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Archive 22
(For more Dailies, check out the Archive Here)

Note to self 258: 03/30/2005

Ball... Team Greenwood and I, and some uninvited, gathered at Matt^2's and Stefanopolis' house this past Saturday for some good old movie watching... Unfortunately we didn't watch any good movies (seriously, guys, Ben Stiller movies suck sasquatch balls). Everybody did get all psyched over the epitome of shitty road movies, Canonball Run, and that filled my head up with glorious, insane ideas. I decided to start my own Ball Run, from Matt^2's house to the most Western tip of Alaska. Whoever made it there first won a "not killing" from Robot Pedro. We all broke into teams of two (well, Jimmy Jammer was the odd man out, so Robot Pedro killed him right off the bat): I teamed with the MegaPlayboy in the Play-Mobile, Foxfur and the Captain got together, Mehve and Robot Pedro, and of course Matt^2 and Stefanopolis teamed up in the Baldwin ThunderWheels.

When the gun was shot to start the race (we found out later) it was shot into the Captain's head by Robot Pedro. Then Robot Pedro took that diversion and drove Foxfur off the road and into a lake. The MegaPlayboy and I then rammed Robot Pedro and Mehve into the front grill of an on-coming semi, but we weren't able to celebrate for too long as that damn automaton had previously slashed our rear tires, and we spun out into the highway and our car blew up from the charges set, glued to the gas tank. I guess that Matt^2 and Stephanopolis won by default, even though they never stopped necking in their driveway.

Note to self 257: 03/16/2005

What a wild week it's been! Chi-Chi and I watched a bunch of HBO's Carnivale series on DVD and decided it would be "fucking awesome" if we became carnies ourselves! I mean, they had bearded ladies, alligator-men, strippers and midgets in their troupe! Add alcohol and that is the definition of my personal 'happy place.' So we tied some clothes up in a ball and hung them from some sticks over our shoulders (like real 1930s hobos) and we went in search of a carnivale to call our own. Unfortunately Georgia isn't known for being "carnie central USA" (it's mostly known as "hot chicks and drunken rednecks-with-guns central USA), so we kind of had to make due by hanging out with the freaks over at the Titular Tattoo parlor on Main. Chi-Chi and I made Logan Mottler the main "tattooed wonder," and his girlfriend, Emily, the "bitch with a thousand piercings." The rest of the goons who just lurk around there all day (including the bums) became the side shows. Then Chi-Chi and I became the main attractions. Chi-Chi first tried to swallow some swords, but we couldn't find any, so he had to settle for 12-inch dildos (I have no idea how he was able to get the whole thing, all the way to the realistic scrotum, down his throat). Wow. Hmmm, I never did ask him where he got those things. Anyway, I chose to be a dwarf tosser, but unfortunately Jeremy (the only true dwarf I know) refused after that horrible "Dwarf Tossing Christmas Extravaganza" disaster two years ago at the Chanukah Festival at the Temple over on Cedar and Sinai. I've never seen that many Jews cursing a Christian since Mel's The Passion. But I digress. So, tattoos were displayed, dildos were choked on, and children were tossed (I tried launching the bums, but they were too stinky, so some local prostitutes allowed me to carnie-toss their illegitimate children instead), but in the end none of us got driven out of town or performed any bona-fide miracles (our ultimate goal), like that Carnivale guy. Well, I did heal a leper... Though I think he really just had baked beans caked on his face. Oh, and Chi-Chi died again. He must have forgotten to take the batteries out and the vibration gagged him to death.

Note to self 256: 03/02/2005

Owwww, my aching, fucking back! See, this past Saturday I helped the Wolfman move to his new Wolfpad, and his bro and I were the only retards stupid enough to volunteer for the job. Well, the Wolfman tried to wrangle Satan into helping too (he got her to show up by telling her that we were going to throw her a "Satan is Awesome" Party, but when she saw the moving truck and all the boxes she got pissed and left in a huff [she would have damned the Wolfman's soul then and there, but he sold his soul to her years ago in exchange for a hellhound, which Carl promptly shot and stuffed anyway]), but we knew that never really would have worked out. If she did stay, she only would have made us trip down the three story stairs, that we had to move crap up and down, over and over again, all day long. So fuck her.

