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ARCHIVE 20
(For more Dailies, check out the Archive Here)
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.
For
more DAILIES, check out the Archive Here.
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