seconds at a time (either due to the need to dance, the need to go to the bathroom, or the need to check out a hot or even semi-hot girl in the vicinity), and the fact that I've never fired a gun (that the cops know about) in my life. Well, a real gun. I mean a real gun from our time and not a "futuristic laser" one like the gun that "Bob From the Future" let me hold for him while he tried to get his kite down from the power lines (which if I hadn't used that mind-wipe light on him would have been the last time too... but I've been told that reconstructive surgery in the year 4127 is pretty damn good and that "Bob From the Future" will indeed be able to have kids again). Anyway, after the movie Ed's brother Mike told me that in order to be a sniper I'd have to try and get some military training under my belt, and well fuck that. Those Green Beret guys have to get up and do more before 6 o'clock than I do all day. Granted, that just means they have to do more than just look at pornography and watch a few episodes of the Simpsons before going back to sleep, but I'm not made out of iron. So, in order to at least have something constructive come out of my sniper movie experience I programmed the ability to snipe into my robot, Robot Kiff-boy. He may need over 600 rounds of exploding ammo to hit a single target, but it's still fun to watch him at work.
Note to self 125: 03/19/2001
Carl got in a pair of "gravity boots" last week for his work-out rack in his townhouse. They're pretty cool, like the set that Batman had when he screwed Vicki Vale in the first movie (when he woke her up in the middle of the night because he was swinging upside down with the boots on). Or like the pair that Duece Bigalow used in his movie. Both Carl and I were able to hook ourselves up, do some upside down exercises, and detach ourselves with no problem. Then we let the Megaplayboy try. He first of all needed some help just getting onto the thing, and once he was hanging upside down he only kept bitching about "all the blood rushing to his head causing him to black out" and giving him AIDs or something. I don't remember exactly what he said but he soon started to cry like a little girl. Carl wanted to help him down but I found it to be much more fun to use him as a human punching and kicking bag. After I was done pretending to be Mike Tyson I spit the MPB's ear out and gave him one more good kick. It was too good of a kick though, and he slipped out of the boots and went flying through the window. He turned out to be okay (he only had two broken ribs, a fractured pelvis, a puctured lung, a blown up spleen and a ruptured appendix). We laughed at him, had a beer and then drove the wuss to our shady friend, Dr. Dave's, place. I don't know what the Megaplayboy was still bitching about. Dr. Dave only charged him $20, where as a "reputable" hospital might have overbilled him by 50 or so bucks more!
I have got to get a pair of those boots for myself. Then I might be able to talk my roommate into becoming another boxing buddy with them! There's nothing like pounding on human flesh without the worry of ever getting hit back, don't ever let anybody tell you otherwise.
Note to self 124: 03/10/2001
While driving with a friend of mine who would like to remain nameless for this story (for reasons soon to be made clear) we did something that I always wanted to do. You know all those asshole bikers who always bitch because they want to have the same rights as normal people with cars, but then as soon as they start riding on regular roads they only go around 21/2 mph? Well my friend who was behind the wheel hit one. It was damn cool to see! The faggy biker in his gay bodysuit and flowery helmet was weaving in and out of traffic at the red light like a little whore. We caught up to him when the road narrowed to a one lane-one way street and he thought that it might be fun to piss us off even more. This didn't make any sense to me as my friend was driving a large and dirty pickup truck with a gun rack clearly visible in the back window. There was even a gun on it at the time. Anyway, the biker dude would only flick us off whenever my buddy honked his "Dixie Land" horn to try and convince him to pull over or drop dead. He didn't seem to understand, so my driver had to help him choose. It was just like that joke about the guy who hates bikers and the priest, where the guy pretends to black out and swerves to hit the biker, only he misses and the priest has to open the door to smack him!... Only my friend ran over the cyclist 4 times and then we got out and beat him with a lead pipe (the "Equalizer") until he made a gurgling noise that sounded like he promised that he'd never do that again. We laughed about that all the way to the Dunkin' Donuts.