tony + mary!
busblog at gmail dot com

nothing in here is true


   Saturday, June 01, 2002  
lou gehrig batted fourth in the lineup back in the 20s when he played with Babe Ruth and the Yankees so they gave him #4, Babe batted third, so he wore #3.

While Gehrig's unbelieveable acheivement of playing in 2,130 consecutive games is worthy of all the attention that it gets, he was also a lifetime .340 hitter and managed to average 147 RBIs a season despite playing behind the Bambino who wasnt bad at cleaning the bases himself.

Gehrig's streak ended when he came down with ALS (Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis), now called Lou Gehrig's Disease.

His one-minute farewell speech at Yankee Stadium is still one of the most emotional and classic moments in all of sport.

Today 13 major league baseball stadiums featured Gehrig's speech, read by a variety of celebrities like Brooke Shields, S. Epatha Merkerson, Matt Dillon, Blair Underwood, John Goodman, Chi McBride, Chris
, Billy Baldwin Scott Wolf, Jason Priestley, Jesse L. Martin, David Morse, and James Gandolfini (pictured).

"Fans, for the past two weeks you have been reading about the bad break I got. Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this earth.

I have been in ballparks for seventeen years and have never received anything but kindness and encouragement from you fans. Look at these grand men. Which of you wouldn�t consider it the highlight of his career just to associate with them for even one day?

Sure I�m lucky. Who wouldn�t consider it an honor to have known Jacob Ruppert? Also, the builder of baseball�s greatest empire, Ed Barrow? To have spent six years with that wonderful little fellow, Miller Huggins? Then to have spent the next nine years with that outstanding leader, that smart student of psychology, the best manager in baseball today, Joe McCarthy?

Sure I�m lucky.

When the New York Giants, a team you would give your right arm to beat, and vice versa, sends you a gift - that�s something. When everybody down to the groundskeepers and those boys in white coats remember you with trophies - that�s something.

When you have a wonderful mother-in-law who takes sides with you in squabbles with her own daughter - that�s something.

When you have a father and a mother who work all their lives so you can have an education and build your body - it�s a blessing.

When you have a wife who has been a tower of strength and shown more courage than you dreamed existed - that�s the finest I know.

So I close in saying that I may have had a tough break, but I have an awful lot to live for."
while the lakers were winning the ugliest playoff game ive ever seen in my life, my little sister was having a baby.

a combination of love, perserverance, luck, courage, and science, last night shelby g. was born to a world bursting with millions of possibilities.

7 pounds 6 ounces, half black, half white, born to david and angela, midwesterners living across the street from my mom, devoted to chicago sports, animals, chinese food and suburbia.

im sure i will have pics of shelby soon, but in the meanwhile why dont you check out a guy proposing to a woman in a karoke bar.

speaking of the lakers game-- how is it that i can get a less than good review from my employer, and yet the nba referees get to fly first class, stay in plush hotels and get to make ten times more than i get and yet they suck.

did the regular season mean nothing to these people?

is the nba giving them bonuses for each ridiculous call?

after this game, any sacto fan who wants to cry could.

sad part was, even while being handed the game by the refs, the lakers still barely won.

that scares me.

but if the lakers stop feeding the big fella, they're insane. shaq should touch the ball every other time down the court.

if not more.

   Friday, May 31, 2002  
hi tony

hi anna, whats up?

nothing, im surprised youre even talking to me.

why wouldnt i talk to you?

good question, why havent you been talking to me?

well, you dont call, and i know youre busy with stuff like figuring out what outfit to wear.


sorry about the French Open.

yeah, well, c'est la vie.

la vie, so what are you up to?

um, you mean other than totally fuming that you've been ignoring me?

ok, im gonna go if youre going to be like this.

a friend of mine saw you at the baja fresh this afternoon.

so? i was scouting it out for Wendy's who wants to buy them all.

yeah, right, you were with a girl.

so what, commrade, this is a free country.

you were holding her HAND!

it's over between her and me, anna, if you read my blog once in a while you'd have known that.

