tony + mary!
busblog at gmail dot com

nothing in here is true


   Friday, November 22, 2002  
hi tony

hi morrissey.

say hi to chloe the turkey.

hi, food.

hmmm. whats up, mate, i hear youre down in the dumps.

nope, not me.

shouldnt be, TGIF, right old man?

yep, TGIF morrissey

well i dont know what crawled up your bum but you are being talked about and honored everywhere on the internet.

big whoop.

but it's approval, son, approval! people are telling you that they love you and they want to be like you and they love what you do.

all i do is help the deaf and the hearing impared, it's not as glamorous as they think.

well far be it for me to tell anyone to come on and get happy, but i think you should appreciate this while you have it. this doesnt happen to everyone and it is sort of disrespectful when you toss it into the dustbin like it aint no thing.

it aint no thing, morrissey, you know that.

no, i certainly do not know that. what i do i do for the people. i do it to make them happy. i do it--

you sing sad songs, completely depressing sad songs to make them happy?

yes, yes i do.

i dont believe you.

i dont care if you believe me, i dont believe you. hows that? i dont believe that youre living a dream and you are chosing to find displeasure in it. i dont believe that tony pierce, king of the optimists would take a vacation from happiness for no apparent reason what so ever right when everything is coming up roses.

nothing is coming up roses, you limey wank. a few nice people link me on their page. thats very nice. and they should. the web is full of pages and they found mine and they like what i wrote, swell. where are the millionaires with their bags of cash? where are the job offers? where are the bras being thrown at me. talk about someone who doesnt appreciate what they get, mr. bigmouth--

dont go there.

give me your turkey and i will be happy.


yes. let me take your turkey home to be my thanksgiving dinner and i will be happy.

but this is the PETA turkey.


you have really lost your mind.

lost it years ago, hand over the bird.


then f you, morrissey. you never sang in tune anyway.

you bastard!

you call that a punch? omg that was the silliest thing ive ever seen. it felt like you were removing a shred of lint from my brow. do that again. holy shit, morrisey who taught you to fight, mother teresa?

fine, tony pierce, you have humilated me enough. if eating this proud bird will make you happy then here. have her. ENJOY YOUR THANKSGIVING!

thank you morrissey. not only will this turkey bring a smile to my face but she will bring nurishment to my body, and many sandwiches for weeks to follow.

hurry up and get out of here before bob barker sees you.

will do, later bro.

ten million people watched the victoria secret fashion show the other night and three hundred people complained that it was too sexy so now the fcc wants to change the indecency standard.

only in america would it be considered indecent to have a bunch of supermodels stroll around in panties, but it's perfectly okay to have kids watch a man get down on his knee and propose to a woman that he doesnt know. the bachelor beat the pants off the victoria secret infomercial and where are the nervous ninnies who think it's morally corrupt to let children watch a man make out with dozens of women and then propose to "the winner"?

speaking of which, f the kids.

the kids are alright.

im so sick of people hiding beind this idea that kids are going to turn out fucked up if they watch programs like victoria secrets fashion show.

cain slew able.

what the hell was on tv back then?

85% of american homes have cable. that means most of the kids in this country watch christina aguelera sing about being "dirrty" or they can watch all the filth on the discovery channel where one animal eats another animal, or they can watch the totally gross lies that come from the news, things like gw being our president.

AOL is the biggest isp in america and i would like to see what percentage of kids saw their first form of beastiality from one of the hundreds of bits of spam AOL allows to seep into each email account. thats straight up porn in the dirtiest form, one click away, and dont tell me that those splash pages that require no credit card to access wouldnt have twisted you when you were 11.

that shit twists me and im nearly 111.

all of this is just so predictable and exactly what you get when you vote republican.

they'll stop vic's from showing their show on one of the big four networks, as if that really matters, but they'll let the spammers send every kid who enters a chat room porn after porn afer porn after porn.

porn doesnt even turn me on that much any more. it makes me sad that so many others are getting naked and rich and not me.

one thing that does make me happy is when i see people talking to themselves on the web.

talk about twisted.

jim treacher
sometimes they try to double team you and the ref calls a "t" on you for throwing elbows and taunting and talking about peoples mothers.

and you dont know what language theyre speaking. and the cheerleaders might be cheering for you but youre not sure and then you hear your name but its not for the right reasons.

and you look up at the scoreboard and you threw down 30 points and grabbed 11 boards and everything should be so great.

should be.

ll cool j was in the office yesterday and he asked for me so i came out and he shook my hand.

he's bigger than you think and his entourage is even bigger.

all fly skimmies were trying to feel the beat drop

and he said damn dog i have so much to ask you

i said tell me about working out, youve got a wife, four kids, a childrens book, a movie, a cd, so why are you working out?

