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Note to self 232: 06/23/2004

Well, last week the Wolfman, Kiff and I went to Six Flags. We rode the rides, drank lots of insultingly overpriced Cokes, and cut in many a line like the bastadges that we are in order to reride the rides, just with a much shorter waiting period. I, however, made a MONDO mistake when I started making fun of the Wolfman for actually screaming out "Mommy!" on the first loop of the Superman inverted coaster. I was splashing water fountain water on my crotch and shouting, "Waaaah! Waaah! I'm the Wolfman! I'm a big pants-wetting pussy who likes to pee my pants and beg for mommy! Waaaaah!" That was apparently a bit too far.

The Wolfman got angry... And not just "normal people angry," but WOLFMAN angry. That's when he grabbed a grape slushee from some punk, threw it in my face to blind me, then punched me in the crotch. When I was on the ground writhing he then strip searched me for Bob From the Future's "misaligned timestream emergency" emergency contactor, and he called good old Bob who suddenly appeared right in front of us. Before I could get a word in edgewise the Wolfman told Bob From the Future that "the Rossman here had some sort of bad tramatization back in his youth times... We need to fix that shit pronto. Capice?" Then they both disappeared. The next thing I knew I began to remember a time when I was seven years old in which some hairy bastard and some guy in a tinfoil chef's uniform started driving me around, tied to the roof of my family's station wagon while the furry one yelled stuff like, "Yeah, pussyboy! Who's screaming for mommy NOW?! Har har Har!! Bwa ha ha ha!!!" Granted the guy in the shiny outfit kept asking if what they were doing would truly realign the timestream, and if it was the only way to fix whatever it is that must have originally gone wrong, but I remember that chef pig bastard laughing out loud when they jumped a gourge Dukes-style and I peed my pants. Now, I can't move more than 3 1/2 MPH without getting motion sickness, and my sister Jaime is going to kill me cause her fiance vanished from the timestream somehow. Goddammit! The laws of physics sometimes piss me off!

Note to self 231: 06/09/2004

Yay! I made Karen watch The Legend of Black Heaven (Hard Rock Saves Space) all in one sitting on Saturday! Heh heh. Oh, that was great. She kind of got into it too when she started to think that Oji was still just 100% faithful and into his blah, bitchy wife. She was all like, "Wow! That's what more TV shows should be like. They should emphasize the family above all other aspects of the plot... Even saving the universe." I didn't have the heart to warn her about the ending and that deep passionate kiss between my main man, Oji, and that alien hotness, Layla. Hee hee! I guess I shouldn't have pumped my arm and shouted, "Hell yeah! THAT'S what the fuck I'm talking about!" as they groped eachother. She hasn't spoken to me since. Ah, but it was worth it.

Anyway, the reason Karen owed me very much big time in watching Black Heaven was because she made me go see Harry Potthead and the Prisoner of Azkaban on Friday with her, Tammi With an "I", Gorgeous Fred, and Melanacious. Not that it was bad or anything (I actually wanted to see it myself, though I would never tell her that), but the chance to actually use something like that to get her to watch one of my classic anime series in retribution was just too good to pass up. I was all like, "God! You actually want me to go see the Potted one on opening day... in a packed theater... filled with annoying shitball parents and their whiney kids? Why don't you just castrate me now and be done with it?" I stopped saying that though when she actually pulled out the hedge clippers and started *snipping* them at me. Anyway, Pottboy was okay. They cut out about 1/2 of the book and just focused on the Sirius Black predicament (and not even all of it as the book told it), they turned Malfoy into a pussy, and made Hogsmeade look dreadfully plain and boring. Tammi With an "I" hated it (she actually tried to set the screen on fire to keep future generations from having to "suffer through it"), but everybody else enjoyed it for what it was. Though it by no means compared to Black Heaven... But that's a gimme.

