tony + mary!
busblog at gmail dot com

nothing in here is true


   Friday, February 22, 2002  
ok, enough with the "wink wink" emails. just because im very happy and skipping down the street on a friday morning, early for work, eating muffins, doesnt mean that i got it on with my ex- last night, thank you!

not everyone needs that sort of action to feel like a million, perverts. loveable perverts. best perverts in the world.

chris and i are the best of friends, and im slowly getting the hint that she and i will never be together again, and that sort of realization isnt all so bad as long as we can continue to be the best of buddies. last night i got to her house before she did, and i hafta tell you, it's pretty nice to be able to really make yourself feel at home when someone tells you to feel at home.

it was hot last night, even at the beach, so the first thing i did was take off my pants.

then i searched around her pajama drawer for some bottoms.

couldnt find any so i went into the bathroom, read half of a Jane magazine and stunk up that room pretty well.

then went to the fridge, nude, and cracked open a beer.

then turned on the tv and finally the stereo.

when she arrived i had found a clean shirt but no bottoms, all the lights of her house were on and was sitting on her new thousand dollar couch with a beer and a magazine about to light up, the tv had the laker/clipper game and the stereo had on this Chicago band called Menthol - who i love.

be careful who you invite to "make yourself at home."

so why else am i happy? well, yesterday sara quoted me and kitty linked me, thats always great. but im disappointed that Genevieve's Nerve personals dont allow HTML in their descriptions, as reported by KB. I'm sure theres a good reason for it.

why else smile? Large American Penis-- obviously a nod to the Rabbit Blog's url ( - wrote this on the 19th: Tony Pierce writes a bizarre, yet interesting blog. How he finds time to do all the HTML and find all the pictures is beyond me. Help him buy a car! He's my newest link on the left.

Dear LAP,

As Sara quoted yesterday, in my humble opinion, if you have a great site thats updated all the time, you probably have a boring life. If your Blog is great, you probably have a dull job.

I try to break my own rule by having a sorta interesting life by HTMLing as fast as I can late at night - when I'm home.

The blog is done during my federally mandated 15 minute work breaks.

Thanks for the links,


Finally, some people have asked for the unedited transcript between myself and the 21-year-old Texan beauty, Jai. As you know, nothing in here is true, and the true parts are edited for entertainment and style. So even in a chat interview, I cleaned some stuff up and chopped out some chunks for presentation since the dialogue lasted a whopping 2 1/2 hours! Lucky for us, Jai posted the entire transcript and you can enjoy it yourself if you click this for part one and this for part two (we got disconnected).

happy birthday, drew barrymore, i hope your day is peachy today.

how was your yesterday, drew? mine was so pleasant i dont even know where to start. first let me say, that it is weird talking about good luck. when i was in college it was so easy to write sad stories and sad poems and tragedies and woe-is-me stuff and i suppose i thought that that was what good writing was all about.

but it's not.

anyone can write a tragedy. anyone can build up a likeable character and make his life shit.

but to write about fun and love and friendships and happiness, and to do it in a way that isn't dull and sappy and boastful and ridiculous is a tougher trick than you'd think, and if you dont believe me, look through the racks of Hallmark one day - closely - or flip through the movie section of the paper: the kids cant write a nice happy story to save their lives. which is one reason that i love Drew so much, because her sweet stories have never missed, in my humble opinion, especially The Wedding Singer, which is my favorite of hers, and Ever After, which comes in a close second.

this is the blog of an average man. i was walking from the oceanside loft of my former girlfriend this morning counting my lucky stars and thinking that my life could be better, but not much, and the lesson to you, dear reader, is anything nice that you find in these pages could be yours all yours because most of this fell in my lap - i didnt work at this, i didnt earn it, and Lord knows, I dont deserve it.

last night she made us stirfry as we watched the skating upset and we drank beers and smoked and i fell asleep in her lap after the gold medalist did her thing and she tried to wake me before Michelle Kwan took the ice, but im old, i was out.

last night we flipped between the Lakers and Frontline and the Olympics, but couldnt stay away from "The Glutton Bowl," probably the most disgusting and wonderfully funny show I have seen this season.