and he said, when you're building your muscles they tear slightly and they repair themselves and they grow. and to me thats symbolic of the spiritual climb that you write about so much, tony.

the girls cooed and held out cds to sign.

and, ll said, the results of that struggle arent so bad.

hopped into chopper one, totally forgetting to ask for a cd, turned off the radio took off my helmet and flew across the city of angels just doing laps around the wessside.

wishing i was anywhere else.

anyone else.

and not so alone.

youre breaking my heart the feminine voice of chopper one said sarcastically.

i tried to ignore it but how do you ignore a sarcastic computer?

the lights flashed in unison and then in trippy patterns and the steering column retracted into the control deck and the secret black copter had taken over.

she warned me that pussies were for the sunlit windowsills of lonely old ladies and nosedived straight down towards zuma trying to make me sick

then she pulled up flying up into the sun.

and then sharply to the east back at malibu

and then down into the canyon and then back up



above anything bad she told me.

only thing bad up here is us.

and we're bad


so shape up motherfucker else i get some fratboy to fly me.

and the steering column unlocked and extended into my lap

and the lights went back to normal

so i put on my helmet, turned on the radio

and made my way back to headquarters who are starting to see that every day is going to be a new day.

as it should.

the comedian

   Thursday, November 21, 2002  

Missy Elliott

Under Construction
Elektra Records, 2002

Work It

Is it worth it, let me work it
I put my thing down, flip it and reverse it
{*"I put my thing down, flip it and reverse it" - backwards 2X*}
If you got a big [elephant sound], let me search ya
To find out how hard I gotta work ya
{*"I put my thing down, flip it and reverse it" - backwards 2X*}

I'd like to get to know ya so I could show ya
Put the pussy on ya like I told ya
Gimme all your numbers so I could phone ya
Your girl actin' stank then call me over
Not on the bed, lay me on your sofa
Phone before you come, I need to shave my chocha
You do or you don't or you will or won't ya
Go downtown and eat it like a vulture
See my hips and my tips, don't ya
See my ass and my lips, don't ya
Lost a few pounds in my waist for ya
This be the beat that goes ba ta ta
ba ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta
Sex me so good I say blah-blah-blah
Work it, I need a glass of water
Boy, oh, boy, it's good to know ya


If you a fly gal get your nails done
Get a pedicure, get your hair did
Boy, lift it up, let's make a toast-a
Let's get drunk, that's gon' bring us closer
Don't I look like a Halle Berry poster
See the Belvedere playin' tricks on ya
Girlfriend wanna be like me, never
You won't find a bitch that's even better
I make you hot as Las Vegas weather
Listen up close while I take it backwards
(Watch the way Missy like to take it backwards) [backwards]
I'm not a prostitute, but I could give you what you want
I love your braids and your mouth full of floss
Love the way my ass go bum-bum-bum-bum
Keep your eyes on my bum-bum-bum-bum-bum
And think you can handle this gadong-a-dong-dong
Take my thong off and my ass go vroom
Cut the lights off so you see what I could do


Boys, boys, all type of boys
Black, white, Puerto Rican, Chinese boys
Girl, girl, get that cash
If it's 9 to 5 or shakin' your ass
Ain't no shame, ladies do your thang
Just make sure you ahead of the game
Just 'cause I got a lot of fame supa
Prince couldn't get me change my name papa
Kunta Kinte a slave again, no sir
Picture black sayin', "Oh, yes a master"
Picture Lil' Kim dating a pastor
Minnie Me and Big Ren can out last ya
Who is the best, I don't have to ask ya
When I come out you won't even matter
Why you act dumb like "Uh, duh"
So you act dumb like "Uh, duh"
As the drummer boy go ba-rom-pop-pom-pom
Give you some-some-some of this Cinnabun


To my fellas, ooooh
Good God, I like the way you work that
{*scratching: "Peter Piper" featuring Jam Master Jay*}
To my ladies, woo
You sure know how to work that, good God

the new mad pony photo essay
so wRyan was offended by what i wrote when i said that nancy dewolf smith must have sucked a lot of dick to become a writer and part of the ed board of the wall street fucking journal.

well get in line wRyan, that post was about me being offended, dumb ass.


well forget it because you're not worth my time, and im busy watching regis.

link my ass permanently on your three hit a day site and maybe i'll pay attention to you, which is what you're begging for, don't lie, you're so transparent.

you're allegedly offended because you're exactly like nancy dewolf smith jealous that a superstar gets great reviews so you want to try to put us in our place with your ramblings. as always canada, try harder. raise your fist at the sun.

only thing worse than a bad writer dissing critics who praise a punk rocker's number one best seller is a blogspotter trying to dis a blogger dissing a bad writer for trying to dis critics who praise a punk rockers number one best seller.

