Saturday, January 18, 2003
dear people who got here from salon
my name is tony.
hundreds and hundreds of you have just clicked through at least one of the photo essays and now you're here.
click here for more photo essays.
you can also leave me a comment and tell me how badass you think this blog is.
Friday, January 17, 2003
after we talked, kurt and i stopped talking. i forgot to tell you that the whole time we were talking we were eating this sticky carmel stuff that we were sitting on.
it didnt smell that gross and it tasted ok and we were both starving like crazy and i could hear him eating it so i started eating it too.
most people dont know this about me but my stomach is pretty crazy. kurt used to have the same problem, before he blew his fool head off.
my stomach will hurt like a bitch if i put anything in there that it doesnt agree with, but as i have grown older it has gotten better.
i think it has to do with this natural herb that i was prescribed back in college.
i forget what its called.
anyway now if i eat something that doesnt agree with me it will either shoot right through me and come out one end, or i'll get super sick and puke it up immediately.
this carmel stuff didnt make me puke or the other thing, but i started seeing weird colors and thinking bizarre thoughts.
everything had to be tied together in some way.
my line of thinking normally wanders any old which way but after i had a few handfulls of this almost peanut buttery gunk i was trippin pretty hard.
i heard kurt snoring somewhere over there and i figured we were dead anyway so what the hell.
then it felt like the walls were getting closer.
then it felt like someone turned up the heat up in this piece.
then it felt like someone turned up the air conditioner full blast.
then i saw little sparkely stars in the blackness.
then i could swear that i heard someone saying my name.
then i could swear that i could hear an angel and God talking about how disappointed they were in me.
then i could swear that i could hear the angel say that they could reassign my soul to the body of a lightskinned black man who would grow up and work for the secret angel-led undercover crime fighting unit called the xbi.
then i could swear that the good Lord said that He didnt think that i had what it took.
then i could swear that the angel said that they would make it so that i wouldnt be able to feel any pain because i really would still be dead.
then i heard the good Lord chuckle.
then i heard the angel chuckle.
then they both started laughing.
then they either high- or low-fived, it was dark, i couldnt see shit but weird colors.
then i got punched in the nose and i passed out.
first let me tell you that blogging from the strange thick heavy wet darkness isnt so easy.
in fact the fact that one could blog from this place should be considered some sort of modern miracle.
in fact the fact that i have been blogging in secret from an internet cafe in the pits of Hell should be regarded as spectacular to say the least, but i guess i shouldnt be suprised when not everyone shares my beliefs.
so me and kurt sat around in the humid nothingness talking to each other about punk rock, poetry and the decline of major league baseball in the minds of the average american.
then he told me that he had to ask me some questions about life on earth since he's been gone.
is music any better?
is rock any better?
how about tv?
tv's pretty good. they have a lot of reality shows now.
weirder than that.
what was the best thing that you've seen on tv in the last 10 years?
they had this thing called The Glutton Bowl, where they had people eating brains and balls and mayonaise...
what sort of balls?
oh shit, i thought you meant like tennis balls or ping pong balls.
nah, cow balls.
i think so.
how much mayonaise?
bowls and bowls. they made them eat sticks of butter too.
what did they win once they ate all that?
i dont remember.
hmmm. i miss earth, tony.
it misses you too, kurdt.
Thursday, January 16, 2003
it was true. kurt cobain had flown down into the pits of hell, rescued me, and now we sat in utter darkness.
are we still in hell?
are we in Heaven?
are we ok?
do you know whats going on?
are you going to tell me?
do i have to figure it out?
do you think i can figure it out?
it was a thick darkness. like gravity was heavier.
and still somewhat liquidy.
like you were underwater
but not that heavy.
like if you were a slow fish.
are we in limbo?
did rock and roll just save my soul?
that broken girl
hi this is ashley's hat.
i would like to thank you on behalf of ashley for being so nice to her during her birthday week.
especially all the nice gals and girls who wrote her emails of love as she turned the big two one.
tony is a swell guy but since he's in hell things have been sorta tough for the daisy princess.
theres nobody to model sexy lingerie for, theres no one to watch nba hoops with, theres no one to make midnight mcdonalds runs with for that bed time McFlurry.
of course ashley has been dating some of the eligible bachelors of orange county but no one is like our pal tony.
these guys bathe and shave and brush their teeth and sport the latest fashions, but theyre not him.
they have cars, and high paying jobs, and savings accounts and credit cards, but theyre not our dead friend.
we hats know what turn on the young girls, and sometimes it might be something as simple as a gentle touch, a massage or a backrub before or after a passionate session of making the bed shake.
so since she has been without that for more than a month, your emails of fond wishes hit her in the right place.
so thank you kind people.
like a theif in the night someone slipped into my cave and tapped me on the shoulder.
suddenly i heard alarms go off and terrible bashing sounds. then an earthquake.
i was pulled up by the hair and began soaring.
all i could see was blonde hair dyed with red.
he held me in one arm and flew while shooting a shotgun at the demons that came at us from all angles.
one gruesome creature ripped at a wing and got it good.
we landed on a molten lava flow and i saw it was kurt, he reloaded his shot gun and stood in front of me and picked off one guy after another.
heads popped off one by one.
infact what was freaky was that kurt only aimed at the heads and hit nearly every one with each shot.
when he ran out of bullets he shot a stream of webbing from his wrist, picked me up and swatted the second round of demons with a stratocaster that he wore against his back.
we soared higher and higher, he bit the top off of what looked to be a hand grenade and dropped it and within a second, less than a second even, it exploded and the energy lifted us up fast
and soon we were in absolute darkness.