The biggest eaters in America were given three minutes to eat the most hamburgers, hotdogs, sushi, mayonaise, butter, and beef tounge. The semi-finals had the men eat cow balls. Then for the finals they ate cow brains.

plates and plates of brains.

the young Japanese man who won the competetition was deemed by the hilarious announcers as "the Greatest Athelete in the World," rightfully.

although i might be a close second for keeping my stir-fry down.

anyhow it's beautiful here in los angeles today and im happy and i hope you are too and i am very honored that you have chosen to read this today and i hope that you have an incredible weekend and all your birthday wishes come true.

p.s. i just bit into my morning chocolate chip muffin and one of my fillings fell out, leaving me with a very sharp stump in the back of my mouth, so maybe i am not the luckiest man alive after all, but perhaps only now, sadly, in the top ten.

told you it's easy to write tragedy.

   Thursday, February 21, 2002  
kitty bukkake is one of my favorite diarists. why?

well, not only is she a great writer, and not only does she link to me from time to time, but she, in her Nerve personal ad, said in the Read section: "". How cool is that?

Very cool, if you want to know. Very cool. The rest of you can feel free to include me in your personal ads as well.

Also cool? The chap from NYC who sent in a buck and forwarded the link to the What it Means to Be Black photo essay to everyone he knows. Gracias, amigo.

Heres the link for you to send to all of your friends too:

Be a Soul Brother, it's fun!

summer finally decided to show up here in Hollywood, about damn time, February nearly came and went.

got buzzed with a hot chick last night and didnt get to sleep until 3am. the beer was so good that i woke up at 7 and felt like teenager.

made my lunch, burned some cd's for Axel, and got to the subway a little early.

a young guy reading the paper pressed the elevator button, as we waited an older guy with a toupee showed up. when the elevator arrived both the men rushed to the back so as not to be responsible for the complex controls and the uncomfortable chance to have to close the door on a tardy old lady.

i happilly accepted the assignment and firmly pressed the Down button.

made it to the train, rode it to the transfer station, walked down to the other platform, saw that the train had arrived and left early, cursed that driver and said a little prayer about his children picking up shingles for him to contract, rode the escalator to the street and caught the 720 bus.

people can be weird about aisle seats in busses, ive noticed. they'll sit there and if you see that the window seat is available they wont slide over or stand up, they'll just rotate their ass so you have to squeeze through. a fellow pulled this manuever this morning and fortunately the bus lurched forward as I was making my way to the window seat and my rear end met his face. i said i was sorry, but i wasn't.

sat down and cracked open some Tolstoy.

the fellow looked at me and said, "don't i know you?"

i said, "probably not."

he said, "i swear i do."

i said, "not unless you watch a lot of gay porn."

he blinked.

i said, "i look like this one guy Tommy Teabag, he has these whopping large--"

"Tony Pierce!"

Even if you've known me a hundred years, odds are I will forget your name. I blame the hippies. They say second-hand smoke kills, but when I was in college I think I became victim to and outrageous amount of second-hand pot smoke. I never touched the stuff, of course, but I am now sufferring from the effects. My memory is the prime victim.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."

"Freddie Miletta, you dated my sister Therese."

It was my turn to blink.

"You didnt date her for very long. But you took us to see the Replacements play at the Palimino."

"Holy shit, little Freddie?"

The kid was now well over 6 feet tall.

"Yes, yes, damn Tony, that show changed my life."

I wanted to say, "me too" but we were both on a bus in Koreatown at 7:45 in the morning.

"So what are you doing now?" Little Freddie asked.

"I'm FBI," I said and showed him my badge.

He looked at it and laughed, and said, "Oh, God, you were always so funny. Therese loved you so much, you know. But really, what are you doing now?"

I said, "I sell sunglasses on Venice Beach."

Freddie said, "Really?" he looked disappointed.

I said, "Yeah. At first I did it just to cover for my buddy, but you'd be surprised how much money you can make there."

"I hear it's the second most popular tourist spot in Southern California next to Disneyland," Freddie said.

"You heard right. So, tell me, what's Therese up to these days? Did she ever graduate from Santa Cruz?"