if you've read me for even a month wRyan, you know that i am capable of anything when im pissed off. unlike the ladies, i don't just get offended. i get even.

so yes, i would call a man a cocksucker if i thought he was a bad writer whose head was up his ass. but i probably haven't because then people might think that i have something against gays, which i do not, because they normally write much better than whores like nds in the wsj who think that its okay to kick a dead man when he's down because he's getting good reviews.

who the fuck is she to rain on his parade? is that her job at the wsj, to attack critics who give good reviews to good books? since when is that a career?

maybe i will spell it out to you wRyan, because i just remembered that i have a lot of canadian readers and i wouldn't want them to think that i truly have anything against our neighbors to the north.

what i did in my piece, which you lie and say was the "worst post ever" is what i do every damn time: i addressed the concern, i provided a solution, and i led by example.

my first problem with ms. smith was her lede was terrible. it was slanderous and ridiculous and she never backed it up with anything. but worst of all it was dull while trying to be scandalous.

so what i did was show her how to write a lede.


then i built on that lede. line after line after ridiculously obscene line.

big difference was mine was good and entertaining and motivating enough to get you off your ass and write a comment, even before you read her piece.

you played yourself, wRyan, but it's cool, i blame the socialized meds, not you.

then i addressed my attacks and wondered out loud if it was wrong to judge a woman in such a sexist predictably hateful way, and answered it with a big fuck no because that's what she was trying to do to not only kurt but to any journalist who gave a good review to his journals.

and i wrote it as ugly as she wrote hers.

and i wrote it better.

and instead of bashing it, i overkilled it while smoking a parliament and wearing a cockring

because that's what the people want


and i got to elbow your boyfriend greenspan when he wasn't looking, and i got a cheap shot on your girlfriend gw when he thought i had forgotten, and i got to dirty my knuckles on the sweetest and easiest and biggest icon of journalism while defending rock and roll incarnate.

don't like it? then suck off celine dion some more.

or perhaps you should go prostrate yourself at the feet of the priests of the temples of syrinx like a bitch.

i will say this once and for all. this blog is for the entertainment of me me me.

if you like it say so. if you don't, piss off and be better than me.

i do this so that women will fall in lust with me and men will send me money.

and the comments are there for people to tell me how much i fucking rock

so use them properly.

oliver willis

   Wednesday, November 20, 2002  
dear nancy dewolf smith,

how many cocks did you suck to get on the ed board of the wall street journal?

that's today's big question

cuz i can see plain as day you didn't get there by writing.

suck any black ones?

fat ones?

tasty ones?

do tell, and when you do, tell it with just as much excitement as you seemed to have gleened when you skimmed this weeks number one best seller looking for the "icky" stuff.

is that too easy a put down to give a woman who got paid today to write a review about kurt cobain's journals which she obviously didn't understand or research, or care about, or bother to undertand?

well certainly it's just as easy to go through the 300 pages of his journals and find the little bits where kurt fantasized about this gruesome thing or wrote about that horrible experience and try to convince your audience that that is who the man was.

that's what you were trying to do weren't you? that was you who insinuated that if kurt cobain didn't learn to play the guitar that he would have perhaps murdered others? cuz that's what i read in your lede:
If Kurt Cobain had looked less like a rent boy on the Lido and more like, say, Howdy Doody, would he be alive and well today? On the other hand, if Cobain hadn't found an outlet and an audience for his hostility by performing in the band Nirvana, would he have turned the shotgun he used to kill himself in 1994 on the rest of us instead?
people like you fascinate me because you have such a fucked perspective on the world and yet you're given such incredibly amazing jobs.

how many nirvana shows did you go to?

you act as if you're shocked that the number one demigod of punk rock music, the husband of courtney love, the heroin addict who put a shotgun to his mouth and pulled the trigger at the peak of his success would write "when I close my eyes I see lizards & flipper babies, the ones who were deformed because their mothers took bad birth control pills. I'm seriously afraid to touch myself."

you call this "icky"?

i say you swallow.

i say you swallow and you like it.

these are journals you filthy whore. diaries of a madman. so far removed from the ivory tower of the wall street journal that im surprised you read the whole thing. but i'll give you the benefit of the doubt because i'm so fucking gracious.

please tell me that you've heard negative creep live in the first ten or twenty rows with kurt screaming his ass off and your ears being ripped to shreds by the marshall stacks and dave grohl trying to beat the living shit out of his floor tom and snare simulatiously and topless and think about what is in the mind of the man who wrote that song and sang it night after night after night after night knowing that his father doesn't want him and his mom will call him a fucking loser when he dies, and you tell me ms. smith what color is your parachute because i know kurt kobain's, it's black as night. he tried to kill himself in rome. he tried to kill himself on stage and he finally was able to kill himself in seattle and guess what people's diaries are who don't give a fuck.

