The Rossman's California Dreams and Adventures
(page 11: Raging Sherbert)

Love is a battlefield... Especially when the whore you were haggling with was the hot sister of a pissed off centurion.

All hell broke loose after Jason and I were thrown out of the Microsoft booth when we tried to kill Gates before he could assimilate us all. We ended up running for most of the afternoon from one sort of goon or another. First it was that policeman who had "physical evidence" that we were involved with the plot to kidnap Catherine Zeta Jones, then it was that annoying little fucker who insisted that we give back his wallet and passport (despite the fact that he had no money in it and he looked like Jen Kruger's butch mom in his documentation), and finally it was the whole Nintendo corporation when they found out that I snagged the Gameboy from the roulette table.

When captured, I did the noble thing and valiantly persisted that I had acted alone in all of the conspiracies we were confronted with.... Except for Jason. I said that he sodomized me and made me do all those bad things (I've found that people will always believe your insane claims of innocence if you put yourself down in your own alibis). Many people then beat us unconscious. When I came to, I was back in the bus heading to my hotel. Jason was nowhere to be found (I later heard stories of a tribe of pygmies in the South Pacific that discovered a psycho-boy's decapitated head on their beach one morning and worshipped it as a god after they shrank it... I guess Jay finally got his wish and got a little head).

What sucked even more than the 15 bumps on the back of my skull was the fact that Kuni was sitting next to me. I tried to strangle him but a fat woman sat on me... And I think I liked it.

All for one, and one for myself.
It was a strange and wonderfully wacky trip into the jizz-licking minds of the freaks and geeks behind the scenes at E3. I was still suffering from a major lack of oxygen from the "Large Marge" incident, but I swear to God that I only made it back to Athens after I hitched a ride with Tom Hanks, Kevin Bacon and Bill Paxton. Maybe it was only a dream, but I still have some bruises from major pinching on my ass and my nipples are still sore. That seems like a very "Tom Hanksian" thing to do.

It was the end of my world as I new it, but I felt fine. I had survived life, death, rebirth and triple assassinations all in less than a week. I was bushed and wacked. I finally made it safely home only to find that my Robot Pal, Robot Pedro, had tried to hook up his ray gun to my DVD player and the microwave in order to make a human-killing machine that could strip the skin off of all male humans in the world (except for Fabio... It turns out that he's impervious to all forms of physical attacks due to his shiny pectorals and flowing blonde gay hair) in around 2 years. Robot Pedro started the machine up 1 year, 11 months and 28 days before though, so it turned out that I got home just in time (good thing I didn't stop off at that brothel outside of Vegas for the third time on the way back to Athens or my week would have truly sucked). I had to teach the penis scrubber a lesson so I detached his head, made him wear an 80s band hat, only let him drink a pale ale for his alcoholic consumption and replayed the first episode of Survivor 2 over and over and over again for a month. He swears that he'll never try to strip my skin off again. I just wish I could believe him.

Bad Robot Pedro.

It was a long strange journey into the land of swimming with sharks and mental movie writers, but it was worth it. I think. I ended up selling my soul to some movie producers so that I could star in some feminine hygiene commercials, but it turns out that they'll only be aired in Japan. I did get a lifetime supply of "Vagina Sticks" though. I made Robot Pedro eat them after he chewed up my Van Halen hat. That boy just needs an attitude adjustment.


Editor's Note: ...... I have no fucking idea where to begin. First, I find that I must apologize for the past 11 pages of pure bear smear you just read. I did not know it would be that bad. I thought that if I waited until the Rossman was done with the whole piece I would have a much easier time fixing it up for human consumption. I thought wrong. Eleven pages!!! Holy shit! I wasn't about to even read through it let alone attempt to improve it! The Rossman may have way too much free time on his hands to type his life away, but I actually had a chance to get laid the night I was supposed to edit this thing together. Fuck the Rossman!!!

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