Anyway, Mikey (the bro) and I busted our asses carrying cow-piss-soaked sofas (don't ask) and moldy books down to the truck, while Wolfy pretended to clean his old place up. After the whole apartment was "cleaned" though, I noticed that all the blood-pentagrams were still on the walls and the horse-fetus was still clogging the toilet. Bastard! Unless he was "cleansing" the place in a Linda Blaire-type manner, Mikey and I were just used like a two-cent tampon in a five dollar whore...

When we got to his new place with the truck, I had originally planned to just leave the two to unload everything by themselves, but the Wolfman was one step ahead of me. He produced a forged document that he had written up, which said that I would hand over my immortal soul to the Dark Lord Herself in exchange for a year's supply of twinkies and six months of access to Since I knew that Satan would think that I wrote that request, and because I didn't have any spare hobo-souls on me at the time, the Wolfman had me by the Rossballs. So for another 6 hours I found myself marching up up up and down down down with all of the Wolf's garbage in tow. At about 10 that night the Wolfman did generously give me a half-eaten Snickers bar for payment for my help... Oh God, let that have been a Snickers bar!

Note to self 257: 02/23/2005

Nothing like a good police beat-down to end the week. Except NOT having one.

See, everything started last Friday when Robot Pedro, Carl and I sat down to watch the Hong Kong cop thriller, Infernal Affairs, at my place. We were all getting into the movie, and then we totally loved it after the final act (wow!). In fact, we loved it so much that Carl and I decided it would be cool if one of us infiltrated the mob and snuck secrets out to the police, and one of us infiltrated the police, and then snuck secrets out to the mob, and tried to see which of us could do a better job than the other, and not end up dead. Carl couldn't find any triads, yakuza or mafia bases in town, so he did the next best thing; he infiltrated those punk ass, teenaged bitch-boys who skateboard around the Mall parking lot from 6 to 10 every Friday and Saturday night. He then got all their names, addresses, and social security numbers (by promising them a couple of the MegaPlayboy's Hustler mags in return) and turned all that info into the police with a faked report of made up car jackings and old lady stabbings they supposedly did over the past 20 years. He got a fucking medal for it too. I, on the other hand, got a police baton to the teeth after I only walked 10 steps inside the PD station in my stolen dress blues. Apparently some "anonymous, yet concerned, citizen," with a metallic voice, heard of my plan and called it in to the cops, along with my name, height, eye color, likes and dislikes, and favorite positions while being strip searched... I don't know how Robot Pedro overheard THAT conversation with Karen, but he will pay... After I get this stupid ankle-bracelet off. Piece of crap!

Note to self 256: 02/16/2005

A few topics to cover today. First of all, reading about all these people getting dooced for blogs in which they're writing anonymously about their jobs, which they don't even name, and their coworkers, who are just given nicknames, makes me wonder just how paranoid some people are. Next people are gonna get fired for bitching to the bartender about their work. It's gone way too far. For the record though, let me just say that I LOVE MY JOB. I LOVE MY BOSS, I LOVE MY BOSS' BOSS, AND I EVEN LOVE MY BOSS' BOSS' BOSS (met her once at the company Arbor Day party three years ago; she called me "José", but gave me a pat on the back, so it's all cool). I WORK AT A PLACE THAT MAKES THOSE LITTLE PAPER PUKE BAGS FOR AIRPLANES, but it's not all shits and giggles. My point is that I realize that when the upper echelons dooce the peons who blog negatively about their jobs it's pretty lame in and of itself, but the peons who are doing the web-pissing are pretty dumb themselves for not realizing that it might get back to their superiors. And those morons who actually write about company secrets on their blogs should be shot in the head. Seriously, you'll never read here about the new secret coating we're putting on the inside of our puke-sacks to make all contact with warm, moist substances smell like apple pie... Ummm, forget you just read about that. I LOVE MY JOB. That's all you need to know. And if my boss, Miss Mildred, ever finds this place... I LOVE YOU, TILLY. YOU ROCK MY WORLD. You will NEVER hear me bitch about my awesome job on this page. Never.