they're amazing.


and guess what people's opinion columns disguised as book reviews written by princesses who know zero about the author and dont seem to care but who've swallowed enough cum to soak in it sound like when they get their chance to rock the mic.

they sound like nancy dewolf smith of the wall street journal editorial board.

the same editorial board who watched alan greenspan lose trillions of dollars in the markets and didn't call for his head.

the same editorial board who has never speculated how many people president george bush would have killed if he hadnt been elected governor and and therefore allowed to excute people legally.

the same editorial board who hired you and decided that what you wrote was worthy. your cynical laughable dreck. your ridiculous lede that you never went back to. your fake shock that a punk rock kid might have it in for cheerleaders and jocks. heavens!

it's called imagination, you ridiculous girl. the same imagination that could breed beauty and love and peace and mystery can also, just as easily, give birth to hate, lust, anger, resentment, revenge, and twisted imagery.

you reviewed the journals of a man who sold tens of millions of records whose cover had a naked baby boy swimming underwater fixated by a dollar on a fishing hook and you act as if he was more disturbed than we thought.

no, we knew he was disturbed.

see, we listened to his words and his screams, and we watched him explode and implode and explode again.

you shoulda been there.

kurdt cobain's biggest hit started out with the unforgettable couplet of "load up on guns and bring your friends, it's fun to lose and to pretend."

didn't mtv play that one enough for you, or were your ears being covered by the old sweaty hands of mr. whoever as you worked your way up the ladder?

there are names for people like you, ms. smith.

punk rock


or writer will never be one of them.

ok ladies of the internet you can stop flooding my inbox with fantasies of featherbeds and dance routines, pink champagne and restraints.

im just a city boy, born and raised in south detroit.

took a midnight train

going anywhere.

los angeles is on fire. its warm as summer here. at least eighty five, maybe ninety. and not too windy. the wind blew all the crap out of the skies so its warm clear hot babes everywhere. we know this is borrowed time but it doesnt matter, it makes a guy like me feel 79 again.

people ask me to write about michael jackson and his kids, but i wont. black folk dont like to talk about other black folk losing their minds. and obviously he's just doing it all for the nookie, i mean for the attention.

and the warm weather just makes me meloncholy cuz i wish i did have a fast car, fast enough that we could fly away.

i would keep driving till it stopped being warm and gorgeous then i would double back, maybe go down a dusty road following the edge of warmth and if the road stopped, well i guess then we'd have to push the blinking orange button that would levitate us over the trees over the hills and above the clouds where days like these live every day.

when i was a boy in chicago i would look at the birds outside my window on the sill and id say stupid bird you could be anywhere in the world what are you doing here in cold chicago and it would twist its neck and blink.

karisa has exciting adventures that i wish she would allow me to share with you, and i suppose tony has exciting adventures that he wishes he could share with you too but there is a strange immediacy to writing in this media that makes some things feel like theyre better left saved for novels where we really pretend that its fake.

but if i told you that karisa got drunk last night with her pals and rode the bull at the saddle ranch and saw some famous people including the southern girl from real world vegas i guess thats not showing off.

and if i told you that i got to hang out with a skinny blonde girl who watched buffy while i showered and sang along to jayz and then shaved and then got to be close to her thats not really showing off i hope.

and if i told you that this morning i clicked on mad pony and was suprised to see that they put up a cute little photo gallery would you come back to me, or would you just stay over there and forget who sent ya?

ah, if only i was 87 years younger and living on a ranch in oklahoma where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain.

and dont tell them but i cant figure out which one is kristen and which one is lauren but does it really matter?

i do know which one is meesh and it bums me out that she hasnt updated.

so lets all go over there and fill her comments box with pleas and excertations, shall we?

ashley picked me up at work last night i think she has esp that all the hot single women of sweden and asia and planet zip are sending me their emails and telling me all the nice things that a fella wants to read when he wakes up in the morn.

we met in the lobby of the xbi and she had been in traffic for two and a half hours and she said that she didnt want to be in the car any more.

can we walk to your home? she asked.

of course, i said. she had both arms around me as we walked. there are gentlemen who dont like this sort of attention, but i think its great. across the street was the baja fresh mexican place. i said would you like some baja? and she shook her head up and down and pouted as if the 405 had victimized her and only pampering via guacamole and chips and a thick quesedia could cure.

and a kiss on the forehead.

i pushed her away for a second and twirled her around so i could get a good look. she happilly obliged.

silk shirt with an asian pattern, little white shirt underneath, sexy bra straps saying hi, tight jeans, sweet shoes, daisy behind her ear and a sticker that said taken that she peeled off and put on my cheek.

who wouldnta been taken?

