Note to self 221: 01/28/2004

Monday was icy. Athens was covered in a layer of the slippery stuff and there were accidents, death and power failures aplenty (nowhere near as bad as the ice-storm of 2000... which you can read about in my archives, if you can find it). But, despite all the destruction and devastation the office stayed open... At least until everyone risked their lives to get there. THEN they closed it. I passed around 27 major car accidents on the way in. Think about it, that's at least one car per accident (some accidents with up to 5 vehicles involved) and at least one person per car. That's a lot of now fucked up lives because the peeps in charge of looking out of their windows couldn't see the damage due to their windows being iced up. One would have thought that that would have been their first clue. But I guess making those crappy novelty rubber toys for those 25cent machines in the front of Wal-Mart stores nationwide is important enough to chance us all dying horrible deaths.

Anyway, the only other thing I want to bitch about is the fact that people down South can't drive even when it's warm out and the roads are dry. So, when the sky demons add water and then freeze it, the peeps in my town just go ape shit. I had morons tailgating me no more than 6 inches away from my back bumper while crossing icy bridges. Some even honked their horns because I was only going 10MPH over said bridges with a flipped car within plain eye sight. And the fuckers who sped along at 60 and only hit their brakes as they drove over iced-over bridges, and then were completely surprised that they actually slid off the goddamn road... Well, they did kind of make me laugh.

Well, after getting back home at around noon yesterday (after waiting for the retards of the world to get off the streets), I just chilled with Robot Pedro and caught up on my Red Vs. Blue and my Tenchi OVA 3:2... Until my power went out. Then I had to gut Robot Pedro and crawl inside of his carcass to stay warm. It was kind of gooey in there. Even more disgusting than that Taun-Taun looked in Empire.

Note to self 220: 01/21/2004

Karen and I went to the Sarah Brightman concert last night in Gwinnett, and it was every bit as glorious as the last one. Though, maybe it was a bit better since that pud who told his family that he was "all that" and even helped the Angel of Music plan all her shows wasn't even in her Harem concert as a concession stand fucktard. Take THAT, you cheezy wannabe... Umm, anyway, we showed up early and stowed Dr. Dave's special present for me below our seats so that security wouldn't confiscate it once they put the metal detectors in, and then we waited 3 hours for the angelic one to start the show. It was at that point, when she hit her first high note (perfectly, I might add) that we unwrapped Dr. Dave's RahXy Sound Tuning Amplification Fornification Object of Necromancy (or RaSTAFON for short) and turned that mother on! What transpired was something I've waited years to see and do. See, the RaSTAFON actually takes pretty soundwaves and makes them into light waves (kind of like what the X-Men's Dazzler can do)... Hard light waves if the signal is emotional enough. And Sarah's soprano surely was strong enough! The resulting "light explosion" caused 3,017 people to go instantly blind (Kare and I were smart enough to bring our Wayfarers), but in the end the Angel's "visual voice" was something incredible and so worthwhile to behold. Imagine a thousand Playboy Playmates made of pure light crammed into one fuckable Nicole Kidman body... The beauty was amazing... and pretty stupid too if truth be told. I was so easily able to talk the glowing gorgeous Nicole being into the sack and we broke 5 beds in the course of one night. Then when her energy swelled up too much she exploded and took out half of the Day's Inn with her. Damn, what a ride!.