"Oh yeah, she married this software guy, this hippy," he said.

The bus stopped for a young lady with a bicycle. The lady pulled down the bike holder on the front of the bus, placed the bike on the rail, locked it and boarded the bus. Soon we were rolling again.

"Any kids?" I asked.

"No, I don't have any children," Freddie said.

"No, Therese."

"Yeah, she has twin 6 year old girls."

"Well good for her," I said. I never said "good for you," type things I wondered why I was saying them now. Oh yes, that's right, because my mind was recalling all the wonderfully dirty things that Therese and I did in the back of my Cadillac back in my junior college days, and how I was at a loss for words, because how do you share those memories with her little brother who probably thought I was the older brother that he never had simply because I took him to one lousy punk rock show.

"Oh, not really," Freddie said, "her husband died a few years in a car accident."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, he was a drunk and, ironically, he was hit by a drunk driver on PCH near Monterey and she got a fortune in insurance money." he told me.

"How about that." I said. All of this was too much for me to handle on such a nice morning. I pulled the cord and got up.

"I thought you were going down to Venice Beach," Freddie said.

"Not today, this is my day off," I said.

Bad lie, it was a beautifully sunny day. First perfect day in a long while.

"Good seeing you Freddie, give Therese my love."

"I'm sure she'd like to call you. Gimme your number." he said.

" - she can reach me through my web site," I said.

And the bus stopped at the stop and I got off.

A few minutes later another bus arrived and I got on and made it to work a little early.

After bagels, I wrote on a little peice of paper, "no one believes our badges are real, make them more believable," and stuffed it into the suggestion box.

   Wednesday, February 20, 2002  
First African-American to Win Gold in the Winter Olympics: Vonetta Flowers

PARK CITY, Utah -- (AP) No one had really given Jill Bakken and Vonetta Flowers a chance. They weren't even supposed to be the best U.S. team.

Jill Bakken, right, and Vonetta Flowers got themselves off to a good start to win the women's bobsled.

"A lot of people saw us as the 'other' team," Flowers said. "We came here to prove people wrong."

That they did, winning the inaugural women's bobsled Tuesday night by beating the favored Germans and the much-hyped Jean Racine in the other American sled.

The victory by USA-2 ended a 46-year drought for the United States. America had not won an Olympic bobsled medal since Arthur Tyler took the four-man bronze in 1956 and had not won gold since his brother, Francis, won the four-man in 1948.

There was also an Olympic landmark: The 28-year-old Flowers became the first African-American ever to win a gold medal at a Winter Games.

"Hopefully, this will encourage other African-American boys and girls to give winter sports a try because you don't see too many of them out there," she said.

The former college track star once had other Olympic dreams, but two knee operations and ankle surgery dashed those hopes.

"I have truly been blessed to come into this sport and pick it up so fast," said Flowers said, unable to stop crying. "My goal was to make the Summer Olympics. God had a different plan for me."

Sandra Prokoff and Ulrike Holzner won the silver in Germany-1 while compatriots Susi Erdmann and Nicole Herschmann took the bronze. Racine and Gea Johnson finished fifth.

"I think I'm going to be looking back at this for a long time," Racine said.

In December, Bakken and Racine faced the same quandary: Both needed a new brakewoman to push their sleds.

Racine dumped her best friend and chose Johnson, a muscular former heptathlete from Arizona; Bakken took Flowers, who once ran track at UAB and didn't try bobsledding until after she failed to qualify for the U.S. team headed for the 2000 Summer Olympics.

"I don't even know what to feel," Bakken said. "It's amazing."

Even more amazing were the 11th-hour antics of Racine after Johnson injured her left hamstring Saturday night. After the race, Racine said she had asked Flowers over the weekend to consider changing sleds. Flowers declined.

The race was gripping from the start. Dressed in matching bodysuits, Bakken and Flowers stood behind their bright red bobsled ready to begin their push to history.

They seemed to forget the two German teams had won every World Cup race in the 2001-02 season. Standing in the start house, they stared through the visors of their black helmets and pounded each other's fists.

