Friday, December 13, 2002
so what do you want to do?
well what are we supposed to do?
well the bus doesnt come for another few hours, what would you like to do on you last day on Earth?
wow, kurt cobain, thats a tough question.
nothing bad can happen to your body, because you're already dead you cant be judged for anything you do, and anything that you do will be wonderful.
okay i think i know what i'd like to do.
wanna go see your mom for the last time?
nah. i'll see her later, im sure.
wanna see wrigley field for the last time?
nah, i bet they have one up in heaven.
oh i know, you probably want to go up to Isla Vista, huh?
nope. i want to do heroin with you, kurt, at the Playboy mansion and have a bunch of unprotected sex.
whoa nelly. none of the girls will be able to see you. you're invisible, they wouldnt notice you even if you jumped up and down and yelled. and they wont be able to feel you either.
ah, im used to all that.
alright then, lets go.
they got good H up in H?
sure, but nobody does it.
people get high off life up there.
interesting concept. but arent they really getting high off death?
no, it's eternal life. eternal death is the other place.
everything dies, baby thats a fact.
and maybe everything that dies some day comes back.
put your make up on
fix your hair up pretty
and meet me tonight
in paradise city.
i knew i was in trouble when i saw kurt cobain waiting for me at the front door.
uh, hi, kurt.
i dont really know how to say this to you, so i'll just come right out and say it. youre dead.
ok, let me put it this way, knock knock.
heh. who's there?
not you, because you're dead.
can i ask you a question?
good, am i on acid?
no, youre dead.
how did i die?
i can tell you, but then i'd have to bring you back to life. ahahahahaha. sorry, little joke we tell.
what's this hole in my chest?
thats where you were stabbed with a knife.
who the hell would stab me?
lots of people. there are those who are jealous of your talents. there are all the dads of the young girls you do. there are the sisters of the girls you do. there are the republicans who fear that you might go to law school and then run for office. theres bud selig, matt drudge, george bush. or any of the hundreds of criminals you sent to jail.
you know whats funny, kurt, youd think id be sad, but im not sad.
but i will miss all my friends.
they'll probably miss you too.
and i love the people of Earth.
theres people of Earth where you're going.
yeah, but i liked life.
you did? you were always bitching about it. you were never satisfied with any of the girls you got. you were never pleased with where you lived or what you did for a living, or what you looked like, or what you wrote, or who you were. dont bullshit me, bro.
hmmm. i did like chris.
too little, too late, cubfan.
and i liked living on del playa.
youre going to a better place.
hey i got in and i broke some major rules.
thats right, you killed yourself.
major faux pas, let me tell you.
how did you get in after something like that?
Grace of God. thats how everyone gets in.
what if you were super good?
doesnt matter, without the GoG you dont get in.
so, like, mother theresa?
God isnt crazy about the Catholics. little known fact. especially the ones who know better. they disobeyed the very last line in the Bible, "dont add anything to this text or else you will get all the curses written herein on your ass."
thats not exactly what it says.
damn, kurt, even in your afterlife you're controversial.
ready to hit the road, pallie?
wow. im really dead?
dead as grunge.
and i have to leave this apartment behind?
you can haunt it if you want, but scaring people becomes dull. it's pretty easy.
but its sorta messy, i'd hate to leave a mess.
trust me, dude, people are going to make a fortune eBaying your stuff. youve got some great shit here.
yeah somewhere in here i have a ticket stub from your last show in LA.
kurt cobain said and flashed me the stub and tucked it into the breast pocket of his raggedy flannel.
a sorority girl and her jailbait sister
Thursday, December 12, 2002
i will not make fun of the polish army. i will not make fun of the polish army. i will not make fun of the polish army.
hi. my name is tony.
sorry if everything has been dark and unpretty and loud and gross and something found inside hieronymus bosch's junk drawer, but it has been my practice to excorcise any demons that might be haunting ones soul and the best way to do that is to shine a light on them real bright and name them and identify them and watch them shrink up and blow away like dust.
at least thats the story i tell myself.
pssst. i just got a call from the isla vista university press. the books are done. this might be a good time for those of you who havent bought one to buy one. after family and friends are taken care of there will probably only be 15 left so if you order one today or tomorrow i can guarantee that you will be getting them before Christmas.
click the picture of anna on the left.
ok, todays public service brought to you by the polish army.
friends. i love you so much. i hope you know that. and sometimes i look at who has linked me and i will go to your site and sometimes i will see who youre linking. and sometimes i will go to their site and i will suddenly find myself very intersted in the person writing and designing and taking pics of themselves, etc. and i want to find out more about that person but they dont have any info of themselves on their page and im inpatient cause im so damn old, but if they have a url that has their name or something that they registered, i will go to Register.com and i will type in their URL and i will click where it says "Taken" and that will give me all sorts of information.
more information than you probably want lurkers on the web to know. things like your home address and your phone number... and your zip code!