Note to self 219: 01/14/2004

Last Sunday Bob From the Future suddenly showed up and said that he was taking me a week back in time in order to fill out a web poll for "What Buffy the Vampire Slayer Character Am I" thingy in a way that wouldn't cause the destruction of France in the near future. Now, had Bob From the Future told me it was any other country that I'd be saving I might have cared, but instead I did my best to remember exactly what I answered for each question the previous week and I ended up being "Buffy Summers" yet again. Well, the same week passed (I have got to start remembering what Lotto numbers win, and not just concentrate on memorizing what lame internet polls I partake in), and Bob From the Future showed up once again and scolded me, this time telling me that it was Scotland that now blows up due to my Buffy activities... He's a horrible lier. I saw right through him and told him to piss off. I knew that it was still France that dies, and I wasn't about to do jack shit to save those damn frogs (for some reason Bob From the Future wants to marry that big gay country). That was when he took me back in time once more to change my Buffy character for good. This time I was a little more pissed than the last time I went through each quiz question, and I must have slipped on something, 'cause I ended up as "Jonathan". Bob From the Future thought that that was hilarious and didn't stop laughing for 5 full minutes. But the joke ended up on him since he really only set his time machine back for seven seconds instead of seven days and my newest Buffy quiz had no effect on the France phenomenon. That was the 6th time in my time-convoluted life that I'd witnessed the utter destruction of that nation of pansies. It never gets old.

Note to self 218: 01/07/2004

Damn you, Scott Baio, and damn your pink-eye to hell! That's right, the Rossman went and caught one of the most easily catchable and most disgusting diseases known to man and midget alike: the dreaded PINK-EYE. How I got it is still a mystery though. I don't hang around kids (the usual carrier of the eye-puss malady), nobody I know has it, and I wash my hands at least 452 times a day due to my particular mental disorder. All I can think of is that the shady Dr. Dave is experimenting again with airborne viruses that cause people to get pregnant just by breathing them in... I swear I saw a little fetus in the mucus gumming up my eye this morning... It wouldn't be the first time he's done something this unscrupulous. Don't forget that one time he started experimenting on stem cells and accidentally brought all of his dead fetuses back to life and 10,000Xs their original size and they started scraping fully grown humans out of existence with giant wire hangers. That was a mess and a half to clean up.

Note to self 217: 12/24/2003

Everybody I know is getting high on the Christmas spirit. Carl has started to pound me only with sacks full of coal and puppies with antlers stapled to their heads; Dr. Dave's lab/ER is filled with dissected reindeer and midgets dressed in pointy shoes; the Skipper has started wearing a red Santa hat in order to take advantage of the local call girls' seasonal Santa Specials; and Robot Pedro has recently only tried to rob my house at night, when he thinks that I'm sleeping, while painted all red and green and by sneaking in through my chimney... And by "sneaking in" I mean more like the Kool-Aid guy than Kris Kringle. But it's the thought that counts.

Other than that, I just wanted to give a shout out to our troops protecting our freedoms overseas this season. I think it sucks that you guys have to be away from your families during the holidays, but it is greatly appreciated by us pathetic losers on the homefront who piss our pants when the national threat level is raised from yellow to mauve. Peace, I'm out!

Note to self 216: 12/17/2003

Well, the office Christmas party was last weekend down at the Marriott. Things started out okay, as usually happens when disaster is imminent in my life, but then Carl showed up in his whole Santa Claus outfit with a heavy sack over his right shoulder and a long piece of parchment (actually it was just 9 sheets of typing paper stapled together at the ends) in his left hand. He made a bee-line for the open bar and everybody got a bit quieter as nervous eyes kept on him. Soon however, we were all distracted when Tammi With an "I" kicked in the main ballroom doors with a greased up pig under one arm and a giant jug of "moonshine eggnog" (apparently 99% proof, if we were to believe the markings on the side of said jug) under the other. She proceeded to let the pig rampage through the place as she started yelling, "First lucky somabitch who catches the Christmas Porker gets a porker out'a me... Then comes the rest of you bastahds! Better start stokin' the coals, Tammi's a comin'!" Needless to say everybody ran from the pig, and Tammi With an "I" spent the next few hours trying to trip prospective lovers in the hopes that they'd accidentally fall on or even just near her beloved holiday hog. I think by the end of the night she was able to drag off Johnson from Accounting (who was both passed out and kicking and screaming in protest), but by then things were a bit blurry.

