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Note to self 190: 01/22/2003

Finally! I got my Giant Robo DVDs in and Mehve, The Chief, Foxfur, Robot Pedro and I gathered together at an undisclosed location to watch them all at once in a Giant Marathon. And it was good. Things started out well enough (Mehve had lots of Robo-themed foods for us to partake of. Including, but not limited to: Giant Roburgers, Fabulous Fitz-fries, Immortal Mura-Milkshakes, and Silent Chu-Quitos [which turned The Chief into a "human bomb"]), got better (hell, we watched Giant Robo and drank some booze!), but ended horribly when Robot Pedro got pissed off because the robots that he was routing for (Big Fire's) lost to that "goody goody hu-man controlled ass-inator), Giant Robo himself. Soon Robot Pedro started throwing things around the room in protest. He started out by hurling light, fluffy pillows at us, but once he ran out of those, pieces of furniture and knives got chucked through the air. I got a Ginsu right in my left butt cheek (I thought it was initially humorous because "Ginsu" sounded kinda like "Ginrei"), but thank God that The Chief was there to immediately suck the poison out or I'd have been a goner! We ended up having to blow up Robot Pedro (yet again) when he refused to stop trying to turn the oven into a hydrogen bomb though. That pissed me off because he wasn't done doing my taxes for me this year (last year he got me $168K back by e-filing that I had 3,728 kids and a wife who needed heavy meds because of her recent condition of contracting the Gay).

After that whole fubar fiasco The Chief got me hooked on the Yatta song. It's now stuck in my head and I want to die.

Note to self
189: 01/08/2003

The holidays have come and gone. Now I'll have to wait another full year to celebrate Christmas, New Year's and Festivus. Crappies! Anyway, I got a lot of great gifts and went to a lot of gruber (that's "great" + "uber") parties as well. The parties I'll talk about in a new Examiner article (soon to come), but the presents were one of a kind... well, except Robot Pedro's. It was the same thing he gave me last year: a piece of dog shit. Granted, it was a lot more solid than last year's model, but still, it's the thought that counts, and right now I'm thinking that I want him dead.

Carl got me a punching bag with Jimmy Jammer's face painted on it, Angry Amy didn't get me anything (which was a step up from last year when she stepped on my nads in high heels), Dr. Dave gave me some monkey-men that he genetically altered just for me (they're on their way over to Angry Amy's place right now to throw their giant feces at her windows and to take a few dumps in her car), the Megaplayboy got me a free pass to get into The Shaved Princess strip club, and the Wolfman gave me a half eaten lizard that he didn't want anymore. But I have to admit that Bob From the Future came through the most this year, as he gave me a free trip to anywhen in all of human history! As soon as I heard what Bob From the Future was offering me I got hyper giddy! Giddier than a schoolgirl after some mad cocaine snortin'! I couldn't decide where I'd want to go: Ancient China, where prostitution was legal and partaking in it was almost a requirement; Ancient Rome, where I could convince any woman that I was a god because I had a "Boom" stick... and then shag her/them righteous by my holy decree; or France last week where I could screw any forlorn, hot housewife that I met and then get applauded and patted on the back by the neighbors (and possibly her husband) as I snuck out the window! The possibilities were endless! But instead, I blew my chance and my gift by saying something dumb like, "Yippy skippy! Man, I just wish that I could live my life all over again just so that I could build up to and relive this moment one more time."

Long story short, Bob From the Future sent me back into my past (where I somehow merged with my 1 year-old self) and I just got done reliving my whole life all over again! The main problem with that was that all my memories were completely blurred and swiss-cheesed-up so that I couldn't remember to buy Microsoft stocks when they first went public, and sell Enron stocks before they hit the shitter. So now I'm really a forty+ year-old man trapped in a strapping young man's body... Too bad I'm having a midlife crisis right now or I really might be able to enjoy it.

Note to self
188: 12/18/2002

Well, well, well. Probably my last new post of the year, the anniversary of my first date with the bosomy Ms. Seem in high school, the day after the birthday of an old (now cunty) friend, and a week before Christmas Eve. Busy day.