They flew down the track twice at 80 mph, winning with a two-run time of 1 minute, 37.76 seconds. Prokoff and Holzner were second in 1:38.06, with Erdmann and Herschmann at 1:38.29.

Racine and Johnson were timed in 1:38.73. Johnson was in severe pain and crying as she hobbled off the track.

"America was on the podium today, and that was the goal," a tearful Racine said. "We didn't win, but America did."
anna called crying and crying and crying. i said, let it out, baby.

Anna got her ass beat in Dubai today, by the number one tennis player in the galaxy, Ms. Venus Williams.

"i hate my life. i hate it. oh, God!" Anna wept.

Dubai is just like any place in the world when it comes to women's tennis. They come to look at Anna, but come to watch Venus and believe it or not, but this has started to bother the white Russian.

"i am going to quit. i fucking hate this all. these people look at me, and God only knows what theyre really thinking. and i show up and they criticize and they gawk and they boo and they cheer and they point and they oh, tony."

and i sit on the phone in the wee hours trying to listen, trying to be a good friend, but im no different. what can i tell her?

as bad as Russia was for the blonde bombshell, nothing could be worse than trying to be a young Black teen tennis player in Compton. the Williams sisters are stronger, meaner, leaner, and more focused than any girl named Anna will ever be.

"what did you say?" she asked.

apparently i had been thinking out loud.

and the tears flowed harder.

Anna is one of those girls who could cry all night if you let her. various shades of grief and tears. she'd wail for a while, sob for a bit, bawl for some time.

near the end of the conversation she was just snorting and whimpering a bit and then she asked me how my day was.

i said it was pretty good, i got an interview with the lovely and talented Jai from, got some sweet emails from some nice people. and a Cub fan from Chicago, I reckon, gave me $40 and became the first Stone Pimp, oh, and some other guy who thinks he knows me gave me a buck, a VP of some tv thing, i dont know.

she said, "people are really giving you money?"

i said, "well, yeah. of course. they want to see me riding in a Snoop DeVille.

Anna laughed and you could hear a buggar bubble pop in her nose, and then she blew it really cutely.

"You're not going to get any Snoopy Ville." she laughed.

"It's a Snoop DeVille, and yes, I will get it," I said.

"Do you have any idea how many people are going to have to give you dollars here and there for you to get that crazy car?" she said.

I wanted to tell her that I would get that car way before she would ever beat one of the Williams sisters and win a tournament, but I knew one of those rich oil guys would be trying to paw her as soon as I hung up with her, so I kept it to myself.

"I can wait, Anna. Just let me ask you this." I said. "When I get my Snoopy Ville, will you take a ride with me in it?"

"Tony Pierce, I will be proud to take a ride in that car if you get it." Anna Kournikova said from Dubai.

"Well, good. Now you go work on your backhand and stay away from those Arab discos in the basement of some young tycoon's palace. And change that blue outfit, it's bad luck."

"OK, I will, bye love," Anna said and hung up.

And as soon as I hung up the phone rang again, and I picked it up and I said, "Anna?"

And it was Ashley and she said, "what did you just say?"

"I said, 'And how are you Ashley Sunshine?'"

And Ashley huffed and slammed down the phone.

Have no fear, though. She called back again. And she had a few things to say to me as well.

   Tuesday, February 19, 2002  
my man Layne has made the big time, He didn't have to get on tv and yell at people, he didnt have to get an eye-lift, he didnt have to get traded for millions of dollars and several high draft choices, he simply had to be himself (and provide more insights in a teeney little column than Fox has on half of it's huge site.)

Yes, they present him like he's a witty highschooler typing away on his pappy's 486 above the garage after class, but what did you expect from the fourth network?

All I have to say is I'm glad that he is getting some of the recognition that he deserves, and once the channel realizes that he can speak nearly as well as he can type and he has an irresistable drawl-like thing which would make him perfect for television, then we can all really rejoice in the splendor, but let's first click the front page of's Views and see the wonder, and then click the little box buddy and read the words and click the links.

Ah, and you can say that you all knew him when he was just a drunk with a smelly suit jacket.

Nice work, compadre.

But what's this, a Ken Layne archive of stories? This is not the first story that he has written for them?