so heres how to get that stuff removed, go to Verisign, who bought network solutions, who probably owns your url. when you sign up with them they own the url, not you. quit signing up with them.
tell them to remove your personal info from the Whois. they may ask you for a different address. give them anything. the only time people use those addresses are when strangers want to buy your URL (which happens never) or when Verisign wants to tell you that your url is about to expire.
mark on your calander when its about to expire. put in a fake address. spammers and stalkers are the only ones who will properly use your info. get rid of it.
the address that i use? just some little apartment behind a sushi place that jeanine once lived near.
os, my "technical contact," is using the 7-11 where he used to grow up in kentucky.
okay thats tony's tip for the day.
meesh is back, and she has pictures
Priority Records, 1992
When Will They Shoot?
"Stalkin.. walkin in my big black boots" [repeat 2X]
God damn, another fuckin payback with a twist
Them motherfuckers shot but the punks missed
Ice Cube is out-gunned, what is the outcome?
Will they do me like Malcolm?
Cause I bust styles, new styles, standin - strong!
While, others Run a Hundred Miles
But I never run, never will
Deal with the devil with my motherfuckin steel - BOOM!
Media try to do me
But I was a BoyN the Hood before the movie
Call me nigga, bigger than a spook,
But you the one that voted for Duke,
White man, is somethin I tried to study
But I got my hands bloody.
They said I could sing like a Jaybird
But nigga, don't say the J-word
I thought they was buggin
cause to us Uncle Sam is Hitler without an oven
Burnin our black skin
Buy my neighborhood - then push the crack in
Doin us wrong from the first day
And don't understand why a nigga got an AK
Callin me an African-American
like everything is fair again,
Devil, you got to get the shit right I'm black
Blacker than a trillion midnights
Don't Believe the Hype was said in '88
by the great Chuck D, now they're tryin to fuck me
".. with No Vaseline
Just a match and a little bit of gasoline.." - HUH!
It's a great day for genocide (What's that?)
That's the day all the niggaz died
They killed JFK in '63
So what the fuck you think they'll do to me?
But I'm the O.G. and I bust back (boom boom)
Bust back (Boom boom!) peel a cap (BOOM BOOM!)
Gimme room in the fire of the sun
Here the mack come, here the black come,
watch Jack run!
Motherfuckers can't gank me
Fuck a devil, fuck a rebel, and a yankee
Overrun and put the Presidency
After needin that, I'm down wit O.P.P.
I met Farrakhan and had dinner
And you ask if I'm a five-percenter, well...
No, but I go where the brothers go
Down with Compton Mosque # 54
Made a little dough, still got a sister on my elbow.
Did Ice Cube sell out? You say, "Hell no!"
A black woman is my manager, not in the kitchen
So could you please stop bitchin?
"Stalkin.. walkin in my big black boots"
"But when will they shoot?"
"Stalkin.. walkin in my big black boots"
[Cube] Yeah, yeah..
"But when will they shoot?"
You missed, and didn't hit Da Lench Mob either
"Guerillas in the Mist.." without Jungle Fever
But I got the fever for the flava of a cracker
Not a Pringle, bust the single, here's my new jingle
"Stalkin.. walkin in my big black boots"
The KKK has got three-piece suits
Using niggaz like turkey shoots
My motto is Treat 'Em Like a Prostitute
Now if I say no violence, devil, you won't respect mine
Fuck the dumb shit - and get my Tec-9
And if they approach us
A-ight, a-ight - I bury those cockroaches
And if you can't deal with my Kill at Will
Here's a new gift to get - try my Death Certificate
Amerikkka's Most, Amerikkka's burnt - it's like toast
Like Jordan, I'm goin coast to coast
Dribblin the funk here comes the nigga
with the motherfuckin monster dunk, get off me punk!
"Jordan.. watch Jordan,
aiyyo yo watch Jordan .. YES!"
"You better eat your Wheaties"
"Stalkin.. walkin in my big black boots"
[Cube] Yeah, yeah..
"But when will they shoot?"
Darryl Gates got the studio surrounded
Cause he don't like the niggaz that I'm down with
Motherfucker wanna do us
Cause I like Nat, Huey, Malcolm, and Louis
Most got done by a black man's bullet
Give a trigger to a nigga and watch him pull it
I'ma dig a ditch, bitch, and throw yo' ass in
When they shoot, no, it won't be a cracker
They use somebody much blacker
What I do? I called up the Geto Boys crew
Cause My Mind's Playing Tricks On Me too
Never died, surround my crib
and F.O.I. makin sure nobody creep when I sleep
Keep a 9 millimeter in my Jeep - PEEP!