??? what??? you wrote this morning one thing, then the other minute my friend emails me and says youre still holding her hand at lunch!

you know i stay friends with everyone i meet.

uh-huh. close friends, i can see.

im still friends with you, arent i?

um, not really. no.

ok, i really have to go, anna. this has been real.

you know what, fine! and you know what else?

you cant stop thinking about me?

uh, no.

you cant stop dreaming about me? my windsong stays on your mind?

try again.

whenever you see a tom hanks movie you get a little sad and miss me and feel like calling me up, but you stop yourself cuz youre just a stubborn little girl, deep down?

why are you so mean?

just playing, hottie.

well im not. i hope the lakers lose.

now who's being mean?

well now, finally, you know how it feels.

what? to be on your own? like a complete unknown.

oh, go f yourself.

you have a good weekend too, baby.
you can tell a lot about someone by their shoes and sk smith breaks it down wonderfully.

sk and dh are about to move away from the city by the bay and i will miss reading the daily reports direct from the mission.

they're soon headed to texas where they will gentrify austin as nicely as they did to 18th street.

whenever i see an "S" parking permit sticker on the bumper of an SUV i sigh, and then realize why i moved, and then i praise jah.

anyway read her titles of the shoes and then name this one, cuz i cant think of a damn thing.
its sorta too bad that me and cuban girl have to stop seeing each other, cuz she took me to the Kodak Theater last night to see Elvis Costello and he fucking rocked.

Maybe he's having some sort of mid life crisis but it's nice. I've seen the King of America about 7-8 times and never has he played with such vigor and, i dont know, spirit.

ornery as ever, costello played a generous portion of his 20th album, the newly released "when i was cruel."

i was a bit perturbed by the song selection, but elvis made up for it with three songs from '87's "blood and chocolate" ("uncomplicated", "hope you're happy now", and the torch classic "i want you" which ended the three-encore night).

new bassist Davey Faragher rocked out on the right hand side, steve nieve tickled the ivories, and pete thomas accompanied costello at the Kodak, hollywood's new home for the academy awards.

we sat in the front row of the upper mezzanine.

ran into birthday boy George Wright, who not only scored a new gig yesterday, but doesnt look a day over 25. fucker.

quick tip: the lines for the booze are long. but each bar has a line in the back that no one uses. use it.

after the show, cuban girl and i went across the street to the hollywood blvd mcdonalds and induldged in a mcrib and a shake and watched a family of tourists from africa complain that the Hi-C was "expired." the mcdonalds lady was trying to explain that she was going to check the CO2, but i wanted to tell the tourists that McDonalds may be a luxury in ghana but in hollywood at 11:30pm it's just something to toss down your gullet.

instead we just grabbed a seat with a good view of the outrage and ate our fries and laughed and laughed.

saw a trio of old people drinking coffee. one old man looked like he just robbed a raver store. he had three-quarter baby blue pants, a white longsleeve, lots of necklaces and a knit cap. he looked a hundred times cooler than me. which, if you know me, isnt all that hard.

costello played no cover tunes but made sure to insult the people in the orchestra seats to the delight of those of us in the cheap seats.

   Thursday, May 30, 2002  
what did you do on Sunday? Eminem sold close to 300,000 units. feel like a slacker now?

RIAA, still hate file-swapping? you shouldnt, fucking babies.

here's two separate reasons which explain why im without a sweetheart.

and finally in today's briefs, the FBI can now monitor web sites. so long privacy and free speech, hello G-men!

actually some of my most voracious readers are from the government.


and boy have they been "monitoring" this anna coverage.
in case you missed it, the miss universe pageant was held last night, and i covered it here.

now let's read a letter. by the way, thank you to all the nice people who have left or will leave nice notes in the comments section. your words mean a bunch to me, so muchas gracias!

Dear Tony,

What does it mean when something is described as "ticky-tack"? Is that some kind of athlete's code for "tacky"?