Alas, I am the drunk, and not even a classy enough one to don a suit coat!

Where have I been during all of this progress? Lord help us, I couldnt have been working!

Anyway, good to see your bro's making a name for themselves where they belong: on the Internet pointing fingers at the idiots and spotting the marks. But what I really love is his obvious ommission of his ever working for the Online Journalism Review in his bio at the bottom of his columns. Guess they wont be getting any hits from his column, but gratefully I am. Thanks, bro.
spent a week with Ashley. it was only supposed to be a few days for Valentine's day, but she couldn't find a ride home.

People write in and ask, "what on Earth do you have in common with a 20 year old girl? Like, what do you talk about?"

Like most girls, Ashley doesn't like to talk about "gross things," so that rules out a lot of my interests.

She doesn't have any love for sports, so that rules out any of my real knowledge.

And I really don't like any of the same music that she likes, so driving with the radio on can be challenging.

But the other day we had a fairly interesting dialogue on the topic of blonde pussy hairs.

Strangely, she didn't consider this "gross."

I don't know how the coversation began, but Ashely came up with the theory that all "blonde" pussy hairs were fake.

"Bullshit," I said, "I've seen one up-close-and-personal, if you know what I mean." She was holding my hand and squeezed tightly and gave me a dirty look.

"It was fake, poohead."

"No no, it was real. I even wrote a poem about it. I said that it was like a cloud floating above heaven. It was published in several magazines."

"She dyed it," Ashley insisted.

I was dumbstruck. I was quiet. Bad music played on the radio and I didnt even notice. My world was being shattered by a girl who had spent several years in an all-girls Catholic school - breathe - obviously she had seen her share of lockerrooms and blondes and ...

"Well, what about all the redheads," I said, "I have seen two of them whose..."

"Carpet matched the drapes?"

"Collars matched the cuffs."

"Redheads are real," Ashley confirmend. "That's why they're such freaks. They're rare, but real."

"And not blondes?"

"Tony, I was blonde at birth - incredibly rare. My eyebrows are blonde, by arm hairs, but not those hairs. So what does that tell you?"

"It tells me I have now found a new purpose. A new quest."

My hand was being squeezed again. It hurt.

But at least I knew why I was still alive.

   Monday, February 18, 2002  
Happy President's Day

Good thing I didnt have to take the subway to work today and its a good thing that I dont live in Portland as I might have had to share a seat with this guy. Which reminds me of a little story. Who am I kidding. I have no little stories.

The little story that I told yesterday got me more hits than I've gotten in a long time.

That makes me very very happy.

I got close to 500 people reading my tale of the young Black man asking the world to chip in to buy him a Cadillac.

But this is more than just an art project/money making scheme/science experiment/pie in the sky dream. This is going to work.

Thanks to the power of the Internet, if you tell a few friends to, "give that brotha a dollar," and they tell a few friends, then before we know it, the mission has been accomplished.

Of the 500 people who read my little sales pitch and hopefully got a little laugh I generated a whopping $3.

No offense, but I've found more money on the street.

Don't think that I am not grateful, I am. Rarely can a man just ask for money and receive it, let alone a gas-guzzling American sedan like Cadillac's Snoop DeVille.

By the way, Muchas Gracias, EW, for the $3 -- you're way too sweet!

As great as it is to get a few bucks here and a few bucks there, the only way that I'm going to get behind the wheel of that brand new automobile is to have people tell others. So here's how I can figure it can work for everyone:

If you are a friend of mine or someone who has given me a buck or more, and you want to help the cause, feel free to save this button and link it to your site - it'll be fun!

If you are someone who has flowed me $40 or more, feel free to save this button and link it to your site . For either of these buttons, link your visitors to this page on my site which will explain the whole plan:

OMG will this be so cool for you and your friends and me and the Chevron station down the block. Once I get the ride, I promise that I will drive around and have occasional showings of the automobile and pictures and stories from the road. You will be so happy, your life will be that much closer to complete. When people try to judge you and say, "but what have you done for the Black man?" you can say, "I bought a brotha a ride, mothafucka! What the hell have you done?"

Go ahead, tell your friends.

Happy President's Day!