Note to self 230: 05/26/2004

That was one of the crappiest (and most drawn out) dreams I've ever had. It all started out well enough, I was meeting a bunch of grade school friends, whom I haven't seen in ages, at a big church for what appeared to be somebody's wedding. We were all dressed very nicely, except for Paul who had the biggest pitstains on his button-down that I've ever had the displeasure of seeing, and we spent a good bit of time talking about the old days. Then the bride walked in... And it was an old girlfriend with whom I had a loooong history with. Yeah, she was pretty and all that, and I was cordial to her (I even helped her through some particularly cold feet problems she was having), but as soon as she walked down the aisle something started to feel...weird. The temperature dropped from the high 80s to 32 degrees (I don't remember how I knew this exact number, but I did), and the windows all frosted up while everyone's breath started to show. The ceremony proceeded as planned though, and I saw that the church was now a lot less full than I had originally thought it was. What was even weirder was that everybody in the spacious building was really spread out with me being close to the back entrance. I kept my eyes away from the bride for the most part, but I did catch her staring right at me once while doing the "nanny nanny boo boo" thing with her face and hands. That kind of pissed me off and I was ready to just get the hell out of there when I noticed that my family was all in tuxes and nice dresses sitting in like the second row on the left (which I somehow knew was the bride's side). My buddies tried to keep me from leaving, and they ended up restraining me there till the show was over, after which I ran to my car through the freezing rain, cranked it and tore out of the parking lot (making a mental note that there was no way in fuck I'd go to the reception or throw rice at the tramp and her new hubby as their car drove away).

I was really ticked off by this time, and I did a couple of donuts in the street right outside of the church while I tried to decide where to go to next. But then I remembered that I just bought a new house across the way and so I drove over to that. I unlocked the door to find the place devoid of any furniture (and much bigger and nicer than any place I'd EVER thought I'd own), but I quickly noticed that there was a giant pet-crate in my bedroom. When I started questioning that, I heard my sister Jaime's voice tell me that it was for her dog. I turned around to face her and her German shepherd, and asked her what the *bleep* she was doing in my house. She quite matter of factly stated that she was leaving her dog in my new place every day for the past month while she was at work. Now, I was really getting pissed off by this point, and I had to really try hard to keep my anger in check. My fists were actually starting to shake. My house smelled like dog! I followed my sis into my kitchen where she then sloppily poured about a half a ton of dog food into one of my bowls and let her monster dog messily chow down on it. I asked her, "Where.. How did you get a fucking KEY to my place?!" She answered me by showing me her keychain with a housekey in silver right in the middle. She said that when I asked her to let in the electricians the previous month she just kept the key and made herself and her dog at home. I was pretty much spitting my sentences out by now. I said that the main reason I didn't have, nor would I EVER have, a dog was because I did not want my house smelling of dog, I didn't want dog hair in my house, and most importantly I didn't want dog pee and crap anywhere in my brand new bachelor's pad!!... of which I was starting to smell something foul in the living room. My sister honestly did not think she was doing anything wrong as I ran around the place trying to locate the spot where her dog had most probably peed and pooped. I couldn't discover the source of the stench, but then I found my sister actually giving her pooch a bath in my toilet. My god, that house had the biggest toilets you could imagine! Jaime still didn't see anything wrong with hijacking a family member's house in order to raise her canine in, so I started cursing out loud just how lousy my day was turning out. That's when it hit me that the only way to make it better would be to find my ex's honeymoon suite and dump a couple of buckets full of maggots into the ventilation ducts just as the newlyweds were getting cozy... That's when I woke up about 5 minutes before my alarm. Any dream interpreters out there? Want to give me a hand with this one?

Note to self 229: 05/19/2004

What a week... Urk. Have you ever tasted sour milk? I have, yesterday morning. Three big gulps worth. Have you ever been to a "Bar-B-Que Cook-Off", with hundreds of tents, a stage for bands, dozens upon dozens of barbequeing madmen pouring gallons upon gallons of deliciously smelling sauces over an infinite amount of dead pig... ONLY TO FIND OUT that NONE of the food being cooked could be eaten by anyone but the judges? I have. And it was a 98 degree day in sweltering Alabama too where all I wanted to do was eat eat eat. Jeezus! Have you ever been forced to NOT kick somebody in the eye despite the fact that they deserve it more than Saddam deserves a napalm enema? Well, I have... And I still didn't get any out of Karen that night. That was such a wasted opportunity. "Oh, Rossman, please don't beat the shit out of my brother! He didn't mean to delete your entire harddrive and urinate on your keyboard like that! He's just 'special'." And before you get all on my case, Karen's brother, Ned, isn't 'special' as in 'brain damagedly retarded'... He's just a dickhead who likes to get sympathy from his family by simply pretending to be a mongo (he's been doing it since he was 10 and was pushed down the stairs by his older brother, Slammin' Sammy). And they buy it hook line and sinker... I caught the fucker using my Amazon account one time to crack into their system and change the internal delivery addresses of 10,000 members so that all their stuff shipped to him. Not even my friend Colonel Angus can do high tech shit like that.