Dear Puzzled,

excellent question! for some reason i thought this was common terminology.

i would say ticky-tack is typically used when talking about a foul in basketball or a penalty in football when the athlete is being punished for a physical act that isnt really as violent as the foul might suggest.

in the playoffs, especially in a close game near the end of the game, it would be called "ticky-tack" if a player barely hit his opponent. if it is called early in the game the ref is sending a message to both teams that he doesnt want very physical play, but at the end of the game a wussy foul call would be called ticky-tack.

there is generally a given cushion of physicality that each team assumes is okay even though it might technically be a foul -- but in the super-fast nature of playoff basketball, of course one man is going to touch another man (which is technially a foul) but no one expects to be called on that.

so when Shaq got a foul charged against him in the last minutes of the game for just swiping his big paw in the general vicinity of lil mike bibby, that would be ticky tack as compared to a man slapping another man's elbow while the first man was shooting.

since players can only have 6 fouls before they are fouled out of the game, in the playoffs, each foul should be obvious. glancing grazes should not be whistled.

keep rocking!
in a blatant act of defiance the original miss universe from russia, anna kournikova, sported a yellow sleeveless adidas tennis outfit instead of the white top/blue shorts combo that i have been pleading with her to wear since she played so well in it early this spring.

why she chose to take this risk at the all-important French Open in Paris yesterday is beyond me.





indeed it may have been rooted in cockiness, of all things, since Anna was pitted against wildcard seed Christina Wheeler of Australia who no one thought could make it out of the first round in the grand slam event.

underestimating her competition in the biggest tournament she has played in since her scandelous nude penthouse lawsuit craziness would seem beyond our lovely anna since she hasnt won a tournament, ever.

but the drought continues as Miss Kournikova lost handilly 6-4, 6-3 to the aussie and to the utter disappointment of her loyal and ever-so patient fans.

and even though im pissed that she didnt win or listen to my advice, i must admit that she looked cute as hell in that yellow.

especially since it matched her shoes!
today is the national spelling bee competition, when i was a kid i lost on "thorough".

more symbolic than you think.

on one hand i look at these kids and im sorry for them cuz they look like theyre going through so much pain, but then on the other hand you look at these kids and they're not jocks, theyre not politicians, theyre not rockers, this is their one moment of glory, and when was the last time you were on ESPN?

semi-new hot chick came over to my house last night.

shes been doing that a lot lately.

tonight we're going to go to see Elvis Costello at the new Kodak Theatre at Hollywood & Highland - where they had the Academy Awards this year.

then we're not gonna fool around any more.

two weeks, and just like that, over.

if i was in control of any of this, you'd all call me names like womanizer, etc., words that i doubt they'll use during today's Bee.

instead, since im pretty much the victim of all of this, the correct spelling would be l-o-s-e-r.

the only difference between me and these 12 year olds is i dont have on khaki's, a polo shirt, or the brainpower to spell.

but tomorrow night, just like them, i will go to sleep alone.


can you use serotinal in a sentence please?

"enjoy the happy smiles given by the hotties here at the end of the spring, dumbass, because youre about to hit the serotinal flipside."



   Wednesday, May 29, 2002  
the thing i hate the most in the world is not racism, sexism, or agism.

it's not an ism.

it's not AIDS, getting stung by a bee, the concept of never finding a soul mate, or never having children, or dying an early and unproductive life.

the thing i hate most of all is not the idea of the Cubs never winning a World Series during my lifetime, or my dear mother marrying a cop, world hunger, or the Catholic church.

i hate poverty, rudeness, road rage, ignorance, and The Beatles a lot, but none of those things are the wost things i could imagine.

i hate terrorism, and suffering and the idea of another holicaust, slavery, and the constant fear that my unsaved soul will spend eternity in the unforgiving depths of a firey and twisted hell.

the thing i hate most of all is that theres not one elected offical with the balls to take on Ticketmaster.

i am somewhat pleased, however, that Dave Marsh wrote about It today.
things i like: the Sacramento Bee.

things i really like: the Sacramento Bee online.

No one who has paid close attention to the Kings/Lakers series is really arguing about the lousy officiating, and if you really want to get an unbiased view of how jacked the Lakers were out of a win, go no further than today's column from J. Freedom du Lac, the Bee Pop Culture Writer.

He pretty much lays it down so fairly that you'd think he grew up in So Cal or something.

Or that maybe he's trying to get a promotion to So Cal.

More Things I like: Getting invited to a lunch-time rendevous with a marketing gal in a nearby park.

More Things I Really like: Getting invited to a lunch/park/dealio on an unseasonably hot afternoon next to the LaBrea tar pits.