When I roll, I gots to roll deep
Ain't goin out cheap
Met the MADD Circle on Cypress Hill cause it's so steep
They'll never get me, they'll never hit me
Motherfuck that shit JD
Now I'm relaxed
Grab the St. Ide's brew so I can max
Sittin by the window cause it's so fuckin hot
and then I heard a shot
on the los angeles subway there is one transfer spot. it's at the intersection of wilshire and vermont. by the way, i love each of you and i hope youre having a pleasant day.
if you are taking a train south and you want to go west you get off at wilshire and go down the stairs and within a few minutes, if the timing is as it should be, the train going west will arrive.
sometimes the train gets there just as youre hitting the bottom stair. thats like a sweet little kiss on the cheek from the one you love.
because there is only this one transfer spot in the entire los angeles subway system (there are a few others but they dont count) if the train downstairs is a little fast and the conductor can see a whole group of people running down the stairs, he will wait, as that is not only polite, but professional and reasonable, because after two stops the westbound train takes a 10 minute break and turns around and goes east.
so waiting 1 minute for the commuters to catch their last train at 8:40am isnt much of a big deal.
unless, of course, you are the wastoid who decided to watch us decend the staircase waving our arms and pull away as we hit the platform.
hi train driver.
im gonna get you.
im gonna go to heaven and the angel on duty is going to give me a tour of the place and once we've completed the gauntlet of blowjobs from playmates around the galaxy, and after we sled down the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream mountain and after we soak in the hot tub of love and make out with every nfl cheerleader one at a time in their former bodies and after we're given our superbodies and golden afros and assigned our flying skateboards and ac/dc bottle openers i know, i know someone is going to whisper in my ear, "who do you want us to fuck up, royally."
and i will pick you, subway man.
and trust me when i tell you that i had some extra time this morning to think of what i would like to do to you. and i have a pretty good relationship with my imagination, if you havent noticed.
so as youre being given papercuts forced to watch your mother get it from the entire cook county correctional community with baking soda falling from the sky like snow, know that thats just the appitizer of this miniseries of miseries that i will oversee happening to your person.
because then your daughter will appear.
and she will walk up to you.
and she will bend down on all fours.
and the lights will dim and the spotlights will hit and then twirl around in a frenzy and the smoke machine and the confetti and the midgets and the midget clowns and the big band and the stuido audience will all be revealed from behind the curtain, and two high fashion models will make their way to a mystery curtain.
they will look at the camera and make hand gestures and the curtain will part and out will come a nice big hairy buffalo.
and from that curtain to your daughter will be a very narrow walkway.
and tied to the papercut chair will be you.
and while you watch your daughter get mounted doggystyle, thanks to the help of the beautiful fashion models who lead the willing buffalo with ease, she will look up at you with equal parts pleasure and horrfying pain.
the buffalo, reknowned for being infected with an unusually large amount of hiv, has recently aquired mad cow disease, and snorts phlem with each thrust which drips and hangs and finally lands on stringly tendrils atop your daughter's bowtied ponytail.
then comes the rhino.
so your daughter flips over, spreads her legs, and throws her head back so you can see her eyes, covered in spit snot and buffalo drool. nipples pointed at the sky, audience cheering, baking soda falling, paper cuts slicing, rats gnawing, paranah tank lowering, trapeze girls swinging, you might let out a scream of mercy.
your job, the thing that you get paid to do, metro operator, the thing that buys your little girl those barrettes, and those skirts, and those little socks, and her book bag, and powers the lights that wrap your christmas tree, is to pick up people in the subway and drop them off at their stop.
simplest job in america and you get paid at least $60k and work just 4 days a week.
and your daughter will help the rhino in. theres no lube in hell. and she will say
wow this one is hairier than the last one.
and a light will shine from behind the curtain and you will see every animal from noahs ark
two by two
patiently waiting their turn.
full of hate
Wednesday, December 11, 2002
tony, mariah and i are concerned about you.
save your concern.
seriously, you seem very angry lately. would you like to talk about it?
i wouldnt know what to say. im not angry right now, if that makes you feel better.
that makes me pleased. yes, but tony, please start thinking about your future. you want to be successful right?
i'd rather be good.
you can be both. dont you know that?
which one of you two are both?
see, theres that anger again. why the rap lyrics?
cuz theyre good.
dont you know that you are shooting yourself in the foot with those? there are people out there who really like your writing who just will not link to your page if they know that theyre going to send their readers to a hateful, foul-mouthed, ghetto site with poor spelling and bad grammar and topics that do not befit a family audience.
dont you want your friend the instapundit to link to you?
instapundit linked to an article defining sodomy yesterday, are you saying the geto boys is worse than sodomy?
the geto boys is worse than everything. im guessing that thats exactly why you put them on your page.
i put them on there because that song is fabulous. ive listened to it nearly every day since it first came out. pat whalen, jeff's brother, got it at the nexus way back when and one night we stayed up all night listening to it laughing and being blown away. and yes its worse than everything, but its also better too. do your homework. and it is successful. i just saw scarface on mtv cribs last weekend.
ok, well, tony, youre not going to get on cribs putting the geto boys on your page.