All I remember after that is a sudden panic rising up through the group as everybody realized that nobody had kept track of what Carl was up to. We were both relieved and terrified when he reappeared, standing on top of the gift exchange table, clearing his throat so that he could get the entire ballroom's attention. He then began reading off his "list". "Adamsly, naughty... Bannister, naughty... Becklam, veeeery naughty..." It went on and on until the big boss' name got mentioned on the naughty list too (honestly, pretty much everybody was naughty that year. At least in Santa Carl's eyes). The bossman got a bit flustered, but then quickly composed himself and ordered Carl to come down. Carl pretended not to hear the old guy though, and breezed through the remainder of the list while shouting "Naughty!" after everyone's name. After that he lit the list on fire, and heaved up his big sack that he had sitting by his feet. "Everyone," he started. "This has been a VERY bad year for you. Now, it's time to pay the preacher. Time for a little Retribution!!!" Santa Carl then leapt from the table top and began swinging the heavy sack around (I only later found out that the bag was filled with old computer monitors and dead scorpions) trying to purge the evil out of the crowd with full-contact-reconciliation. I barely dodged a few swings (Todd from HR wasn't so lucky... sure he was forgiven by Santa Carl for his naughtiness, but only at the price of a wired jaw and 4 concussions), but then found myself gasping for breath in an open doorway. Fortunately the doorway was crowned with mistletoe. Unfortunately, Angry Amy had gotten pretty blitzed on Tammi With an "I"'s moonshine eggnog and pinned me to the wall with her lips while gasping out "Happy birthday, Missssster. President" over and over while she played tonsil hockey with my mouth. I have very mixed feelings about the whole thing.

Note to self 215: 12/10/2003

I went to the UGA vs. Winthrop basketball game last night with Jaime, Carl and Bob From the Future. First of all, we (UGA) suck ass at basketball. I'm really glad we're a football school (i.e. people who claim that their school is a football school but suck at it [i.e. i.e. Georgia Tech] but have a decent basketball program should stop trying to brag about both... We're a football school, you wankers... Basketball sucks anyway). But enough about that. What I really want to talk about is how I can't take my friends out in public anymore unless I am in heavy disguise (lots of wigs and prosthetics). See, things went well up until about 45 seconds into the first period. Then Jaime started bugging me for money to buy lots of Dippin' Dots (which blow 'cause they all look like and taste like deep frozen moth balls), Carl started mauling people who caught the free T-shirts that the cheerleaders were tossing out, and Bob From the Future began testing his "theories on early 21st Century mating rituals" with the dance squad... Honestly, I was helping him, but I was the only one beaten up by the band when I accidently groped what must have been their favorite dancer's chest for a good 3 minutes. The night wasn't a total disaster though, as most nights for me are, since Bob let me sit on his victim/trophy's lap for a few seconds before the cops came to take us away to question us all about some weird incident regarding several de-T-shirted corpses that mysteriously appeared in the Dippin' Dots freezer. Bail is set at $200,000 if anybody wants to help a brother out.

Note to self 214: 12/03/2003

Worst movie theater experience ever (even more so than my Phantom Menace experience back in '99). Let me explain. It all started yesterday morning when Carl, the Megaplayboy and I got free tickets to see a screening of the ex-Mr. Nicole Kidman's newest movie, The Last Samurai that was playing at the Tate Theater that night. We were all giddy and excited about seeing the end of the Tokugawa, and the Meiji Restoration in a live-action light (truth be told I was hoping to see a cameo of either Shishio or Saitou somewhere in there too). But the first disappointment of the night came when I found out the movie took place in 1876 (about a decade after all the cool coups and such)... Bummer. The second (and 20Xs more heinous) disappointment arrived when the third reel of the film actually started playing. I should back up a bit first. As far as I can tell, the movie was cut into 8 acts. Acts 1 and 2 played out fine. But at the end of act 2, the movie print jumped to act 4. We skipped about 20 to 25 minutes of movie (and an entire season within the film). We jump from Tom Cruise being a hated prisoner of his enemy to his enemy's reluctant friend. Basically we skipped the Fall of 1876 and caught up with Cruise's exploits in the Winter of 1877. It was confusing, and the audience booed for a while, but we kind of caught up with what had happened during the missing time. But then, at the end of the 4th act (just as shit was really getting interesting), we jumped back in time to act 3 and the beginning of the Fall of 1876..... Crap in a hat.