More Things I like Super Alot: good email planning

me: where in the park do you wanna meet?
her: How about by the big pit of tar?
me: ok.
her: Ok, maybe by the picnic tables in front of the museum.

More Things I really Dont Like: Her being 20 minutes late even though we made plans 15 minutes before said rendevous and I only have a 30 minute lunch break.

More Things I Like: Samaki Walker on Vlade's absence of foul calls:

"I'm not even going to get started on that," he said. "It's just ticky-tack. You mean to tell me Vlade Divac guards Shaq, and he only has two fouls after three quarters?"

More Things I like Super Alot: The fact that We have Kobe and Shaq and they don't.

More Things I like A Whole Super Alot: Women who don't hyphenate their names even when it'd be funny as hell.
as you know, rabbit blog is one of my favorite reads each day.

true our furry friend doesnt always write to us via her blog everyday, but you know what that famous man once said, "great blog, crap job; great site, shit life."

and she may try to downplay her superstar life of writing for Salon and Marie Claire and all the other famous journals under her various nom de plumes, but we know the real deal, when shes not pretending to be totally fascinated with various forms of psychotic behaviors, shes getting her extra thin cigarettes lit in the swankiest nightclubs of hollywood.

but i do have a bit of a disagreement with her today, which is rare.

Rabbit is funny as hell, in person and in pixels, but sometimes she loses the forrest for the guffaws. Yes, Ari Fleischer could look sexy in a pink bra and a catholic girl skirt and im sorry to put that image in your mind... but the purpose of dressing, ladies, is not only to impress the women of your circles who you feel compelled to constantly impress... why? Lord only knows. But it's also to gain the attentions, ultimately, of the men who are dying to set ablaze your Camel Lights.

Therefore catholic girl skirts and a peek-a-boo sassy pink bra and boots shouldnt not be so easilly discounted and forgotten.

It's Spring, ladies, nearly summer.

If you've got it, flaunt it, cuz everyone knows we wont have it forever.

Later you can put the pancake on your head and see if the fella really likes you for your mind.

Much later.


the superhero named tony
dear nba referees, hi. my name is tony.

you dont know me but i know you.

thats the problem.

sorta like offensive linemen, if you are paying attention to the nba referees something is wrong, terribly wrong.

right now you have a difficult job to do, i realize that. you have to try to make sure that the games being played between the defending two time world champion los angeles lakers and the delightfully exciting kings from sacramento are fairly played.

but there are a lot of tough jobs.

the cops on the streets of america have to dodge bullets, the doctors in the hospitals have to cure the sick, and the technical support representatives have to solve difficult consumer questions with very little information under less than hoped-for conditions.

all you have to do is call a fair game. however your favoritism was as obvious as a white one-piece during a bikini contest. stick your little chest out all you want, but still, everyone knows something aint kosher.

now i understand that when Shaquille O'Neal is in the game you might think that you have to call a foul differently than when Danny Ferry is in the game, but let me be the first to tell you that this is not the case.

If Danny Ferry slaps a guy's wrist, or pulls a guy's jersey or elbows him in the gut, you should blow your little whistle.

If Danny Ferry drives to the hole and gets slapped or punched or gang-raped, thats a good time to blow your little whistle too.

Same for Shaq.

I know it's not fair that he's so big and strong and good-looking. But here in America everyone has equal rights and if he gets fucking mauled while crashing the boards, toot your tooter or go back to selling insurance.

Last night I was minding my own business making out with a sweet young girl from around the way. The game was on. She was trying to distract me. It was a close game but I was giving her my attention. She was a guest in my house, after all.

But then you guys decided that you wanted my attention, and I'm sorry, but I didnt turn on the tv or invite her over so that I would end up writing about you in the morning.

Basketball is exciting enough as it is.

Sacramento is a fine team with a lot of great fans, despite what Layne says.

They don't need your help.

I know your heart is in the right place, but when you become old and gray(er) do you really want to have your grandchildren make up drinking games where they pop in a tape of this series and have to do a shot every time you miss a call, or drink a beer every time you foul Shaq out for waving his hand infront of that cute little Bibby fella?

Lord knows I don't.

As they said in that great baseball movie of years gone by, "let them play."