This past weekend was pretty busy-fizzy too. Chi-Chi came into town on Friday for no special reason, and he, the MegaPlayboy and I spent the whole of the weekend hanging out at the Sea Wench Pub, puking in the back of taxis, playing shitloads of Rebel Leader on GameCube, watching the most traumatizing movies and videos we could find to scar our brains (like Meet the Feebles, Battle Royale, FLCL, The Toxic Avenger and Cannibal the Musical), ate and drank like alcoholic pigs, killed a few hobos, pissed in over 27 gas tanks, set baby deer on fire, decapitated some evil puppies and blew up a police car while we pretended that we were the Aqua Teen Hunger Force. Too bad those bastard cops caught the MegaPlayboy. He'll probably squeal like a piggy in the interrogation room. He's got a fear of the thought of pain or verbal confrontation... Which reminds me, I better finish packing and leave the country now. Seeya hosers next year... Like a muthafucka!!!

Note to self
187: 12/11/2002

This past weekend will go down in Rossman history as one of the greats. No, I didn't actually get lucky with Nicole Kidman and Kirsten Dunst at the same time, but the experience was close. I joined a few hundred of my closest friends in watching the UGA Bulldogs take down the Arkansas Piggies in the SEC Championship Game at Stegmen Coliseum (the game was in Atlanta, but the wall-sized TV at Stegmen was a good substitute for those of us who couldn't afford tickets). The game was a bit sloppy, but we still roasted the Razorbacks like an all-you-can-eat pulled pork platter at Sonny's Barbecue! Whooooo-doggie!

Near the end of the third quarter, when it was beyond obvious that UGA'd win, I left Stegmen and headed to downtown Athens where I knew the partying would be kicking itself into overdrive. I drank heartily and toasted the Dawgs with entire bars! I rang the Chapel Bell of Victory for a full five minutes until my ears were bleeding and I had rope-burns on my hands! AND, I got to be on two news stations that night while reluctant reporters interviewed the drunken masses that spilled all over the streets when the final whistle blew! The MegaPlayboy confirmed for me that the live Fox 5 broadcast had my mug front and center of the crowd scene for a good 5 seconds while I chanted "SEC!! SEC!! SEC!!! UGA!!! UGA!!! UGA!!!" and Little J and Big D let me know that they saw me jumping up and down in the background of the Channel 4 eleven o'clock news when they turned to their coverage of the game. They said I looked like a "drunken and insane hooligan" as if it were a bad thing.

Sure some of my friends and family got into the game in the Coca-Cola Stadium Boxseats, and still more of my amigos went to bars in Atlanta to watch everything go down (which to me is really retarded when Athens itself is 96% made up of good bars and cheap food) but I personally lived this championship up like nobody's business, and I even got a little region-wide TV coverage to boot.

GOOOOOOOOOOO DAWGS!!!!!!! Whoooooo-Hooooo!!!!!!

Note to self
186: 12/04/2002

Well, the holidays are upon us like a plague of locusts on a festering pile of dog snot. I pounded out Thanksgiving last week and am now semi-looking forward to X-mas and the New Year. Normally I'd have been jumping up and down for joy over the recently passed celebration of gluttony, but this year was different. My pants have been getting tighter and tighter over the past few months and unfortunately not in the crotch. Last week (with a grand total of 5 jumbo meals) was too much. All I wear now are sweatpants. Everywhere. Just like your fat Uncle Vinnie on disability. I look like a lazy poofter, and I also feel like one too. Well, the "lazy" part and not so much the "poofter" part. Anyway, I'm afraid that with 6 Christmas parties and hopefully at least 3 New Years binge parties, I'll be the first one in line on January 1st at the clinic where Tyler Durden gets his ingredients for his homemade soap. I hope Dr. Nick is on duty!

Note to self
185: 11/27/2002

Turkey Day is coming up fast again, but this year I was lucky enough to get out of going to Kuni's place for another trademarked "Giving of Thanks Day of Death", but instead got suckered into agreeing to go with Bob From the Future to his futuristic Appreciation Day of Large Animal Slaughtering. Since it takes place on the same day every 2 maybe 3 years (November 25th), I was able to get temporally transported to the future and back again before the real Turkey Day of 2002. Actually, because I time travelled, I suppose it didn't really matter when in my life I went to it, I could always leave and get back before today or yesterday even happened. Get me?

