(For more Dailies, check out the Archive Here)
to self 190: 01/22/2003
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).
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
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.
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
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. 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.
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
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!
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.
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.
Note to self 186: 12/04/2002
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
Note to self 185: 11/27/2002
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?
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.
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.
to self 184: 11/13/2002
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).
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.
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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.
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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