life is full of tiny little suprises, hundred millionaire fat black woman. i bet that you never thought that just from being the host of a talk show you could earn so much money either.
thats true, so you should learn from my example.
but i am. you did it by keeping true to who you are. you throw in some ebonics when you want to, i bust with the gangsta rap. it keeps us real.
no, it keeps you down.
i talk to myself on a blog on the web. there is no further depth that i could sink, oprah.
yes there is, you could have no hits a day.
van gogh didnt worry about his hits, i wont either.
dont you want this, tony?
want what? a fake talk show devoid of any soul. fake spirituality? Dr. Phil, a rip off Advanced Course trainer gone wild? soft lighting, a penthouse on lsd - lake shore drive, a lover who wont marry me, hangups about my body, zillions of dollars and very little to show from it? i'd rather pump gas and have women let me look up their skirt when im cleaning their windows, thanks.
dont you want to meet people like mariah?
shes not going to want to meet you if youre just a dumb blogger.
i guess im stuck with the teens and the college girls then. oh well.
fine, tony. live in your little fantasy world, make no money, keep yourself confined in the second-teir of amateur authorship. you have a talent that youre just pissing away, day after day. the lord will look at you and judge you on the final day and you'll have no one to blame but yourself.
wrong, oprah, the lord is going to look at me and say, theres a guy who wrote what was true for him and didnt get distracted by flesh, money, power, fame. his treasure was in the kingdom of heaven, not in a bank on michigan avenue. we get judged by our hearts, thankfully. and mine might not be completely pure, but it hasnt sold out fifty times over.
youre so dilluded.
hip hop is american music from our people, oprah. it's as popular as "the sopranos" and makes more money than all "the godfathers" put together. not only would i be a gigantic sell out not to bring light to this music, but i would be a big fat liar because i love it and it kicks my ass. instapundit will link me when he sees something that fits with what he's talking about. hes not afraid of what his readers will think, he's got so many readers and sends people in so many directions and they keep coming back. they come back not because they love where they go, but because they trust him.
so my readers trust me because they know that i might bs with this fact or that fact but when it comes to music, they know theres no fucking around with what i put up there. im going to eat a ding dong now, oprah. give mariah a kiss for me.
oish has a new layout that is unbelievably good
Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band
Born To Run
Columbia Records, 1975
The rangers had a homecoming in Harlem late last night
And the Magic Rat drove his sleek machine over the Jersey state line
Barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge
Drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain
The Rat pulls into town rolls up his pants
Together they take a stab at romance
and disappear down Flamingo Lane
Well the Maximum Lawman run down Flamingo chasing the Rat
and the barefoot girl
And the kids round here look just like shadows
always quiet, holding hands
From the churches to the jails tonight all is silence in the world
As we take our stand
down in Jungleland
The midnight gang's assembled and picked a rendezvous for the night
They'll meet `neath that giant Exxon sign that brings this fair city light
Man there's an opera out on the Turnpike
There's a ballet being fought out in the alley
Until the local cops, Cherry Tops, rips this holy night
The street's alive as secret debts are paid
Contacts made, they vanished unseen
Kids flash guitars just like switch-blades hustling for the record machine
The hungry and the hunted explode into rock'n'roll bands
That face off against each other out in the street
down in Jungleland
In the parking lot the visionaries dress in the latest rage
Inside the backstreet girls are dancing to the records that the dj plays
Lonely-hearted lovers struggle in dark corners
Desperate as the night moves on,
just a look
and a whisper,
and they're gone
Beneath the city two hearts beat
Soul engines running through a night so tender in a bedroom locked
In whispers of soft refusal and then surrender in the tunnels uptown
The Rat's own dream guns him down as shots echo
down them hallways in the night
No one watches when the ambulance pulls away
Or as the girl shuts out the bedroom light
Outside the street's on fire in a real death waltz
Between flesh and what's fantasy
and the poets down here don't write nothing at all,
they just stand back and let it all be
And in the quick of the night they reach for their moment
And try to make an honest stand
but they wind up wounded,
not even dead
tony, school is on the phone.
school? it was one a.m.
sure enough it was school. isla vista university.
tony we want to publish your book.