After act 3 was over, we jumped again to act 5. We were right where we had left off, and the audience was getting back in the mood of the period again. But just as Tom Cruise was about to have a quiet, but major, revelation regarding Bushido, we found ourselves in act 7 and right in the middle of a war scene right out of Braveheart... only with lots of Asians instead of Celts..... Holy dogshit did that suck Oriental wang! Though, I was willing enough to accept all this craptitude and I sat through the whole battle scene (which was pretty cool by the way) just to see how the whole thing ended. But, just as Tom finds himself surrounded by his enemy and he's looking around for a way out, guess what... Yup, the fucktards brought us back to act 6. After seeing most of the ending, I couldn't handle it anymore. I couldn't sit through 20-25 minutes of quiet soul searching after seeing that whole samurai battle play out just moments before. I got up and left, Carl started punching people in the face, and the Megaplayboy started kissing the screen in an attempt to slip a little tongue to that Japanese beauty that Tom Cruise had a Western-sized boner for. As I made it to my car, I looked back on the theater I could see flames rising to the sky and a full blown riot spilling forth into the night. At least the screwed up experience taught us something: If you have a problem with authority, rebel against it and use terrible force against those who try to stop you. More movies should have that lesson in it.

Now, the reason I didn't just do a Review and Rating of Last Samurai is because I didn't really see the movie. I saw fragments of it. It looked like it was good, but until I catch it all and in order, I'm just going to rant and rave about the shitty experience of the night in question. Bah!

Note to self 213: 11/19/2003

Lovely... Just without the "love". This week sucks. It's all rainy and warm, then chilly, then warm, and I'm getting my ass kicked left and right for different kinds of shit (some that I've done, some that I never even thought of doing). It all started on Sunday when I woke up after a long night of partying after the UGA win over Auburn (who sucks). I threw a shoe at what in my still cloudy mind sounded like my alarm clock going off, but which turned out to be Robot Pedro looting my house since he thought I was dead (he still doesn't get the whole "human sleeping thing"). After the steel-toed boot clanged against his metal head he got all peeved and began smashing me with the sack of stolen goods he had just nicked.

I healed up somewhat and went into work on Monday, only to be greeted by Angry Amy and her traditional "Monday Kick to the Groin" kick to my groin. Then Carl crushed my skull in with the Monkey of Madness because.... Truthfully, I didn't ask. I never ask. Anyway, I went to the Shady Dr. Dave's place after work that day to see if I had a concussion or even some brain bleeding again (yes on both accounts), but as I was waiting in his strip bar/waiting room some monkey with a giant venus flytrap surgically grafted to its ass started humping my leg while the Little Shop of Horrors plant started going for my already kicked-in gonads.

Tuesday was a little better (people were treating me kind all around town due to the fact that they thought I was a mongo with the football helmet on that Dr. Dave prescribed [he said it had skull-healing properties and stereo sound built-in headphones that pumped in the soothing tunes of Snoop Dogg]), but then Bob From the Future's evil twin, Tim From the Hellish Future, showed up and tried to kill me by making me overload on those marshmallow chicks that the Easter Bunny always puts in my Easter basket, while also making me watch 10 TVs tuned to every lame-as-fuck women's channel ever made all at once (Lifetime's Tribute to Slacks which allowed "women to go for days, if not months, without shaving" almost broke me completely). But I got out of that sticky situation and made it to today. Today I start planning to hurt them all. Pain.

Note to self 212: 11/05/2003

Urrrrrrrgh... I don't seem to remember what happened this past weekend. I better just relax and let the rage subside. I feel a bit... green for some reason.

Note to self 211: 10/29/2003

This Daily used to be about my cousin Michelle and her date with destiny on a shitty MTV show, but she's too good a kid to make any jokes about on a crappy little site like this. It is no more.

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