Second point this week, the Batman Begins script. I'm conflicted here. I wanted to love it soooo goddamn much. It started out great. The whole set up of who Bruce Wayne is, and why and how he becomes the Bat is pretty spiffy. Then when the Bat first moves in to Gotham, it becomes all 1930s film noir, which is just de-LIGHT-ful. So much fun. But then the final act rolls around, and the world that the first 3/4ths of the film took such pains to keep realistic came crashing down around the script's large, pointy ears. The final threat to Gotham was straight out of the cheezy 60s, Adam West TV show! It was just lame. That's most definitely NOT anything this universe's Ra's Al Ghul would do. Learn who your characters are, dumbfucks. And the whole thing seems to forget that Batman's nickname is "the World's Greatest Detective." Make the bastard deduce something! Yeah, cool fight scenes are necessary, but Batman's a thinker. Make him figure shit out without shoving it in his (and our) face. And that ending, can we say "Spider-man?" Seriously, "I love you, but we both know I must be alone," is now super-hero cliche. Sure, it's better than him getting the girl, but it's still not who Batman is. They've gotta make it clear that Batman is the reality, and Bruce Wayne is the act. Batman is a no-smiles kind of guy. They do kind of make it a point to show that Bruce is fake, but Batman still makes too many jokes. Mask of the Phantasm is, and probably will always be, the best Batman movie ever.... God, we need more Batman cartoons, and not just Justice League. Christ, not just Justice League.

Third and final point this week, V-Day struck a few days ago (and for some, VD struck too). Yes, once again it's time for me to beeyatch and moan about the most crass Hallmark holiday of them all. "Buy some cards! If you don't you're a louse!" Suuuuure, so that HOUSE I bought for my woman means nothing unless I spend an extra $5 on a shitty, mass-produced card which pretty much goes straight in the compost heap. "Buy some flowers and chocolates! If you don't you're a cheap asshole who doesn't deserve a woman!" Okay, so despite the fact that I tell her that I love her at least 10 times a day, and kiss her whenever I see her means nothing. Check. Fuck you, Hallmark. Seriously, lick my chocotale, salty balls.

Note to self 255: 02/11/2005

Urrrrrrrrrgh. Bad, bad things, George. Very bad. Somebody got me UBER sick this past Wednesday. I'm not talking a wimpy little head cold, mind you. I'm no pansy, sissy boy who bitches about the sniffles. No, I was puking my guts out for eight full goddamn hours, from Tuesday starting at around 10PM through till Wednesday at 6 in the morn. And they were all full, wet heaves. No dry heavies for this Rossman. What gets me though is that I had at least 12 complete barfs, and they were all still chunky messes! I don't eat that much in my daily routine, and I wasn't able to get much water in between the pukes, so where the fuck was all that volume coming from?! Did I clean out my lower intestines orally? Anyway, I could only sleep on my back (which I don't normally do, I'm a stomach sleeper) after all the violence started, and take tiny sips of agua for the longest time, so at 8:30AM, when it was clear that I wasn't going to make it into work that day (and I work at a place that makes medicine... God I love irony), I called in and my boss (who's great and very understanding; especially when I cough up huge chunks of lung while on the phone with him) told me to "stay the fuck away from the office."

I couldn't really get much done on Wednesday... No books or internet, as my head was throbbing, no eating, because my inards wanted me dead, and not much sleep, since my head was throbbing and my inards wanted me dead. By 2PM I was able to get a half of cup of Jell-O (shooters) down, and that helped relax me. Then I called up Dr. Dave (my last resort... Well, I guess Robot Pedro would be my last last resort, but that would only be for a "mercy killing") and had him give me a shot of something. He said it was Polio, since "that was the only way to kill the evil spirits" in my bones that were making me ill. Well, whatever it was it worked. I was able to make it back to the office on Thursday, and the only drawback was that I was then a cripple. At least I have a chance of becoming president now. Maybe I can become buds with Winston Churchill and kill Nazis too. Neat!

Note to self 254: 02/02/2005

What a fucking waste of snow and ice. You see, we Georgians maybe only get one real ice/snow storm a year, and this year it hit us on a Friday night. What a waste! What I'm so pissed off about is that EVERYthing down here shuts down when there's just a few flakes in the sky (no accumulation is really even necessary for Southerners to freak out). Roads close, schools close, and most importantly, offices close. Usually for days. This year, however, it hit on a Friday night, and the high on Sunday was 45. So by Sunday afternoon it was all gone. Not one day of work missed! So cruel!