we sat out in the night under the umbrella watching the cars pass by on wilshire when a very nice chap came up to us and said, "tony pierce? im matt. you linked my girlfriend.

i said who's your girlfriend?

he said katie hall.

i said wow! i saw your girlfriend dance on her site with you! dude i love your site, how to be hip!

he said, i love your site, are you kidding me!

ashley cleared her throat.

oh oh yes, matt, this is the famous ashley.

we exchanged pleasantries and when he left ashley said, does this happen all the time that you eat here, famous boy?

i said, yes. despite being in the shadow of the screen actor's guild, variety, e!, and many production offices like the fifth wheel and the hollywood squares, mr. blogger boy is the most famous face in the food court.

then we went to the video store which doesnt have many video tapes any more. when did that happen? picked up pulp fiction which ashley somehow had never seen before and i dont think ive seen since i saw it on opening night.

this morning it was nearly impossible to leave the daisy princess who laid beatifully in my bed as the warm breeze nudged the thin drapes as the parrots chirped in the palm trees and the school bus picked up some neighbors.

but alas here i am. big day of fighting crime ahead.

thanks for all the notes you all have left. and for those who have clicked the button on the left, the anna button, to order books, gracias. there are just a few left if you want a First Edition which will be sure to include some embarrassing errors that will be corrected in the second edition run.

rock today, superheroes, okay?

how to be hip

   Tuesday, November 19, 2002  
sometimes you lose your mind and theres nothing your friends can do about it or your lawyers or your loved ones or emmanuel lewis. you just do your thing and hope nobody gets hurt or you don't get the shit beat out of you.

i have lost my mind a few times.

i have been insane in the membrane.

nothing in this is true so i can tell you about the time when someone slipped something in my drink and then someone slipped something into my cigar and then someone escorted me to the beach and we watched the sunset. we each had a beer. then this little elf bounded his way down the cliffs of isla vista and said

hi boys, would you like to suck from this magical balloon of looney love

and i had never seen an elf before and there he was in his felt suit and big red nose and his basket of gold and pointy shoes with bells on the toe and he looked at us like a dog would, with a cocked head and blush on his cheeks, were those whiskers?

and we were young guys and the sun was setting and the waves and the sea gulls and the surfer girls and surfer rosa was playing on a boom box and we said what the heck and first my buddy sucked some in and then i sucked some in and then the elf had some and then flipper swam to shore and the elf gave him some and then my buddy had one as soon as he exhaled, no air in-between, and then i did the same and then flipper cut in line and took a toke and then did a back flip and then the elf took a drag and offered it to us but we said no thanks and held it in as loooooong as we could and then the elf bowed to us and sank right into the sand.

and then i started to drift away.

away from you.

away from my buddy.

i was drifting up into the sky.

i could see my body down there against the rocks, i could see the pacific and the sunset and del playa and the houses and then i came back down into my body slowly.


i took a breath of fresh air, god that was scary

oh shit then i floated up again this time higher way higher i could see all of isla vista, part of francisco torres, sands beach deveraux mental hospital lots more of the ocean, the curve of the horizon. fucking A the islands!

it felt like i was the ball on a gigantic paddle ball and i went back down to my body, faster this time, i didn't dare take another breath of air

but i did and there i floated back up again. shit shit shit.

up up up.



santa barbara.

i had only been this high up when i was in an airplane flying home from a business trip nose smooshed up against the window.

the silver cord connecting rubber ball me with the paddle was going to stretch too far i feared and i would float up into heaven, a failure, a cheat. what are you doing here anthony h. pierce the third?

i lost my mind, sir.

hmmm, you're not scheduled to be here for another 102 years. you're a very bad boy, to hell with you.

but that didn't happen, i was brought back to earth thanks to a sip of beer that my buddy advised me to take because i looked green. hippie chemistry. headache, smoke weed. weed headache, eat aspirin. hangover, drink rum. sensitive from acid, smoke pot. heartbroken, eat x. too much x? smoke pot. it went on and on.

the beer worked. dulled the visuals.

then the waves began to digitize.


the smoothness of sight had been replaced by digital colors of green red and blue, grainy like sand. the sand had turned into grainy red sand, it looked like a satellite feed from overseas in the middle of a nighttime firefight.

but it was sunset.

then it was just squares of colors.

and then just beige squares.

and then just black.

today is marc brown's birthday so get up and do a little dance. the mighty mc came to this town in a space pod after his hometown planet exploded after the annual love fiesta got a little out of control and too many of the ladies in the house said hooooooeeee.

raised by amazons in a lion preserve in west afrique marc brown learned to bust with the rhymes well before dmc's rock box but that chapter in us history is often overlooked because no one wants to think that a white man brought rap to the brotha. all i gotta say is the truth will set you free, people, so testify and give it up to marc with a c.