Indeed, NBA refs, let them play.

I could barely romance this young woman without thinking how unfair you were to the World Champs and I want you to know that.

And now you forced me to invite her over tonight to make up for it while watching the 51st Annual Miss Universe Pageant.

And you know what's really sad?

Those judges will probably select the correct winner.
people of Los Angeles, i'm expecting you to help out these nice ladies

Dear Tony,

I'm headed out to LA (well Pasadena) this weekend for a wedding. Am wondering (if it's not too much trouble) if you can suggest a fabulous place for two crazysexy east coast girls to go on Friday night.


I say they should check out J.Lo's new restaurant, Madre's, or just cruise Old Town, but I'm sure my readers have much more creative suggestions...

   Tuesday, May 28, 2002  
it's springtime and everyone's getting kissed and since no one is innerested in smooching with me, i will harken back to the glory days of yesteryear when i was lucky enough to play spin the bottle with one angela romano, my bestfriends girlfriend.

yes, ironically enough the cars had just released that very same record when i was in sixth grade about to get my mind blown and even stranger, that first cars record was the first one that i ever bought with my own money.

and to show you how long ago that was, my mom gave me $20 and with that money i bought steve martin's comedy is not pretty, meatloaf's bat out of hell, and the cars self titled debut.

anyhow, angela was dating dave osbourne. we were at bethany radzinski's house, all the girls had schemed all week about this party, completely leaving us boys in the dark in more ways than one.

there was a seance, there were fruit drinks, there was a bottle, and there was a dark bathroom.

twice i spun the bottle, twice it landed on angela.

i couldnt believe what happened in that bathroom.

when i came home my mom looked at my eyes and accused me of being on drugs.

i said im not on drugs mom, i just spent all my money on records.

logic always worked on my mom, one of the first female computer geniuses.

anyhow, i dont think i ever thanked angela properly.

whereever you are, thank you.
karisa throws great parties if you're a girl.

she swears that she doesnt really have that many girl-friends in LA but i think she does that on purpose. most of the parties that she and her hot roommate throw are what are commonly referred to as sausage parties or sword fights. 500-600 guys trying to impress karisa and becca.

both gals sent out invites at their workplaces, but of course, only the fellas attended. many of them recognized my name and said they read this blog, and for those lads, i say hello, and nice to have met you.

the only fight that i got into yesterday was with an insect and i barely won.

i got stung by a bee!

it was my first time ever.

i felt an itchy thing on my back and i reached for it and i felt a little sting and i saw the bee fly over my head and try to attack karisa. i said, "i think i just got stung by that bee."

basart investigated and sure enough, bee sting.

i kept drinking my beer and looking at karisa.

im agent feels no pain, remember.

ken told her to get the tweezers.

there was much discussion about how to pull out the stinger without making the thing spread. i dont know what thing they were talking about, but basart is an expert at everything and this was one of the few times that it actually came in handy.

i drank more beer.

ken put an ice cube on the sting.

karisa quickly showed up with the tweezers and pulled it out painlessly.

i drank more beer.

she sat back down.

i looked at her some more.

no pain.

then ken saw the bee again, swatted it down fearlessly since it no longer had a stinger.

then he stepped on it.

when they all asked how i felt, i said, "a little buzzed."
miss russia, Oxana Fedorova, was about the only person that i didnt get drunk with this weekend, but who knows, i may have, around ten pm on monday everything was blurry, and i could have sworn that there was a hot chick in my california king waterbed but it must have just been my imagination running away with me for in the morning i put my arm where chica should have been and there was nothing there but pillows and pillows.


but who's complaining? karisa and her roommate had a sweet pool party, tsar played at morgan's new bachelor pad, all the playoff games were terrific, i got to see so many of my dear friends including ones i hadnt seen in quite a while.

layne was there and gave a glorious account including highlights from the morgan freeman directed tsar video debut.

but now my head aches and my body aches and my legs are sore, strangely.

fortunately the 51st annual Miss Universe competition will be broadcast on CBS tomorrow and we can finally know who is the hottest young woman in the entire galaxy.

as if we didnt already know.

do you know what i want this summer?