The one good thing that happened during my shut-in day on Saturday (I may be a Yankee who laughs at my neighbors who think that pure, white evil is falling from the sky whenever it gets all snowy, but I ain't stupid enough to actually get on the roads with those fuckers! I know how to drive in snow and ice, but THEY like to slam on the brakes over bridges, accelerate on turns, and kiss your bumper in 40mph traffic when it's sleeting) was that my power stayed on. The first ice/snow storm in the South that I've ever lived through where I had constant power throughout. There were times in the past (you can read about them in previous Dailies) where my electricity had been out for 3-4 days due to either 3 inches of snow or 1/4 inch of ice. Shaving with fridgid water after taking a pitch-black freezing shower is the suckiest way to start the day. So to celebrate my heated house and full use of appliances I downloaded a shitload of movies and pr0n, and watched Battle Royale II, Hideaki Anno's Cutie Honey live-action movie, and Jackie Chan's New Police Story. Then I called up Angry Amy and kept telling her how my heater was working almost too well, and how I was close to sweating, just sitting in my house with all my hot food, hot cocoa and hot showers... Angry Amy wasn't lucky enough to have power in her shitty apartment. But the thought of then killing me with an icicle through my eye must have kept her warm till Monday morning, when her utilities kicked back on. I consider that my good deed for the year.

Note to self 253: 01/26/2005

So apparently Tammi With an "I" has been hitting hard times lately. All that alcohol and all those pregnancy tests must really add up. She asked me for permission to "set up shop" outside of my office in order to entice a few coworkers into shelling out some Benjamins. It's not my property (and I really doubt that Copper Tubing Specialists of Georgia, Inc cares all that much), so I said, "Sure, whatever," but that kind of came back to really bite me in the ass... Like Tammi With and "I"'s clients tend to do to her.

Anyway, the next day I came to work and noticed a pretty big camping-tent pitched up in front of my office building. As I walked around it I found Tammi With and "I" sitting at a card table with a big poster taped to the front of it that read, "Tammi's Wild Ride!! Get your tickets here! $50 a bang! (Length of "bang" subject to individual's ability to break me)." After reading it, Tammi With an "I" asked if I'd like to be "lucky customer number one," to which I replied, "You mean lucky customer number six hundred-thousand, nine hundred and fifty one, don't you?... No thanks, I don't think they have a shot big enough to cover it." She just *huffed* and grabbed Carl by the wrist as he tried to sneak past her, and I used that distraction to run for the giant glass doors and sanctuary.

I was pretty surprised when I came out at lunchtime to find half of my male coworkers in line for Tammi With an "I"'s tent, waiting patiently for their turn for a patented "Tammi Twirl." What surprised me more was that the other half of my male coworkers were in another line that led to another tent next door to Tammi With an "I"'s, that had a crude banner made up of two ply toilet paper hanging over the entry that read, "Doctor Dave's Penicillin Emporium." Needless to say the guys waiting in front of Dr. Dave's were not quite as patient as those in the other line. What really made me wonder though was the fact that Angry Amy was also among those waiting to see the good doc. When I asked her about it she just mumbled something about a persistent case of pneumonia and polio that she kept meaning to take care of. After that I went to Taco Bell. Mmmmmmm, gorditas! Son muy bueno!

Note to self 252: 01/19/2005

I decided to give that new fangled Battlestar Galactica on SciFi another chance, after hating it, sight unseen, last year when the pilot first premiered. I'm actually glad I did. The way that the first four hours of storytelling is just the set-up for the real show is cool. That's four full hours of the destruction of the human race on 12 heavily populated colony worlds. Awesome.

Bob From the Future tells me that the real colony worlds that were destroyed several thousand years ago (leaving only the Earth to breed humans) were disposed of in a much sloppier manner. Instead of nuking the fuck out of those worlds, the primitive Cylons apparently lined up all the humans and made them walk through a giant meat grinder. Soon every colony world was filled with a two-foot coating of human meat, and the Cylons found that they really hadn't thought that one through. Being robots, they don't eat meat, and the greasiness of the ground up humans started fucking up their internal wiring, and growing horse flies the size of pitbulls. Pitbulls that liked to eat sizzling wires and diodes. And thus the great circle of life was complete.