Anyhow, it was fairly interesting to see how today's traditions have changed over the millenia into the warped and completely fucked up conventions of tomorrow's world to come. For example, when Bob and I arrived at his foster parents' house for the feast, instead of taking my coat and offering me a festive holiday drink, they tried to stab my arm and neck with a very sharp knife in order to see if I bled and therefore was not an evil robot in disguise of a Rossman. Then, while we all gathered at the table for what I thought would be the traditional saying of grace, it turned out to be the time to sweep the place for mines planted by evil robots when nobody was looking, and toss any found explosives into the neighbors' yard and hopefully blow up their dog (apparently points are given). And the final big difference that I noticed was when it turned out that the main course was not in fact a plump poultry, but Bob From the Future's recently deceased grandma in the form of Soylent Green. 'Twas a bit salty and tasted like pork quiche.

Anyway, after the flossing, Bob From the Future took me for a quick tour of his futuristic world so that I could see all the Christmas decorations that had been up since September 1st of the year 2053. The peeps of the future apparently worship Keppler the Holiday Elf even more than Santa or the Buddha baby! It was really weird. Keppler is this disfigured elf who supposedly used toys (that Santa was making for the Gentile girls and boys around the world) in order to hold off the mutant hords of the Tresvorquadok Empire when they attacked the Earth and its sister planets on Christmas Eve in the year 2471. It was an ALF Pog slingshotted inbetween the eyes of the Tresvorquadok Emperor himself that turned the tide and saved Christmas for the galaxy... that is until 2473 when the Alex Trebek clones ate 1/5 of the population's spleens on Christmas Day at 5:36PM on the dot.

Note to self 184: 11/13/2002

A to-remain-nameless friend was thrown a bachelor party by his to-remain-nameless best man, in which the to-remain-nameless group of people (that I like to hang out with) all got together at a bunch of to-remain-nameless locations this past Saturday. We started off the drinking and drinking at a to-remain-nameless restaurant served by big tittied chickies in tight orange short-shorts who made the groom-to-be do a little dance with two balloons under his shirt while they called him a "sucker" and mocked his to-remain-nameless manhood in front of everybody there. Then we traversed to a to-remain-nameless entertainment facility and played pool and videogames for a while as the UGA Bulldogs kicked some Ole Miss ass on the wall-sized TV that played above the bar. As of that point, the night was fun, but a few to-remain-nameless amigos were already starting to slow down and some were talking about leaving because they had to be at work in about 4 hours time. But that was when the best man informed us all that the amusement had only just begun. We all caravanned down I85 and soon found ourselves absorbing, with mouths wide open in awe, the fluorescent glow of the majestic Pink Pony. That is basically when the funness and nudity officially began (despite the early streaking through the parking lot by a to-remain-nameless drunkard who was never allowed in my car again).

The Pony of Pink is where I fell in love approximately 23 times that night. It's where I learned that a girl with a tongue made of the most flexible and powerful rubber, sitting on my lap while performing lewd acts on a beaker of booze, is in reality ten times more sensual than big breastesses rubbing my face. The Pink Pony is where I learned that the to-remain-nameless groom-to-be in fact really likes "big titties" and to "heil Satan" whenever naked women pass by. It's where $10 can get you a three to four minute show of store-bought affection, and a $5 tip can get you a snoggin' the likes of which would make Ron Jeremy blush.

Early Sunday morning came too soon though, and the remaining to-remain-nameless chubbed partiers and I were forced to leave our full-frontal paradise for the cold and uncaring real world once again. What sucked most for me was the fact that I had to then drive an hour and a half in the soft glow of the impending sunrise while thinking nothing but thoughts of gyrating, big boobied beauties and snake-tongued shooters girls before I could do anything about it. Goddamn commutes!!

