Rossman on the Lam (page 8. . .
Final Edition)

Bill and Ted can have my children anytime! They're so cool that they can probably even find a way to make that biological impossibility happen too! First of all, their movies are two of the greatest moments of domestic cinematique to have ever been conceived, filmed and marketed to a hungry and stoned public! Second of all, I had originally thought that B&T were fictional (i.e. fake) characters, made up to give humanity hope in the darkness of our unending fight against rock and roll oppressors. Oh how I was wrong. They are real, and they sang to me. And they even had Dr. Evil, Spider-Man, Darth Vader, the Powerpuff Girls, Will Smith, Eminem, and I'm pretty sure Anna Nicole Smith join them and entertain our sorry, empty heads for a full half-hour of live entertainment! That's right! They put on something like 6 or 7 shows every night filled with explosions, nudity and profanity for all of those lucky enough to see it! How's that for entertainment!

I tried to get the dynamic rocking duo to adopt me, but security kept trying to grab my beans and Slim Jim (uhhhhh, not that it's slim or even made of cooked jerky) to get me to cease and desist. I was very thankful that Wolvie's tiny cup came in handy so soon after I ripped it from his hairy Canadian balls and buttocks!

Anyway, after the Bill and Ted Halloween Show the crew and I simply HAD to experience one of the much-hyped haunted houses that littered the landscape. Each Island had at least one, and in order to suffer what had to be the most frightening of the lot, we made a beeline straight to Dr. Suess Land.

Before we even got into the scary slum-home itself though, everybody in the group was completely spooked by the gigoongus size of the line. It seemed to zig-zag on forever. After waiting for at least 45 minutes and only moving 1/4 of the way up to the entrance of the place, both the Diva and Mehve had to call it quits and they left the rest of us to suffer frightening footpains and blistering back-aches. They most certainly chose wisely. The remaining four of us eventually made it to the front of the line (through a combination of cutting, beating up unfortunate innocents in our way, and shouting "Oh my god, there's that kid who said that people who dress goth suck gay Asian wang!" [which cleared half the amount of the freaks who were standing in our way as they all took off after the kid in the Goofy hat whom I pointed at]). What we experienced when we got into the giant stage did indeed turn my shit white with fear... just not because of the scariness of the "haunting" that Universal threw up for our amusement. I was mostly afraid that I would never get that 2 hours of line waiting back into my already sleepy and hollow life. Pisser.

We basically just cruised through the entire haunted house with Steferoli in the lead, shrieking like a banshee who just got bitten on the ass by a horny leprechaun. Most of the guys in masks stayed the hell away from us with their hands over their ears and/or their marble sacks (thanks to Psycho's and my patented "Ghostbusting Mega Nad-Destroying Maneuver"). I think it took us 5 minutes to run through that place. Zoinks!

La La La LATVERIA!!After catching Spirited Away (see below), I decided that I had to stand up for myself and face my fears just like Sen/Chihiro did. So I gathered all of my courage and headed straight over to the Latveria Embassy located on the corner of Hellmouth Way and Evil Lynn Lane.

Inside I started to get a bit homesick as I looked around at all the blood stained shackles and Doombots that littered the place like crabs on a diseased, dead hooker in the gutter with a mouth full of severed cock. Thinking about that actually made me feel a bit nauseous, and I stumbled to the loo in order to release my stomach of its cheeseburgery and brewsky contents... But right before I collapsed and almost passed out in front of the guards' desk, I heard an ABP go out on the radio for a man of my description in a cut-ass rugged ninja shirt that sounded remarkably like my own! Then I freaked and forgot everything I thought I knew about "honor" and remembered all I ever learned about "PAIN". So instead of wasting time crawling to the bathroom to heave out my innards, I blew chunks all over the stainless steel floor and then slowly creeped my way to the front door before anybody recognized me or made me clean up my bile mess that was actually eating its way through the metal. I made a mental note to watch what I ate from now on.

I was soon abandoned by my cohorts after the whole "The Rossman is a major dickwad for making us wait in that line for the spoogie haunted house" fiasco, and wandered around aimlessly for a little while as I searched for any kind of red-light district in the amusement park (hey, I figured they had booze, why not prostitution?). It was then that I came across the Universal 42 Theater Movie Hyper Cinema Complex, which just so happened to be playing the newest Miyazaki movie, Spirited Away in five minutes time! That there was the luck of the Irish... Even though they are mostly a drunk and smelly people with no self respect and an unholy love of the potato... But I digress.

I bought myself a ticket for the late showing and sat down for the best two hours that I spent that year in a dark room that didn't involve a buxomly girl named, Tammi (with an "I"). I walked out of the theater with tears streaming down my face and knew what I had to do. See, in the movie, our heroine, Sen/Chihiro, was faced with a terrible problem with which she had to face head-on in order to save her sanity and return to her ordinary and dull existence in the world that she really lived in. It was such a complete parallel to my dilemma with my master, Dr. Doom, that my Blind Canadian Rage gave way to Pathetic Scottish Guilt and I found myself faced with coming to terms with my own troubled past.... Actually, that's a lie. I was really ready to go into deep deep hiding in order to avoid my master till the apocalypse or until he offered to make me his heir and promise to stop stepping on my spine whenever the mood hit him (which was every 3-5 hours the last time I checked), but Doom's Goons caught me as I was trying to board a refugee raft that was sailing to commie Cuba. Goddamn flying monkeys!!!

In the end, when all was said and done, and the barred door was locked behind me, I can look back at my time spent at Universal Islands of Adventure in Orlando and smile. Those fun rides, those fun friends, and the fun taste of freedom that I will probably not experience again for a looooooong time. Sure, this cage that I'm in right now won't hold me forever, but the problem is it's holding me right now. The moral of this story is to buck up, lil' campers, and enjoy the non-dictatorship life that fate has given you... and if you're unfortunate enough to still be living in some kind of Nazi regime then, er.... Well, sorry. That's gotta suck.

Accept this DOOM slappy and be happy!Eventually Doom's minions brought me before my exulted leader ("exulted" means "royal cock scrubber," right?), and I was forced to grovel for a few hours before the masked one would even let me stay conscious for more than 5 minutes at a time from his beatings. Then I had to listen to him rant and rave about "Doom had to send out contracts" on my life, and "Doom had to pay for the wrecked floor panels of Doom's classy embassy", and blah blah blah blah blah.... It got old really fast, and apparently I was to blame for unrest in the Middle East and Doom's puppy that ran away from home when Doom was 6 (which made Doom cry like Doom did when Leo said goodbye to Kate Winslet in Titanic).

Fucking ingrate! I added a little well-needed excitement to his otherwise assassination-attempt filled day, and he rakes me through the coal fires! On top of all that, he even bitchslapped me until I "freely" gave him my ninja shirt. Then I was subjected to the story of how he lost his original rugged ninja shirt all those years ago. Man, the only man who's a bigger tool than Doom himself is that turd, Reed Richards. Fuck them both in the ear!

Note from the Editor: I've met the Rossman's Latverian employer, Dr. Doom, a few times, and everytime I'd come over to either make fun of the Rossman or borrow a rocket launcher Doom would always be so friendly, and even give me some of his fresh, homemade cookies. I think the Rossman is greatly exaggerating all his stories about his master's "ass-holicness." He really should just lay off the guy. I mean, I've only seen Doom shoot anything at the Rossman like once... And that was some cucumber slices from a portable Salad Shooter.

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