Thousands of years in the future, though, when Bob From the Future's people came across this lost civilization, they learned from the Cylons' mistake, and nuked the giant man and robot-eating flies from orbit. It was just in time too, as they had recently developed their own Farscape project... But that's a story for another day.

Note to self 251: 01/05/2005

Great... Just fucking great. ANOTHER goddamn new year. Why won't they stop coming?!?! All new years ever bring is change, and change sucks. Just ask the MegaPlayboy. The new year (and an uber-pothole) caused him to change an expensive tire on his Audi... and his fancy rim. Yup, he got royally rim-jobbed.

Anyway, the past week and a half was pretty nice, all things considered. Hung out with the MegaPlayboy and Carl for a while, got some fam-time in, got Band of Brothers on DVD and some new shoes for Christmas, and then spent a week and a day doing nothing but watching 15+ movies (including Blade Trinity, Lemony Snicket, The Life Aquatic, Casshern, AppleSeed, and 4 Detective Conan movies), Band of Brothers, and two complete anime series (Heat Guy J and Mahoromatic). Honestly, I was kind of glad when I had to go back to work on Tuesday. Though that feeling left me at about 9:30AM when I realized that if I still had off I would still be asleep. Whatever. Fucking 2005.

Note to self 250: 12/22/2004

It's Christmas time, again. Which has its plusses and negatives. Lots of fun Christmas parties (three this past weekend): Plus. Buying things for other people: Negative. Buying a new 5.1 DTS surround sound home theater for myself (with the money I planned to spend on siblings and in-laws, which due to THEIR cheapness we decided/agreed to turn our gift-buying into a pick-a-name-from-a-hat style grab bag): Plus. Doctor Dave accidentally sawing off my left leg and cooking it up as a Christmas goose for the gang: Negative... You get the idea.

Anyway, the best part of the week came when the MegaPlayboy and I exchanged presents. I got him a T-shirt that read "I Gots the Need to Spread My Seed;" with an arrow below the text that pointed down. He got me a woman. A nice, hot, saucy woman. Carl scared her away into the wild woods behind my house though when he showed up at my house to give me his gift: a dog... Well, more precisely, a dog's head. I'll probably search for her for another half an hour and then call it quits. Oh, wait, The Facts of Life is coming on now. Gotta love that Tootie.

Note to self 249: 12/15/2004

The King has RETURNED! After getting an early copy of Return of the King Extended Edition from New Line last week, the MegaPlayboy, Robot Pedro and I sat down to watch the whole 675 minute Lord of the Ring Extended Trilogy Hyper Sucorgelous Collection in one sitting. That's over 11 hours of actual film, which would have been longer had we watched the 20 minute credit roll at the end of each one too. We finished at about 2AM on Sunday morning, but we were so hyped up on all things Ringsian that the dark power of Sauron had grabbed hold of and contaminated our minds, turning us into snivveling Orcs (well, I think I turned into an Uruk-Hai, and Robot Pedro turned into a dwarf, for which I had to shove a spear made out of my old lamp right through his head [the only way to kill a dwarf]). Then, the MegaPlayboy and I went on an unholy quest to steal something that could destroy the evil that we've been corrupting (out of good) for the last ten ages (aka "months"): Namely, the ring on the finger of Carl's brother, John. It was all so clear to us, after sitting still, watching the happenings of Middle Earth for an entire day while consuming nothing but Killian's Red and cheese sticks: That John's new wife is a devil woman, who's evil is even eviler than our lord, Sauron!... Hell, she must be the reincarnation of Morgoth himself! So, we cut off John's finger with the ring still attached, stuffed it into Janet's snoring mouth, sewed it shut, and then threw the bitch into the closest volcano-like thing we could find (namely the giant furnace in the basement of the high school down the street). The spell wasn't immediately broken, as John kept pining for his "precious," over and over till we got him shit faced enough to forget about the whore and her mind control over him. As the saying goes, "Even the smallest, and most drunk, can change the course of the future......" Or something like that. Anyway, we did it all FOR FRODOOOOOOOOO!