   Monday, May 27, 2002  
i got the strangest booty call last night hot young girl, reputed virgin, which some people like, but not me, calls me up and says shes in bed, and that shed like to crawl into my bed.

so i go, "strangely i was just thinking how there was something missing," and since she had accurately pinpointed the erorr, i instantly rewarded her with an invitiation.

"oh, no, i cant go over there, im too drunk to drive," she said.

"no problem, i'll send a car over." i said.

im not sure who the cab company is, hollywoodies, but if you live in the 323, just dial 666-9999 if you want a cab. i cant remember what i ate for lunch, but i can remember that.

the virgin giggled.

and then declined the red car pet treatment.

something about how scandelous it might seem to her friends whom she lived with whom she'd known forever.

in the coming months, friends, we will go into indepth discussions as to how to overcome the objections that the ladies raise on occasion that are rooted to the age old conundrum of "what will my friends think."

high schoolers, stay tuned. if you learn one thing over the summer, that should be your main lesson.

so i told the young woman that her phone call was very appreciated, and that sometimes is is nice just to be nominated. and i told her that i was going to go back to sleep, now with a nice smile on my face, and i hoped that the same would befall her.

she said, "well, im not sure, even though im in bed now, my friends are going to take me to a nearby bar for last call."

i said, tell me which bar, i'll have a car outside of it at 2am.


she said, "no, no, no. i really can't do that."

and ladies, this might be flirtation to some of you, but some men, id even say most men, are far more logical than romantic, and so when an obvious come-on gets pulled back, guys like me start thinking things like "disease?" "terrible rashes?" "is there a penis in there?"

so be careful.

and she said more nice things, giggled, and hung up her cell phone as the knocking became louder in her locked bedroom.

and i tried to fall asleep.

and eventually i did.


and ive told you many times before that i dont regularilly have dreams when i sleep. some of you have said that i just dont remember my dreams, i say i remember all of my dreams. some say that every one dreams, i say theyre full of it. some say they love their dreams. i say my dreams are dirty lies layed on me while im in a terribly vulnerable state. some say that they learn from their dreams. and usually i say theres nothing to learn from any of those lies.

but last night i had a dream.

i had two actually, one was of a young guy who was claiming to be kurt cobain's brother. he had been in hiding the whole time.

but the other one was i was the coach of some small college basketball team. we couldnt afford matching uniforms. they were raggedy, the kids were poor but had big hearts. and we won our quarterfinal game in the NIT tournament and i was so excited that i kept yelling, "WE WANT CAROLINA!"

and the fans were screaming and the players were hugging and i was screaming wearing a vest holding a clipboard and some kid was trying to pull off my toupee and our mascot was running around like a little freak


i yelled over and over and finally a reporter said, "this is the NIT, they're in the NCAA tourney."

and i looked straight into the camera and said, "we're the best team in college basketball. we'll take them on in the parking lot, at the Y, on the beach. i have a nerf hoop in the galley of my yacht at the club, we'll go three on three! WE WANT CAROLINA!

the mascot was climbing a pole behind me trying to get to the frenzy of fans in the upper deck of the packed stadium.

the cheerleaders, the streamers, the band in the striped shirts and the trombone players

i didnt even have a mic on me and i was yelling, BRING ON CAROLINA!

and i swear i nearly had a heart attack when i woke up i was so out of breath.

   Sunday, May 26, 2002  




i cant believe the lakers are playing so badly, and even though it's so trendy to be a lakers fan during the finals and even though i shouldnt feel weird rooting for them since ive lived here since 84, i do root for them and now i must adjust this second half by doing something different, namely write to you.

my mom is very superstituous when she "watches" the teams of her choosing, she brings them good luck by not watching, which is sorta a bummer for her since she has lived in chicago for most of her life and missed a good portion of michael jordan's career with the bulls. but look at all that luck she gave him!

fortunately my brother in law tapes many of the games and watches them in awe with her and my sister years after the fact.

me, i like watching the games as they are happening, but if i see that something is going contrary to how i'd like them to be, i'll do something like quit sitting on the couch and move to a different chair, or switch from beer to rum, or flip on the computer and write you.


what did you do last night?