Man, then there was that other time that I caught Ned watching a video of my sister, Jaime, and her fiance in their bedroom late one night. It was a live feed, and so I took it upon myself to track down where the mini-wireless camera was before they both got embarrassed and had to pay a fee to Ned to keep the thing from going out on the web, a la Paris Hilton. Well, my sis and her boytoy found me in the ducts in their bedroom, dragged me out with just sheets wrapped around them, and proceeded to stab me with any sharp objects that they could find (including some hair pins, a dinner fork and a nine millimeter). I talked them into following me to the garage (where I knew Ned had set up shop), but as we passed the guest room that I was staying in we could see a glowy light under the door. Kiff kicked the door in and staring at everyone was Ned's monitor and computer set-up with lots of spy equipment hastily thrown all around. What was probably the worst part of the whole ordeal (for me at least) was that Ned had "freeze framed" a shot of the two lovebirds on the screen, and he had placed a box of Kleenex next to the keyboard. I swear, one day I WILL castrate, or anally rape with a jackhammer, that asshat.

Note to self 228: 04/28/2004

It's no secret that "Weird Al" Yankovic is my idol. I think he's such a groovy guy who'll never be mellow even after he's dead. So, with that in mind, the Wolfman and I went to his concert in Atlanta last week and rocked out with the geeky songster in a night that I will not soon forget, unless my doctor puts me on THOSE drugs again. Anyway, so we drove into the shittiest city in the world (i.e. Atlanta. Keep up with me here), and then found ourselves with about an hour to kill before the concert actually began. Which really sucked cause the only thing even near the Tabernacle Concert Hall was the CNN building, and everything inside was already shutting down. The only thing still open in the food court was the Wendy's, so we both got a Frosty and just walked around Olympic Park tripping kids and dripping melted Frosty on the backs of their necks. We're dicks, what can I say.

So anyway, after we kicked and tripped a few more tykes around, this old black guy approached us and asks, "Hey! Hey! You goin' to the 'Weird Al' show? Yeeeeeeeeah, he's funny. He still sing that song about the 'Eating'?" Right away, just by his disheveled appearance, I knew why this man was talking to us, so I turned to the Wolfman and whispered, "Ten bucks says I can make him talk for at least 5 minutes before he gets rude and asks for money." Wolfy agreed and the game was on. Turns out that Homeless Joe didn't mind living on the streets. He liked it in fact. He also really liked "Weird Al" and all his old songs from the early 80s (from what I heard from him that must have been the last time Homeless Joe was in the public circulation). He wanted to know if Al's concerts were just him on the stage asking for the audience to shout out songs for him to parody, and them him making up alternative lyrics as he went. We both thought that would be a cool idea, but didn't think it very likely. Joe also told us that he's met many interesting people, and even Ted Turner himself while homelessly patroling Olympic Park. He said that Ted gave him a ten spot (to which the Wolfman pointed at his watch indicating that only 3 1/2 minutes had elapsed since the bet began, to which I had to mime that Homeless Joe never actually asked US for money yet, just acknoledged the fact that he took handouts in the past). Well, I kept Homeless Joe going for another 6 full minutes before he admitted that he could use a dollar, and that we should "help a brotha out." We said, "Sorry, Joe, but wouldn't ya know, we're all out of dough. Now off to the show!" He then thanked us for our time, taught us a cool new homeless-handshake and left us to head to the concert which was about to begin. Unfortunately, I think he saw me make the Wolfman pay me the ten bucks I won after we were only a couple of steps away from him... That's the only reason I can think of for him knifing Wolfy in the back as we exited the Tabernacle 3 hours later.

Oh, and one more thing, even though the opening act got booed off the stage, I have to say that he was pretty fucking hilarious. The opener was some stand-up guy (light years better than the shitty local band that last opened for Al), and he was telling the raunchiest PG rated jokes he could without getting in trouble (considering 1/6 of the audience was under 16). He made fun of Mexicans, his wife in the sack, and even Dale Earnhart. Actually, it was when he said that "Dale Earnhart deserved to die," that the booing began in earnest. He was only 25 minutes into his act, and the retards around us were getting restless like a bunch of D&Ders hopped up on Jolt and mini-Snickers. Well, the guy was gracious about it and said "goodnight" before bottles started getting hurled, but we never did get to hear his punchline to the one about his job as a telemarketer. Honestly, I was so pissed that he got booed that I almost swung at the closest and LOUDEST booer in the audience, who was two seats away from me in the aisle. I stopped myself though when I noticed that it was actually some 12 year-old Timmy in a real fucking wheelchair. I think I actually blurted out, "Oh shit! Sorry Timmy, I didn't realize you were... Errr, special." Oh well, at least I didn't get knifed by a homeless dude.