brown delivers. so much so that hollywood records wanted tsar to name their first record "the marc brown years" but at the last minute just called it tsar. big mistake.

while looking for his canoe and his blue ox, mark did the austrailian crawl across the sea and landed in seatle where he was raised in the trees by hippies. they gave him his american name which was alot easier to say than click click but maybe not.

the ladies loved cool b as they still do but back then he didnt know how to fend them off as delicately as he does now. back then he was too honest. he would make them all cry and it only made them fall harder for him.

one day he threw a frisbee over the head of dave grohl barefoot in the park. he said, "my bad" which was the first time anyone had ever said that and ran to retrive the flying disc. he found it on the penisula of isla vista some 1600 miles away. he looked around and felt instantly at home. he signed up for classes at the junior college, got himself a show on the radio where he played hip hop and smooth jazz and a legend was born.

marc brown was going to night school.

a few years later he transfered to ucsb and ran for president. he got 60 votes but the nexus said he got 69 and put it on the front page. all the ladies put their hands in the air, and shook em around like they just didnt care.

marc brown got so much tail in college that i used to walk behind him just to get hit by the shrapnel.

his record collection was always bigger than mine. it was a party school with hundreds of kegs a night. thousands on weekends and if you saw the mc was there you knew you were in the right place. i cant tell you how many concerts i went to that he was there too. skynyrd, lyle lovitt, tom ball and kenny sultan, hank jr., yanni. marc always was there with his backstage laminents, always an extra one for me and a cold frosty one in a plastic cup. he'd lick his hand and smear his hand stamp on mine. i'd give him a tab of acid and we'd call it even.

ah, memories.

so heres to you Mr. Birthday Boy Blogger Web Design Loft Dweller Karaoke Singing Keeping it Real Man.

you're the true american hero of the day. and an example to all of us. and by the way, i ganked the top most blog pic from his site. thanks, cheif!

marc brown
dear ladies of the internet,

hi. yes i love you. thank you for your letters and pictures and emails and phone calls and gifts and promises of lust.

do you know how great that makes me feel?

do you know how low my self esteem is and how many demons whisper sour nothings into my ear like at all times?

you all ask so many questions about ashley and if you want to know her secret superpower it's that she always makes me feel loved and wanted and sexy and masculine and smart and good with my hands, etc. when i ask her if she had a good time with me the other night her eyes get big and she will squeeze my hand and say, yeeeeeess. oh god yes.

that works on me.

flattery will get you everywhere.

one cute girl writes me the dirtiest emails. maybe some of you don't know that that's allowed. of course it's allowed. let yourself go. i want you to trust me and feel free with me. why not?

she tells me all the things she wants to do to me when she flies here from stockholm. she tells me what she will wear and what she will say and what she wants me to say. shes quite descriptive. she says she has many day dreams. she remembers these daydreams, and its true she has many.

but one thing that worried me was when she said that she doesn't have safe sex. she said that she trusts her boyfriend and that shes on the pill and for some reason in sweden she thinks that that's safe.

so i asked her what's swedish for ha.

you can trust your boyfriend all you want but i don't trust him. im not saying that he's cheating on you, or that he did some dirty skank ho the week before he met you. but im going to pretend that he does cheat on you and he did three skank hos before he met you. and i suggest you do the same.

unless you two are conjoined twins joined at the bellybutton if you're not using condoms every single time you're out of your mind.

let me tell you about the boy who you say you trust. he is so ignorant about his thing and he's so reckless with it and he's so led by it that it's insane.

ask your true love if he washes his hands every time that he uses the bathroom.

this is a trick question but ask him anyhow.

if he says yes ask him if he takes a paper towel to turn off the water after he washes his hands. then ask him if he takes a paper towel to use on the handle if he leaves the bathroom.

if he answers no to any of those questions think about where he puts his hands when he comes over to see you.

then think if im gonna put my hand there, or my face, or worse, lil tony without a condom.

swedish for ha.

when men take a dump and wipe their ass the first thing they touch is that sink and the dials on that sink then they wash their hands then they take those clean hands and touch that dirty sink to turn it off. then they wipe their dirty hands with a towel then they touch the door handle with their ass hands then they put their hands on you!

but what he did before that is even worse. he walked into the bathroom and unzipped his pants and put his hands on his schween. he peed and Then he washed his ass hands. so not only does he leave that bathroom with filth all over him, but now his innocent dick which has been completely covered by layers has germs from bro's daily adventures.

what does your boyfriend do? is he a mechanic? does he type at a typewriter all day? does he ride the bus and hold on to the handles? does he ever press the buttons of elevators? homeless men piss on the buttons of the elevators of the subway in my town. how about yours?