rene came over and we pay-per-viewed "mullholland drive" which i was doing fine with for the first two hours but then i started nodding off then i got confused and really nodded off. whoever the chick was who played that main blonde girl was a pretty awesome actress.

and david lynch is a master.

that movie made me want to rent all of the twin peaks and play drinking games where you'd have to take a drink whenever something fucking crazy happens.

ok, im gonna go back to the game, this little experiment seems to have worked. the lakers have cut their deficit down to 8.

youre welcome.
from the fella who this week brought us a link to a dog doing a pikachu,

an enlightening link to a story about how the feds are trying to disprove the effectiveness of pot on HIV patients by growing shit weed,

a link to a page describing the finest athletic achievement of all time: doc ellis throwing a no hitter on acid,

and a link leading to apparent proof that j.lo doesnt wear enough underwear--

mobius writes in the comments of the entry where we threw out the notion that the only good women writers were crazy, that Stanford this week released what might be a link between creative genius and mental illness, which might explain a lot.

he also gives us a link to a bbc article saying that the inventor of jazz was a schitzo, and therefore the most creative music of all, jazz, was created by madness.

the j.lo upskirt pictures are being displayed by a guy who added a poll next to the photos, sort of like what i did with the penthouse anna kournikova pictures, he even has a guestbook, which i think is a pretty usefull addition, and if i ever find myself in the situation of such popular material that the rest of the web seems uninterested in displaying, but very interested in looking at and discussing, then i will add a guestbook to that page as well.

the fat guy left a comment to yesterdays post that i feel compelled to reply to but i cant in full detail due to the fact that in all truth i am the luckiest person in the world and im about to be swept away by a sexy lass who was recently kissed in a bar in santa monica by a man who, reportedly, could put antonio banderas to shame, witnesses say, check that, the chick was the one who planted the wet one on colgne-wearing european visitor with long hair and manly arms. lets hope the aggressiveness continues throughout the weekend.

theres a lot of magic still twinkling in tinsel town, scott, have no fear and in six to eight months i will write them down in here and pretend like they just happened. hows that for compromise?

in other news emmanuelle welcomes summer with a nice new graphic to her tres jolie naughty bytes, and she seems to have forgotten to tell us that she has a little sister.
dawn and marc speculated the other week about how much booty i get, but the catch22 of being a single man is if you kiss n tell, nobody's gonna wanna kiss you any more.

except for the exhibitionists.

i do pretty well among that crowd and fortunately for me i live in hollywood where theres more cameras per capita than convertibles.

this superhot babe from the video king finally accepted my invitation to accompn'y me to the white trash bar in burbank where they serve pabst, play skynyrd, and feature homemade tv dinners served in the aluminum trays that we all love.

the parking lot action was nice. i hadnt steamed up backseat windows in quite a while and the whole time she kept telling me that "this" doesnt mean that i'll get any. i kept telling her that what i was getting was plenty.

of course we ended up at my place.

eventually it was she, not i, who lost at chicken but there are no losers in these games just withered will power.

but seriously, those who are interested, im hardly getting any play. most of the things in here are my wildest dreams and even in la la land dreams rarely come true, and if they did why would they to a black man who doesnt look black in a town full of surfers, rockers, and multimillionaires. not only is my hair receeding at a ridiculous rate, but instead of a cell phone and a corvette, i carry a backpack and a bus pass.

aint no way the ladies would fall for that no matter what you choose to believe as you read the internet.

maybe one day my luck will change.

in the meantime i'll just continue to write these lies and attempt to make your visits here worthwhile.

to finish the story, the hot chick took care of herself on the couch and instructed me to do the same while i sat compelled on my chair in the computer closet and obeyed, listening to her list off one filthy promise after another while opening and closing her eyes uncontrolably.

im always amazed at how some women could consider themselves slutty if they had sex on the first date, but somehow bringing themselves to completion on a stranger's couch while he watches is kosher.

and as much as i love my television, it's never shown me that before.

but it did show me a helluva playoff game this afternoon in boston.

and once again, im glad that i ignored my astrology that advised that i go outside to find enlightenment, when everything i ever needed today was either on the tv or five feet away from it.

except for you, miss usa. where were you today? competing in a goofy white bikini contest?


arent we all.