Note to self
183: 10/23/2002

I completely ripped my goddamn thumb off at the gym last Friday. Some spandex goddess was doing some gorgeous stretching right in front of my face (about 3 feet away after I edged closer) when I dropped the two weights in my hand that I was pinch-gripping and pinched my fucking thumb right the hell off. I calmly walked over to the staff table at the front entrance and asked for some ice. The moron in charge looked at my bleeding hand and asked, "Why, are you hurt?" to which my only reply came, "NyaaaAAAAAHHHHHHrrrrgh!" He started freaking out and blubbering around not knowing what to do (which I took as concern for my well being at first), but then some other staffer pushed the dumbass out of the way and asked me if I was injured in the gym. By this time the searing pain was really bubbling up from the depths of distress and all I could do was nod with tears in my eyes instead of saying, "Nooooooo, I actually tore my digit off at my house, twenty minutes away, and thought that evrybody here would like to see the gore because I'm a fucking idiot." Before they would do anything for me (no bactine, no icepack, no band-aid even), I had to sign about 5 release forms. 5 RELEASE FORMS.... WITHOUT A THUMB. I bitched and moaned but ended up signing with my teeth just to get some icy relief. And then the guy that they sent for the ice would have been beaten by that damn tortoise in that fairy tale about the hare and the woman in the shoe! Holy Jebus! I lost like eight pints of blood waiting for a bandage and some ice-cubes. It took the asswipe an entire 7 minutes before he slowly returned with a bored look on his face. Afterwards I tried to remove his nose with the same plates that took my thumb as a sacrifice to the weight god Ahnoldius, but he actually fought back and I ended up having to decapitate him just because. It took Dr. Dave over 5 hours to reattach my thumb, and then about 16 pints of Guinness to replace the blood that I had lost in the tragic events of the day. Assholes.

Note to self
182: 10/16/2002

I just want to talk about some of that scary shit that's going on up in the D.C. area over the past few weeks. That "Serial Sniper" person is a total asshole. That's like the most cowardly way to become a serial killer. Fucking taking people out from like a mile away. If you're out there and you're reading this now, Mr./Ms. Sniper, let me tell you that you are an incredible pussy. I bet the reason why you don't pull a Hannibal Lecter and kill your victims face to face is because even girl scouts kick your ass. Plus your dick is probably smaller than Emanuelle Lewis' and using a big, bad rifle is the only way you get to feel what a "big stick" feels like. Hell, I bet you're really that "Dude, you're gettin' a DELL" asswipe who won't get off my goddamn TV no matter how loud I yell at it. Shit, you really are an ass-cock.

Note to self
181: 10/09/2002

Due to the abrupt end of the ROBOT PEDRO'S OFFICE WARZ 2002 (and the death of Jimmy Jammer's mom, Jenny P-Diddy Jammer, by act of falling down an elevator shaft) last week, Carl, the Wolfman and I were sentenced to 20 hours of community service. The Wolfman was implicated because he did the pushing and Carl and I were charged because we goaded him into it with promises of setting him up with Satan (whom he's sacrificed many chickens and pigs to in the past [fyi, Satan doesn't have cloven feet like pigs, her feet are really dainty and purty]). The reason none of us got the chair is because everybody knew that Mrs. Jammer was a bigger prick than her son and the judge even patted each of us on the back.

Anyway, for our community service we were ordered to clean a stretch of highway for a couple of weekends in a row. There's a good reason why nobody volunteers for this duty, I found out. It sucks. The sides of the highway may not look too dirty when you're cruising past them at 95mph while throwing your Krystal's bag and beverage cup out the window, but apparently when you stop and look at all the Krystal's bags and cups in the grass and poison ivy you see that they really build up. The Wolfman found a couple of condoms and some body lube on his side of the road, but we believe that he just brought them with him for that time that he disappeared for a good 30 minutes and wouldn't respond to our calls. The most digusting thing I found was something in a plastic bag that looked like somebody's shaved pubes. I didn't do any forensic-type experiments on it though, I just dumped them in Carl's water bottle. Which ironically enough was the most disgusting thing that Carl found that morning too. I get out of the hospital next Thursday, but the doctor said my black and blue brain won't be totally healed until May.

Note to self
180: 09/18/2002

Robot Pedro showed up at the office today. He claimed that "Weakling Wednesdays are for weakling humans," or something like that, and then he began to drink all the coffee in the place. Since the office coffee sucks and the filter hasn't been changed since Kennedy was assassinated, nobody really cared... Except for Angry Amy. It seems that she got pissed off out of principle. After throwing her initial hissy fit about her liquid-brown morning heroine getting all drunk up, whe devised a plan. A cunning plan. She put some dynamite in a coffee pot filled with muddy water and made sure that Robot Pedro saw it on her desk as she went to check the mail. Well, of course he drank the whole thing, explosives and all, but unfortunately for Angry Amy she forgot to install a detonator to the boom sticks. Though she did have fun trying to set the dynamite off in Robot Pedro's gut by continually whacking him in his torso with his own dismembered leg. That was a hoot to watch.