Note to self 227: 04/21/2004

Finally, a weekend of rest. Well, comparitively speaking of course. Rest for me is different from most people I know. Most people count rest as taking a nap, watching a movie, or reading a book. I count rest as sleeping in till 3 or 4 in the afternoon, maybe watching some D.V.D.A. movies, and possibly checking out a Scottish bagpipe band before getting hammered at the Sea Wench Pub until all the kegs run dry. And this weekend I was lucky, as I was able to participate in EVERY SINGLE one of my favorite relaxing pasttimes. I got the sleeping thing and quadruple penetration movie watching thing done early, and noticed in the paper that Bonnie Rideout and the Washington Pipe Band were coming to town that night! Hells bells and alle-fuckin'-lujah! My God was surely looking out for me! And what a concert it was. Those heavenly bagpipes filled my soul with a longing for the old land (hey, I've been to Scotland once before, so piss off!)! They were like the music of the angels who got smart and gave up their harps and accordians for the traditional muzak of Scottish kings of yore! Ahhhhhh, I was in ecstacy, pure and simple. But there was one thing that I noticed that actually made me realize that not only was my personal God on my side throughout my life, but that he wanted to make me the happiest sunovagun this side of a brothel-owner with a bevy of bosomy bitches in the middle of the desert with noone to service but his own lonesome self. Yes, God showed me that my ideal woman does exist. She was gorgeous and talented and and and oh so dazzling! There before my very own Scotch eyes I beheld the beauty that was AN ASIAN HOTTIE IN A WORLD REKNOWN BAGPIPE BAND! Yeah, turns out she was already hitched, but it gave me a great idea. I had the shady Dr. Dave clone her up a few hundred times so now I have a full Asian Hottie Bagpipe Band of my very own. Sure, the neighbors bitched a little at first since they practiced the piping and the pipe-cleaning with me all through the night, but once I passed out a couple of dozen clones to some of the noisier meddlers they quit their complaining. Now my only problem is keeping the babes from melting when they hit a high note either on the pipes or in the sack. Clean up's a bear.

Note to self 226: 04/07/2004

I contemplated just leaving a big gaping whole in this week's Daily. I figured that no words could convey the absolute bi-polarness of last week's torment and pleasure. Things started out pretty hectic when I went to a database-learning computer class in Atlanta... First I must reiterate: ATLANTA SUCKS BLUE WHALE. So the class itself is okay, except for the fact that we cover 600+ textbook pages of code in the course of five days. That was pretty painful. But I did get to eat out with my classmates at some pretty fine restaurants of extraordinary magnitude, such as Fire of Brazil (Brazilian steak houses are where Jesus would eat if he were back and hungry like a mother fucker), Bucca de Beppo (check out my California 2001 report for more on their delicious quantities of food), and Sbarro's. That was groovy. But the commute to and from Atlanta fucking KILLED ME (more than 5 hours a day in the goddamn Rossman-mobile of DOOM). But I did get through three books on tape while battling the bumper to bumper (such as Crichton's Prey, Brown's Angels and Demons, and Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory). That was very good. I didn't get much sleep at all... Which is never good. But the lack of sleep allowed the knowledge I was forced to absorb each day to stick like bacon in an old, black frying pan that hadn't been washed out for years and still had lard in it from an October omelet. Which I suppose was good. Friday came and my mind almost melted (I have drawings of me from class where my brain physically did slop out of my right ear), but then I had Chi-Chi save me by making me go see Dawn of the Dead, Hellboy, and that Julia Stiles Princess movie all for the price of one children's ticket. That was great. Not the Princess movie, but the other two. In fact, I was so out of it mentally on Friday night after seeing them that I got into my rotting grey matter that I myself WAS a fucking zombie! I kept sprinting after people in the lobby and parking lot screaming "BRAINS!!!!.... and BOOBIES!" while biting them on either their heads or chest depending on if they were a normal or a hot chick. Then I found a pregnant woman and put my ear to her big tummy and said "Ummmmm, Zombie baby! GOOOOOOOD!" That was right before Chi-Chi kicked me in the zombie nads and dragged me away to Mo's Pizza for a couple of pitchers of PRB and a jumbo everything. I think I remember him telling the just arriving cops that "That damn zombie man over there behind the Pinto just bit off a chunk of my fine buttocks! Go kick his ass!" Weeks like that don't come around too often. And we can all thank Satan for that.