so the correct answer to the loaded question is, "honey, i wash my hands before And after i use the bathroom, cuz i know where my dick has been, but i cant even begin to remember where my hands have been."

hot babes, i know where i want my hands to be. and i know where they've been. i know that they can be eaten off.

can everything that you have be eaten off?

doubt it.

so that's just the hands. i know your boyfriend. he touches himself all the time. if i dated you i would be touching myself all the time too. its not a put down, trust me. but he doesn't take care of his hands and he doesn't take care of his donk and that's because you're not making him.

and ps if he met christina aguelera at the viper room and she said lets do it in my limo and if he said i dont have a condom, and if she said dont worry im on the pill, he'd do her.

and pps he'd do the same with a girl who's not named christina aguelera too. its our nature. it's nothing to be ashamed of, but it's not something to be ignored.

however, when it comes to getting some, ladies, we will listen to you. i didn't learn these things from the fellas. i learned these things from uptight hotties who never ever ever wanted to catch anything while having fun. theres no reason for it. it feels great enough even with protection. trust me it does. and if it doesn't you're with the wrong person.

so i emailed this to my blonde betty of the north and she asked me what she could do to make herself worthy in light of all of this.

i said what you need to do is get yourself checked out. go to the doctor and tell them you want an aids test and a vd test. meanwhile get your boyfriend tested. then don't ever have sex without a condom. only time this can change is when you get married.

our parents' generation say that they saved sex for marriage, mmmh hmmm i believe that. the following generations probably wont ever live up to that but they should save non-safe sex for marriage. i don't think that's a bad compromise.

think about how great your wedding night will be. you would have been recently tested. you will look at your rings, and your gifts and your white purse full of envelopes, and then you will look at your test results and for the first time since reading this blog post you will have sex without a condom and trust me when i tell you it will be a night you will never forget.

okay that's the sermon for this morning. i heart you miss sweden and your girlfriends who you want to travel here with and share with me. but if you do that everyone must have the proper documentation.

then you can teach me some other foreign words.

your pal,


how to live your life my way

   Monday, November 18, 2002  
dear brittany,

i had one of the best weekends in a long time. it was so much fun making out with you. i didnt think that a big time hollywood movie star would find me in the least bit interesting, but thank god for pills huh?

after i dropped you off friday night i went home and started going through my email. i had something from the girls over at mad pony who said some of the sweetest things to me. i love fan mail, dont you?

dear women of the world, if you want to make me happy please keep sending those cards and letters. its makes me so happy.

on saturday my exgirl chris took me to see your movie with eminem. i must say i was blown away. what a great movie. so not cheesy. great movie. even dissed my boys the beasties, which was so funny. i loved it. and brittany you looked so hot. you popped right off the screen. my neighbor said that you looked too good for that crew but sometimes its like that.

thank you for the new jay-z cd. i love it. it reminds me of pauls boutique. so many different musical styles. i remember back then the dust brothers were the shit and now the neptunes are, and they obviously opened their notebooks and let the jiggaman take whatever he wanted and hell, he took a double album full. what a hip hop weekend i had. maybe thats why im so happy.

maybe its you.

it was so much fun hanging out with chris though. shes so gorgeous and we have so much fun together. we had spinach and shrimp and scallops and lettuce wraps at pf changs and the spinach was so garlicy we barely ate any and they were nice enough to remove it from the bill which shocked me because theyre not really known for their service, but that was super slick, so thank you pf. we'll be back.

and then maybe ten minutes after chris dropped me off at home ashley surprised me and showed up with some pizza slices and decided to spend the night which was good because i dont like staying mad for too long and she was very apologetic and very beautiful and bought these new little socks that looked real good and sometimes a girl will say, lets do anything you like, and you dont know what to do and other times a girl will say that and you'll know exactly what to do.

and as much as i try to push ashley away, on many many levels we are eye to eye, i feel extremely comfortable with her, she fully loves me no matter what bs is happening, she totally wants me, and i really know my boundaries with her. we watched the last half of "gimme shelter" which she'd never seen and then you on saturday night live, and you were terrific by the way, and then we went to bed.

tossed and turned and eventually fell asleep.

in the morning i woke up and i tried to crawl out of bed as football was calling my name and she had the death grip on me and even asleep she wanted me. i said it's twenty minutes after ten, i must leave. and she said, no, cuddle.

long naturally curly blonde hair, cute little necklace, she looks like a hippie girl straight out of the sixties when shes naked. little wood nymph girl with a big smile. she said ten more minutes. i said i wouldnt miss a half hour of football if you were pam anderson.

fifty minutes later i was finally leaving the bedroom and i realized that there werent any games i wanted to see, so we drove over to poquito mas and had lunch, then the ninety nine cents store, then she had to go to work and i had to watch the raiders.