Note to self 248: 12/01/2004

Last week was one of the (if not THE) best week(s) of my life. It all started out with an UBER-WEEK, which will be explained and delved into in an upcoming Examiner piece, followed by a turkey feast, followed by an evening out to a movie and sushi with Karen on Friday (had to royally make up for basically ignoring her during the Uber-Week), followed by a great Anti-Turkey Thanksgiving feast of roast beast at Mehve's on Saturday, followed by a pleasant capper on Sunday, and finally a pretty damn good and not too painful "back to reality" Monday. Tons of relaxation, and very little negative RE-action.

Thursday and Friday were fun and dandy and all, but Saturday's all day gourmet meal courtesy of Mehve was just beyond the wicked. Mehve went all Chen Kinichi on us and made tons of 4 star food shit, all with lamb as the secret key ingredient. Fancy appetizers (including bruscetta with fresh cheese and tomatoes), french-onion soup and crispy salad for beginning courses, and then sliced potatoes au shroom, rack of lamb in a sea of broccoli, green beans with stuff mixed in, and squash of yellow to finish things up. Then for dessert we has lamb cheesecake and pecan pie, with a hint of lamb. It just kept going and going. That complete BASTARD! I had gained like 5 pounds from all the pizza, wings, candy, ice-cream, and then Thanksgiving meal already. After the anti-turkey meal, I then watched the Chief and Mehve blast through HALO 2 like it was melted butter. As if I didn't have enough ammo with which to hate Microsoft before that ending... MS is filled with shitty shitty fag-fags. Worst set up for a sequel ever. Buncha dicks.

Even Angry Amy was kind of mellow on Monday (I must have given her too much chloroform and elephant tranqs on the Friday before Thanksgiving [to keep her out of my hair and locked up in a barricaded closet with Carl and Robot Pedro so that she/they didn't try to fuck up my week, as they had all separately claimed to be plotting to do])... Though I did wonder how she got out of her captivity, and I worried if I had set in motion the wheels of my almost certain near-future demise by a now triumvirate of EVIL. Yes, I got those three out of my way for a measly week, but now they might be allies in their fight against me... Or Angry Amy might have just killed off and eaten the other two seeing as I can find no trace of them since locking that final deadbolt almost two weeks before... Or that might just be a cunning plan on their part to throw me off... Or...... Crap.

So let me recap: Uber-Week + lots of junk food (multiplied by) a traditional Thanksgiving Day dinner + fun ladies' night out with Kare (squared) + anti-turkey first class feast (minus) Zero robot attacks = Awesomnisity and fatness. Ahhhhhhhhhh.

Note to self 247: 11/17/2004

Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaage. Deep, seething raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaage. I want my retarded cousin, Rick, DEAD. "Sure, Rossman, I can get you a bunch of art programs and even Mac OS Panther. No prob. It'll only take about a half an hour to install it all." .....And 3 years to re-populate it with everything that was on it before he DELETED my entire harddrive!! "Oh, sorry, I hope you didn't have anything important on there.... Uh-hyuck" (That "uh-hyuck" is Goofy's stupid laugh whenever he normally fucks things up). All my thousands of MP3s... Deleted. My freelance projects over the past three years... Extinct. Gigabytes upon gigabytes of movies, tv shows and anime that I've bittorrented since I got my computer... No more. But most frightening, all of my incredible pr0n links to the best of the best free sites are now gone forever. Sure, the top six I remembered, but the rest of the many thousand are just fading memories to me now.... Raaaaaage rising!!..... I tried to get Bob From the Future to take me back a few days to stop me from letting Re-Re Ricky fuck up my Mac, but Bob From the Future was insistent that I just let things pass as they already have, seeing as the traumatic loss of my pr0n stockpile is apparently what eventually drives me to create the next glorious evolution to the XXX-entertainment industry: Hard Light Hologram Hookers. Sounds promising, but I think I'll just kill Bob From the Future the next time I see him, steal his chrono-watch, and fix the time-stream up the way I want it fixed up. Yeah, that HLHH sounds fun, but I need my uber-pr0n NOW!!!

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