Note to self 225: 03/24/2004

After that horrible break up with Angela (yeah right, those 37 cocks you sucked "didn't count"...) I went with Jimmy Jammer and the MegaPlayboy to go see Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind starring Jim Carrey. It was a pretty good movie, but more importantly it got me thinking of ways to get Ang out of my noggin forever! So I went over to Dr. Dave's shady clinic and had him hook me up to his Disremembering Thingamabob (his actual trademarked name for it), then I let him go to town on my memories. Unfortunately I didn't get quite the exact result that I wanted. Instead of erasing Angie from my thoughts and making me forget that I ever even met her, Dr. Dave spread her throughout my entire mind and now I'm doomed to live with her in my head forever. So not only do I now recall Angie being my 1st through 12th grade teachers, but she was also all my old friends and even the pool cleaning guy. Wait, was she really? If she wasn't/isn't, who was?!

What's even worse than that is the sad fact that there's now an actual "living" Angie in my head that won't shut the fuck up. She just keeps shouting "Yeah, I sucked them, but that was before I met you, baby! SO THEY DON'T COUNT! RRRRRRRR!" over and over again. What's weird is that when I look in the mirror I can't even see me anymore, I see her. Granted, at least that part of the snafu has some benefits though.

Note to self 224: 03/17/2004

After a shitty Friday at work I decided to drive in to the Atlanta area for some quality Greenwood time with the old gang. Good times had by all, but unfortunately I watched both Shaolin Soccer and The Returner in one sitting. Not "unfortunate" that I watched them (as both rule), but "unfortunate" in that watching two fast paced, kick ass uber-movies in one night got me thinking in strange ways. So the next morning I got Bob From the Future to use his super science from the future to turn me into a Super Evil-Team Rossman. I could then move at 20Xs normal speed, kick soccer balls through nekkid goalies, and transform the world into a kung-futopia!... Unfortunately I could only use my powers six times before the uranium battery that Bob From the Future installed in me ran out... And even more unfortunately I wasted all six power-uses on cheap women, who after I was done didn't even know that I had started (damn you super speed!). So now I'm radioactive and powerless... Again. And probably infertile too. So, here's a big "FUCK YOU" to science.

Note to self 223: 03/03/2004

Last week sucked the fucking fillings out of my teeth. One of my best friends at work up and left for greener pastures, that shitty company that I freelanced for last year (and got stiffed like a blind begger) actually had the audacity to turn my beyond meager wages from them in to the IRS (so taxes fubared me), and then Angry Amy kicked me in the throat again... But that happens every Wednesday. At least last Thursday was a Snow Day. We actually got 2+ inches of nice, wet snow way down South here. I spent the day watching cars slide around my neighborhood, hurling javelin-icicles at kids, and hiding magnets in snowballs and throwing them at Robot Pedro's satanic head. That, as it turned out, was a stupid idea. I was using Robot Pedro's noggin as my calculator for my taxes, and now 13 hours of work (I didn't say it was a good calculator) are down the drain. So, not only do I owe Uncle Sam a shitload of cash, I have to painfully go through the numbers again in order to remind myself of how poor that pissant has made me. All I can think of though is that at least Gore isn't in the White House... I'd have to fucking sell my house to pay what I were to owe.

Note to self 222: 02/11/2004

Boy did I have a productive/wasteful weekend... It could be classified as either, depending on your POV. See, the Chief talked my lame ass into giving Naruto another try, and I had to trust the bastard since he's been right on quite a few nutty things in the past. So I sat down Friday night and basically watched 60 episodes of it in a row. I just couldn't stop! It's like animated crack-rock! By the end, I was wired like a motherfucker ninja myself!! I went out and bought a pair of blue, open-toed combat boots, a dayglow orange sweatsuit, and a bandana with a metal plate buttoned into it. Then I practiced literally kicking Carl's ass and throwing ninja stars into Robot Pedro's bulbous behind. After that I tried running up the giant oak tree in my backyard using only my feet. I did that for about 5 hours before I realized that it wasn't an overdose of chakra that was causing my insanity, but the 48 cans of Red Bull that I consumed in order to get through my 30 hour marathon. Man, when Monday came around I felt like shit... Both from coming off of the RB buzz and from having the Megaplayboy shove my shoes down my throat after I took some stealthy ninja-photos of him and his better half (aka "blow-up Rhonda" with nipple inflators) in an intimate moment.

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