God bless you.
how soon can you be here?
how are you going to do that?
i have a flying car. i'll land on one of the copter pads on the cliffs by the lagoon.
please dont bring any of those xbi things up here. come alone. show a little class.
knocked on my neighbor's door. the old lady. she said i could borrow her 1980 dodge van.
so it was three on the tree in the middle of the night.
made it to IV in an hour and a half. knelt at the alter of the college of creative studies and didnt dare look up.
go to campus point, build a fire, bring your manuscript, and a cup.
skateboarded through campus turned left at the thunder dome, then took the hill down to the lagoon past the faculty club. found a red wheelbarrow beside some white chickens, gathered wood on my way to the beach, started a fire, a shadowy figure was approaching me with something on his shoulder.
as it got closer i saw that it wasnt a man, it was a woman, and she had what appeared to be a full keg of beer on her shoulder.
mind over matter, tp. good to see you.
it was my creative studies advisor. the reason for everything.
dont use my name on your blog if you write about this, she said. and tapped the keg and filled up my cup.
she sat crosslegged at the fire and accepted my manuscript and read it as the waves crashed and the lighthouse kept very slow time and every once in a while she would laugh and look up at me, proudly, and that meant everything in the world to me.
before we drank very much she was done.
it starts off slow, but i like that. it shows progress. it shows growth. people might read this and see that with practice you get better as you write and you end up with some very good stories along the way.
and it has an ending. a real one. and a real begining.
im so glad you think that.
you need to take the poems out though.
this is a book of short stories. some very short stories. you dont need to apologize for it with your poems.
bukowski put poems and stories together.
i promised people there would be poems.
give them their money back if they dont like it.
did you like the photo essay?
yes, but it needs to be cut out too.
you dont understand, people Love the photo essays.
too bad. this is a book of short stories. dont fuck it up.
i learned early on that she was right about everything, so we clinked plastic cups that said mgd on it and drank.
your grammar is bad and there are lots of spelling mistakes.
no, it's cute. for some reason when you do it it's ok. but whats up with the ee cummings all lowercase who-ha?
its a web thing.
dont change it. i love it. nobody has been able to tribute ee without completely making everyone think of him. youre on the right path.
what about the cover?
the cover needs to be in color. thats gonna cost you.
you think this is going to be free? youre going to pay for everything. and it wont be cheap.
will it look like a book at least?
no, it will look like a college reader. university of isla vista press. get it?
will it have a spine with the title on it?
people wont think that it's a book.
dont judge a book by its spine.
when will it be ready?
friday. come back up here then with a thousand dollars and i'll give you one hundred books.
give me ninety nine, i'd like you to have one.
this is a good thing, tony.
thank you so much, woman who should be praised.
thank me by helping me kill this keg.
17. the comedian
faster harder deeper
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
The Geto Boys
Rap-A-Lot / Def American Records, 1990
(Akshen/Lil J/Willie D)
"Fuck em, fu-fu-fuck fuck em all"
"I bury those cockroaches"
"What'd they ever do for us?"
"I bury those cockroaches"
"Fuck you, mang!"
I gotta bone to pick cause I'm sick
Of you motherfuckers talkin shit
We pick you up, you put us down and I'm mad
Time to talk about your dog ass
Jealous motherfuckers it seems wanna suck a dick
"How do you do em?" Fuck em up like a cardiac
So if your curious get a blood donor
Cause I'mma fuck you up so bad, that you're momma won't know ya
I pity the fool who diss the mastermind of wreckin shit
Now let me tell ya somethin bitch
Get yaself headstone and a box of pine
Cause when I catch up with ya, ya ass is mine
The line is drawn, word is bond
The motherfuckers who crossed it are dead and gone.
Punk motherfuckers gonna suck a dick
what you think about this bullshit?
Fuck those unknown motherfuckers
With a 10 foot pole that can't touch us
Before the Geto Boys came around
You can't front their clout, H-town was no town
Yeah we know you still skeptic
Cause we ain't kissin no God damn ass to be accepted
And if you're waitin on that to happen sucka
You'll be a waitin motherfucker.
Shit outta luck, stuck and got fucked
Fo's up to those who down with us
And to you other mothafuckas in the atmosphere
I'm sayin fuck you loud and clear
Radios, newspapers, TVs
Spreadin lies across the seven seas
Many people thought we couldn't endure
Niggaz are buyin now they ain't so sure
"Billboard" has us check out our status
I don't understand you hoes, whats the matter
The motherfuckers are sick
Constipated, cold fulla shit
They tried to keep us off the market
Straight up hoe shit, they had to stock it
My bank don't pat no monkeys
Cause I kick mo' ass than a donkey
I gotta pump but I will jump
Yous a punk or a one-on-one ya run to the trunk
If you're motherfuckin fear looks at you
I'm Willie D and I came to say, Fuck you!
Fuck you has been stated by the underground master
Show me a hacidity bitch and I'll blast her
Fuck you is what ourselves should do
And spit on ya nasty ass when I'm through
You don't like me, cause what ya see is a figure
I'm a for real ass nigga
I won't iron your clothes or pay rent at your place
There ain't a damn thing baby about my face
The whole faculty's on crack
You say I can't wear my hat, but yo, fuck that
You call yourself teacher, but whats bein taught?
How to fuck kids and not get caught?
How can your teacher reach ya
They're too busy in the halls tryin to fuck the other teachers.
Fuck the motherfuckin critics,
Fuck the radio stations
And fuck your parents against rap
We buried ya fuckin cockroaches
To every motherfucker who diss my crew
I'm sayin fuck you, now what you hoes wanna do?