ah, the raiders. east bay assassins. and no finer victim than that man named brady.

under the cover of darkness the silver and black ripped apart the pats and it was delicious. but i wont gloat because this season isnt even half way done and the raiders are in the toughest division in the nfl. and theres bigger fish to fry.

all i have to say is thank you lord, it was a great weekend and i didnt deserve an ounce of it.

anyhow, brittany, sorry i gave you a hickey. i promise i wont be that rough again.


i knew the raiders would make the patriots their bitch so on friday i made a u-turn after i left work and climbed back into chopper one.

this time without the prying eyes and hands and commands of hq.

i took her up and started pressing all the buttons i didnt see described in the three ring binders ive been pouring over.

most people wouldnt recommend that you do such things at 40k feet but most people would tell you that im not most people.

fortunately choppper one is idiot proof because the xbi knows that the only people who would ever be crazy enough to be flying an untested black copter that could be mistaken by the military as being a threat, would be crazy enough to

oh shit.

the seat suddenly became very warm and began vibrating like crazy.

a sultry voice said


i flicked another switch and a fluid poured into my mask.

canadian dry ginger ale

i flicked the switch again

diet canadian dry ginger ale

i flicked it twice more and the fluid stopped.

instead of pressing the buttons or blindly, and may i add, foolishly touching the controls, you can just ask me. the voice said.

how about shutting the hell up. i thought.

i should probably alert you that i can also read your mind. your helmet, captain.

i pushed the throttle and began tearing across the sky.

ive been waiting for you the voice said. no need to fight me.

i pulled back on the wheel and the copter began to flip.

the boys below warned me not to try to "eat her out" which was a crude way of saying to fly upside down.

suddenly the machine righted itself, the panel lights flashed in unison and blinked off.

not so fast

i couldnt move my arms. i couldnt move my feet. the lights went back on but they blinked in patterns.

ive adjusted the magnetic field in the cabin. your jet suit is now forcing you to sit still.

and thats when chopper one took it out of first gear and began to really fly.

random fixation
the stars are coming out, will you see them? from JPL News today.

The early morning hours of Nov. 19 (late tonight) may be your last chance to see the spectacular Leonid meteor shower in its full glory, according to astronomers.

"Even with the full Moon, this year's Leonids will probably be better than any other for the next hundred years," said Dr. Don Yeomans, an astronomer at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory, Pasadena, Calif. "If you're ever going to see them, this might be the year to try." NASA is taking advantage of the event for several research efforts around the world.

The shower is predicted to have two peaks, each a couple of hours long, during which the most meteors can be seen. The shower's second peak, most prominent in North American skies, is expected at around 2:30 a.m. (Pacific time) Nov. 19, and promises the rare spectacle of a few meteors every minute or even more. "Observers in good locations away from city lights might see a few hundred per hour. You'll only get to see the bright ones because the moonlight will wash out the ones that aren't as bright," said Yeomans. Last year, observers did not have to contend with the Moon and saw meteors at a pace of several hundred per hour.

An earlier peak is expected over Europe and Africa the night of Nov. 18, and observers in North America might see a few grazers -- meteors skimming the top of the atmosphere -- from this first peak starting around 8:30 p.m. (Pacific time) Nov. 18.

The Leonids are grains of dust from comet Tempel-Tuttle colliding into Earth's atmosphere. Most Leonid particles are tiny and will vaporize very high in the atmosphere due to their extreme speed (about 71 kilometers or 44 miles per second), so they present no threat to people on the ground or even in airplanes. As it progresses in its 33-year orbit, the comet releases dust particles every time it comes near the Sun. Earth intersects the comet's debris trail every year in mid-November, but the intensity of each year's Leonid meteor shower depends on whether Earth ploughs through a particularly concentrated stream of dust within the broader debris trail.

The dust that Tempel-Tuttle shed in 1866 makes up the stream predicted to give Americans a good show this year. Last year, people in Asia saw the plentiful collisions within that stream. A dust stream from 1767 provided last year's peak hour of viewing in North America and will provide this year's peak hour of viewing in Europe. After 2002, Earth won't hit either of those streams again for decades to come, and is not predicted to encounter a dense Leonid stream until 2098 or 2131.

The golden rule for watching the Leonids -- or any meteor shower -- is to be comfortable. Be sure to wrap up warmly -- a sleeping bag placed atop a lawn chair facing east is a good way to enjoy the show. Put your chair in a clear, dark place with a view of as much of the sky as possible. Don't stare at any one place. Keep your eyes moving across the sky. Most Leonids will appear as fleeting streaks of light, but watch for the bigger ones that produce fireballs and trails. Some trails will remain visible for several minutes or more.

thanks for "playing" patriots

bring on green bay