Note to self
179: 09/04/2002

Holy fucking shit. Well, to back track and to clarify a little, I've been dating my acquaintance, Dev, for the past few months. She's a real swell gal, once you get to know her and you can get past the "damning of all humanity" kick she's on. But I digress. The total costs of the first few dates we've been on has come to around $100 a pop. Not to mention that she lives in Hell (aka Atlanta) and the commute's a bitch and a half. But she's evil incarnate, and I understand that that's how she works. This past weekend I played it smart and invited the girl to the UGA/Clemson game in Athens (fyi, that's the one and only thing that both God and Dev agree on: that UGA is the greatest college football team ever). Knowing Dev though, I should have known that there'd be a way that she would turn the tide back onto my unsuspecting ass.

It all started out with the fact that the UGA home-opener was a late game (starting off at 7:45pm). I planned to hang out with Dev and her evil friends all day at the prerequisite tailgating that everybody is legally bound to go to. But, with Dev being "sin incarnate" and all, she didn't invite me to any of her street-side keggers and I was forced to hang with Carl, the Dazzling Dave, Bob From the Future and Robot Pedro somewhere on North Campus. I met my date at 7 o'clock in front of Sanford Stadium and came face to face with my first big shock of the night. Satan was 120% proof-blitzed off her wicked butt! I had a fun time getting the 6'2" fallen goddess to our seats as she was wearing heels but lost the ability to walk in them about 5 Jell-O shots earlier.

Things settled down for a bit, but I later found out that it was only because Dev was spending that time planning something malevolent against me. She had been sizing up the stoned, fat fuck sitting to her right and at kickoff decided that it was time to act. At first she started yelling at the ass for not cheering when the Bulldogs made good plays or when the Tigers royally fucked up (which was often in both cases). The stoner looked kinda worn out though and didn't seem to care what was going on in the playing field in front of him. He was pretty much focusing all his concentration on not throwing up. His "friend" next to him wasn't helping as he kept pouring Jack into his coke when he wasn't looking. Soon the stoner-ass-clog came to his somewhat senses and realized that he was sitting next to a gorgeous and leggy blonde who was giving him a whooooooole lot of attention. So he figured that it would be a good idea to start giving some back her way. Every ten seconds would bring another volley of "undressing stares" from the stoner aimed at my ever-so-demonic date. At first I tried to frighten him off by catching his glares and winking and blowing kisses back at him. That did confuse him for a while, but soon he upped the ante and began actually copping obvious feels of Dev's knee. Dev was starting to get off on the anger (produced by me) and the lust (coming off of the fat frat fucker on her right like stink off a monkey) though, and refused to switch seats with me. Soon the stoner and I were seconds away from an all out brawl as I stood up and got into his face about the many many problems he had (the least of which being his hygeine and caloric intake). I pushed him backwards into his loser friends and he almost fell flat on his bulbous ass. Dev broke it up (and prolonged the suffering on all sides, as she is wont to do) by hugging me and jumping up and down when the Dawgs had scored some kind of point in the game I had stopped watching what seemed like hours before.

More staring and lecherousness occured, but near the end of the second quarter the stoner tried to get Dev's attention away from me by betting "$5 that we'd run the next return all the way back for another touchdown" (which the Dawgs had done just a little while before). He lost (we fumbled I think) and then he refused to pay. That's when I had enough, grabbed his fat shirt collar, stood the fat fuck up and shook the fat turd around a bit while screaming at him that "we don't make bets with ladies that we don't intend on keeping, ass!" He miraculously and immediately found his wallet and during halftime he and his dickless amigos left... never to return (as they walked away I could have sworn that the stoner had a big urine mark in the front of his pants, but Dev says I'm just wishful that way). After all was said and done Dev laughed at me and then wouldn't shut up about how hot she is.... which she is, don't get me wrong. The second half was kinda boring after that, but at least I got to enjoy the game without fear of getting dragged away by stadium security while my gorgeous and evil woman heckled me from afar.... again.

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