I got an arsenal in my Blazer for instance
Some shit that'll shake the ground so keep ya distance
Parents confiscate my tapes
Sendin letters and shit talkin bout how they hate
The album controversy's they're rebellin
I don't give a fuck cause the shits still sellin
So this is how the D'll respond
I'mma cuss my ass off for your daughters and sons
And if you don't like it, spouse,
You can suck my dick until your lips fall off
I've had it up to here with this bullshit
To each I preach without a pulpit
Calls I don't do, nails I don't chew
Whenever I fix my mouth to say, FUCK YOU
"I bury those cockroaches"
pretty pass the prissy missies marching down the marble hall. its model day at the xbi, i don't know what we do with these girls but i see them every few months and then i don't. im sure its for a set up here or a fakeout there.
nothing distracts criminals, who are normally men, than a beautiful woman who suddenly pays attention to them.
ive never had to use a model before and now that im in chopper one i have even less use for them, which is good. cuz it is a double edged sword, you know.
a few months back. could it be a year? wow, i guess it was nearly a year ago. one of the models spotted me when i still was working at a desk.
the bus blogger?
no, im the other one.
she said, no you're not, you're The one. god, i really love your stuff i totally didn't even think that you were serious about really working at the xbi but wow, here you are and stuff.
i looked around my cubicle and i said, yep. this is it.
so do you type your blog here on this computer?
no, i do it at home at night and then during my breaks i edit it.
what's the best thing about being a blogger, tony?
the social status.
what's the worst thing?
when people meet you and get to know you, they see the real side, and usually they don't like it and then they blow you off and then its sad.
i would never blow you off.
i know you wouldn't. now please. don't tell anyone i really work here.
want to have drinks tonight?
i don't drink.
oh come on, a shot of rum?
she was tall and lean. short hair. i like it better long. she had a suede skirt on. i remember that so well because it made me think that they do zero physical labor. here i had been on the streets where you get splinters, cuts, bruises, broken bones, shot at, all sorts of things in your shoes, in your hair, and there were people at the same office who were serious about their suede skirts.
maybe at the christmas party you can feel me up, i said, and went back to typing.
funny how the marble rolls this way then that then stops then picks up speed from an invisible hand and rolls
right off the edge.
only to be licked at by a dog who will swallow it and not choke
for God loves dogs and he loves us even more.
ashley sends me pictures because she knows i like pictures of pretty girls. she doesnt like me looking at other girls so she just sends pictures of herself.
i dont mind.
the clock just spins around. every night on the train home i have visions of sugar cubes dancing in my head, but when i pour myself to bed and turn off the christmas lights i see i have accomplished very little. i am killing the carpal. it's nearly gone.
the phone rings but its not you. it rings and it rings. i want to switch over to how the deaf have it where the lights flash instead of the ringing cuz i like blinking lights and i love to give my neighbors the impression that something very mysterious is happening in my bachelor pad, but its all very obvious.
opened the front door last night to collect my mail. i get a tremendous amount of mail for a man with no credit cards, and a fat white cat, spotless, greeted me with a meow.
totally startled me. at first i thought it was a stray but the hair was so freshly groomed, it must have been a neighbor's cat. it meowed cuz it was hungry? it wanted to be petted? it wanted to be a dog?
if it were a dog i would have let it in, instead i said, sorry little cat, stay outside and eat the mice.
there are no mice in my little courtyard behind the white picket fence.
and i like to keep it that way.
chatted on the instant messenger a little. warmed up some chicken that i had george forman grilled sunday night. i cooked up six breasts on sunday and i will eat them each night with a baked potato and either a can of green beans or a can of peas. im so easy to please you have no idea.
i once had a houseguest for a very short period of time. a russian girl. spectacular. she didnt know any english and i didnt know any russian. she wanted to move to new york city and needed a place to stay for a week. i had a futon mattress. i made chicken and peas and potatoes for her every night and we drank vodka because i figured she'd like that. the vodka just made her cry so we switched over to rum.
she read and we listened to jazz and at night she would suck me off and curl up on the futon.
im probably in the very low percentile of bachelors who dont think that the bj is the pinnacle of human contact. i think it's nice. i think its a really nice gesture. i think visually it can be spectacular, and its loaded with symbolism. but unless youre driving somewhere and the girl is bored, or if youre just being naughty in a public place, i could live without it and it would be fine.
i did date a chinese girl in frisco once who told me that she just loved having it in her mouth. she said some guys just love sucking on tits and she was just a girl who always wanted that there.
i think my pale skinny russian guest was like that because the look in her eyes was much differnet than how she looked when she did the dishes after our meal.
anyway, now its hard for me to think about bbq chicken and peas and potatoes and not think of her.
today i will go to the publisher for the final time and beg and give him all the money i have and expect the lowest of quality and the absence of any customer service whatsoever. maybe thats why my blogger header isnt the cheeriest.
there goes mc brown, kicking ass again.
can this be? can i really have nothing of any substance to write about? my fifteen minute break has just started and i look at you, blog, and i think to myself, i got nothing.
chatted with sarah last night and she asked me what my favorite color was and i said pink but i was being dirty. sweet girl didnt even fall for it.
train was fine, bus was fine. two mexican lovers held hands all the way down wilshire. the girl was gorgeous and looked up at her truest and she had beautiful hair, dyed red in parts, nice lips, nice teeth, long lashes. her man had closed shaved hair. not even an eighth of an inch of hair. he stood up in the bus as she sat. it was crowded.
white guy trying to be black got on the bus. earings in each ear. baggy pants baggy jacket and a mets cap on sideways. he tries to pay the man but theres a fat lady right there who wont move into the bus.
how am i supposed to get passed you? he says. she huffs and steps aside.
crazy thing is in twenty seconds theres gonna be another bus and twenty seconds later yet another. still people pack in because, well, if they were bright, they probably wouldnt be riding the fucking bus.
someone tapped my shoulder as i held on while we flew down the miracle mile. i turned around. it was an angel.
she looked at me and i suddenly felt filed with guilt.
her eyes said everything she judged me she had pity on me but not as much as disgust.
havent you gotten everything?
dont you get enough attention?
i had to look down but still i could hear her.
arent you getting enough tail?
isnt it young enough?
dont you get enough channels on tv?
dont you get enough free porn and music from the internet?
the bus slowed down and stopped but it wasnt my stop.
i had no answers for her.
she was so right, so right.
the guy with the mets cap squeezed his way back through the packed bus towards the front to exit thru the front door and i watched to see if he would say anything to the fat woman.
when i turned back around to get judged more the angel was gone.
just like that.
No Left Turn Unstoned
Monday, December 09, 2002
theres whispers among the tabloids that winona has a drug problem. they said that even though the prosecution threw out the drug charges, it doesnt matter, winona is a junkie.
and now that the judge took away her drivers license, i have finally found my dream job. i would do anything to be her driver.
please hire me, baby.
im an excellent driver. i drive the speed limit. i suppose i could drive faster, but i prefer driving slower. i
would drive you anywhere you wanted winona.
would i try to get you off drugs? i dont think a driver has that sort of power. as long as i can remember i have had the tv on and a coca-cola nearby, wanna talk about addictions? theres two.
they also say that libras are not happy unless theyre in love.
is love an addiction to some?
some have it worse than others. me. i have it pretty bad.
one way to ignore it is a job thats worthwhile and exciting.
i cant think of anything more exciting than being winona ryder's personal driver.
winona. i used to work in hr, ok? i had access to people's social security numbers, ok? dont worry your pretty head about anything. you wanna go to deep? sit back and relax, we're gonna go to deep. the forty-duce? coming right up.
no no no. i'll wait in the car.
ive got a little writing to catch up on.
This is Spinal Tap
Christmas with the Devil
The elves are dressed in leather
And the angels are in chains
Christmas with the Devil
The sugar plums are rancid
And the stockings are in flames
Christmas with the Devil
There's a demon in my belly
And a gremlin in my brain
There's someone up the chimney hole
And Satan is his name
The rats ate all the presents
And the reindeer ran away
Christmas with the Devil
There'll be no Father Christmas
'Cause it's Evil's holiday
Christmas with the Devil
No bells in Hell
No snow below-
Silent Night, Violent Night
So come all ye unfaithful
Don't be left out in the cold
You don't need no invitation, no...
Your ticket is your soul
hi sweetie, how are you feeling?
i miss you.
i miss you too. you have no idea how difficult it is posing for pictures and listening to all these stupid dirty old men run their mouths.
i think i can imagine.
ive been sending you signals in my pictures, honey bunny.
what sort of signals?
little things that i do with my hands to tell you that i miss you and i cant wait for you to defile me once again.
what sorta things are you doing with your hands?
just wait. you'll see.
you're too much. hows the record doing?
Stripped is #10.
#10? what the fuck is up with that?
at christmastime, sweetie, youre just lucky to be on the charts. trust me, im happy as hell.
i cant believe it. who's above you?
no really. i mean, thats nice. but seriously.
ok, right above me is avril lavigne.
that little chick? i heard a totally differnet song on the radio the other day. not skaterboy, not the first one...
yeah, shes got a third one out. shes moving units. above her is Paul McCartney, a live record from his tour of the USA.
i thought live records didnt sell.
typically. but the boomers who couldnt afford the $100 seats are shelling out the cash to hear him sing fucking Hey Jude, i guess.
im so happy im not a boomer.
totally. then above him is Faith Hill.
no, the country singer. the blonde. shes real pretty. married to tim mcgraw.
oh yeah yeah yeah. ok. i can see that.
shit. raymi and i were chatting for a breif second and she said she liked that song.
i want to get on raymi so bad.
get in line.
i mean really. im so into that chick.
i dont think she likes you.
oh she will. just wait. then 2 Pac is #5
2 Pac! isnt he dead? is it like a greatest hits or something?
no, tony, it's new material. and it's a double cd!
2 Pac isnt dead.
seriously. above him is Now That's What I Call Music #11.
what the hell is that?
compilation of hits from this year. Nelly's "Hot in Herre," Dirty Vegas, Jennifer Love Hewitt, No Doubt's "Underneath it All," Shakira, Kylie, janet, Norah Jones, Coldplay, Creed. Dixie Chicks doing "Landslide."
sounds completely awful.
it's #4, bitch.
how can that possibly be in this time of Grokster, Kazaa, Morpehous, etc?
the RIAA is full of shit. it was #2 last week.
why dont people just download it all?
some people have lives. other people feel like cheap skates. some are just lazy. and then of course there are those who think that stealing music is immoral.
#3 is the 8 mile soundtrack.
again, wouldnt you think that the demographic who would buy that would download it?
i'm only going to say this one more time, the RIAA is full of shit. aint nobody losing money because of Napster. the kids will buy whatever they want to buy. And they will download it. And they will make copies for their friends, but they will still buy it. Hillary Rosen is so full if it, its ridiculous.
so what's number one?
we're not there hun. #2 is Tim McGraw and #1 is Shania Twain.
country is topping the charts?
looks like it.
no wonder the republicans are taking over. wheres snoop dogg?
this is his first week on the charts with his new cd. it's #12.
what about justin???
that fool? he's down to #19 after 4 weeks. he better get back with britanny or back with n*sync.
i love you christina agueliera.
then learn how to spell my damn name right!
'he's in the back getting a spritz.'
"you can get a spritz in the back of pizzaland?"
'you can if youre tony.'
"hey why are you speaking in single quotes?"
'never mind, let me talk to tony.'
"tony, ladies, sorry to disturb you."
better be important.
'theres a disturbance on the blog.'
fuck the blog.
'the blog's a big earner.'
whats going on?
'ward entertainment feels shunned.'
fuck ward entertainment. wait, who's ward entertainment?
'two kids with a blog.'
ok, fuck ward entertainment.
'they're the ones who call you the blogfather.'
im not the blogfather.
"oh wait, you mean those two little shits who put a stinky poo next to tony's name?"
they put turds next to my name?
'it's their way of honoring you, tony.'
what sort of fucked up thing is that?
'they're saying that youre "the shit."'
"they call that respect?"
'they're kids. whattya gonna do?'
what do they want?
'they want a link.'
how much is that?
give em a fucking link.
'also, sarah's upset.'
fuck sarah. wait, who's sarah?
'that chick you like. she's still upset by what michael jackson said.'
didnt you break his legs like i told you to?
'it got fucked up and we only were able to break a foot.'
a foot? what the fuck? michael jackson beat your ass or some shit? you need me to show you how to break a couplea legs?
'michael's a fast freak. he's got moves.'
"word is he moonwalked right through you."
'he spun, threw his hat. he's quicker than you think.'
fucking michael jackson. you're all giving me agita.
'my recommendation is we do something special for sarah.'
a couple g's, flowers, what?
'shes uptight about her finals. let's send some people up to michigan state and make sure she gets some good grades.'
we know people at michigan state?
he went there?
"yeah, and he's very grateful for all the laker love you give."
ok, is that it? i feel like i havent given these ladies the proper attention.
'theres a bunch of knuckleheads commenting on the blog.'
'all of them?'
any motherfucker who comes into my place and starts talking shit is begging to get wacked.
'see thats the thing, tone, maybe they're acting up so you give them attention. and you'll drive traffic to their site.'
fellas. cant you see these girls are doing their best to relax me? and furthermore, dont you know how hard it is for the good people of pizzaland to turn their storage area into a sauna? take care of the blog. if it's an earner, then dont get in the way of the earning. if it's more of a headache, get rid of it. now where are my van goghs?
"we gave them to kinkos so that they'd print the busblog book."
about fucking time.
"we're gonna steal em back once the books are mailed out."
"then we were thinking about returning them to the van gogh museum, compliments of the busblog."
we have a very good relationship with the dutch. i want to keep it that way. anything else? i think the redhead's getting lockjaw.
just getting warmed up, tony
'kitty bukkake got interviewed in the sunday boston globe yesterday.'
send her some flowers.
"actually, you promised that you'd review her book for blogcritcs."
shit, i'll get on that. i still havent finished it.
"no disrespect, tony, but it's only 12 pages."
im a very slow reader.
'thats it, tony. thank you for your time.'
fine fine. why dont you stay for a minute. you, shut the door behind you as you leave.
wack that guy on the way out. put him in a calzone and send it to the next motherfucker who talks shit.
9. colby cosh
10. ward entertainment
11. raymi and laura
12. quit that