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
it's tricky to do a good job here because i keep thinking that if they like me they'll wanna keep me.
i just got back from Texas where i stole a whole damn crate of bubonic plague from Texas Tech.
i was there to get Bobby Knight's autograph cuz i love him and my boss totally loves him and i saw that some jackhole had propped open a door that said "Private" with a small stack of yellow pages.
saw about 150 viles of what said "bubonic plague" and thought it might be an interesting thing to bring back down to the depths with me.
The feds are saying it's only 30 viles, which is typical.
When I brought it to my boss, he smiled a little and thanked me and then told me to go back to cleaning the firey beach of cigarette butts and condoms.
saw a couple kids swimming in the lake.
kids will swim anywhere.
this lake is mostly gasoline and pee.
the tops are in flames.
they bodyboard and their skin welts up and forms a strange sort of wet suit, except its a welt suit.
kitty has komments
stood in line at Customer Service for a few hours early this morning. got to the front of the line and asked the woman how i could get re-judged.
she said, you need the grace of God.
i asked, is there any other way?
she said, oh wait, you have a blog, right?
i said, yes, why yes i do.
she said, you need the grace of God and 100 new permalinks.
i said, theres no way in Hell i can get 100 new permalinks.
she said, theres lots of ways in Hell, if you havent noticed, you figured out how to blog from here, didnt you?
i said, what if i got 50 permalinks?
she said, what if you got 100 permalinks?
i said, what about 75?
she said, if you got 84 i would think about it, but you would also need the grace of God and you'd have to start writing a whole lot better.
i asked, is there any time limit to any of this?
she said, nope.
so i asked, so i just sit here and suffer and do my thing and pray and hustle for links?
she said, thats a good start. and she pulled a lever and a trap door opened beneath my feet and i was plummetted into a pit beneath customer service, which also doubled as the development room for many of FOX's reality based shows.
i saw Simon from American Idol, i saw that dumbass Joe Millionaire and i saw that Japanese kid who can eat hotdogs like crazy.
he barfed on me and simon said i had talent as a target.
then i had to watch my girl Anna lose to Justine Henin-Hardenne of Belgium 6-0, 6-1 in the Austrailian Open.
Tuesday, January 14, 2003
in hell, these are men. so be careful.
deceit is everything here.
trickery. lies. the fakeout.
you can be playing football and your whole offensive line will just let the fuckers run right thru on an all out blitz and you're going to eat it for a down.
what can you do?
they know that the easiest thing to do is to let some motherfucker storm through like a bitch, but they don't care.
you take a breather when you can down here.
let someone else pay for a minute, at least it's not you.
people fight sometimes but it's not really worth it, you'd be surprised how peaceful it can be once you learn to ignore the shrieks and the terrible moans of suffering and the unbelievable sounds of bones being broken and crushed and twisted and bleached and rebuilt.
the men look like women and the women look like ugly women except for the poor who look like transvestites with big feet and adams apples and fake boobs and prom dresses.
the crowd stomped their feet and applauded when a she-she like they're called stepped up to me in the sex palace, but i was just there to watch.
it was my day off from performing.
so i went back to work on my cotton candy and nodded to the damned
and kissed the hand
of the woman
who looked like a man
but was really a woman.
they play van haggar everywhere you go.
and everyone is wearing burberry.
welch is back
the world's greatest cheeseburger
Monday, January 13, 2003
if youre good in Hell and do something really spectacular that week like throw a virus into the internet that fucks up a bunch of computers, or cause a major pileup on a freeway, or help phil collins release a new cd, some of the arch devils will let you go to a raider game.
i was bad last week but not that bad.
two of the guys who got to go came back this morning and told us all how great it was.
i was super jealous cuz i love the raiders.
the best gift i ever got was a long time ago my old girlfriend got me Raiders / Broncos Monday Night tickets and she was so cool that she didnt even make me take her, she said i could take one of my housemates.
i love that girl.
theres lots of ways to make it back to Earth temporarilly. you can get a guest pass, like the pictured demons did, or you can get a little assignment, like when i had to be a santa claus in the mall that one day.
but sometimes you can come back to Earth on a permanant basis, the only catch is you are either disfigured in one way or another or you get a lame job.
lots of famous people are actually Damned Souls who worked out a deal where they could spend their time on Earth as opposed to shoveling coal, like im doing today, in the Depths.
Alan Greenspan is a great example.
Alan wanted to do a good job on Earth but his punishment for being an asshole in his past life is being a total imbecile in this life.
Which is why he has lost trillions of dollars in the economy as the Fed Chairman.
Some might think that he would want to cripple the US economy, being that he is a demon and all, but no, just the reverse. Some hellions have been known to get a repreive if they do a good job on Earth despited their doomed status. Jack Nicholson is a great example. William S. Burroughs is another.
These are men who were damned, worked out a deal to spend some time on Earth and faught against the devil's prodding to do evil, and they served mankind with goodness. Sure they lost a few battles and took a golf club to a windshield or murdered a woman, but for the most part they led decent lives and inspired others to follow suit.
I got an offer last night to come back to Earth as an AIDS baby, but i declined. I'll wait for something better to come up, like be a Black Republican Senator or something slightly evil like that.
speaking of evil, i saw hitler at the gym on saturday.
i said, hi hitler.
you'd think he'd be a big wig here, but he's not, his assignment was to take over the world and he failed. he's considered a failure. he hands out towels outside the sauna.
sorta ironic, but not really.
i kneed him in the nuts.
he couldnt do anything since he was chained to a rock.
ive been getting into a few fights down here.
its all good.
dear anna kournikova,
i think we should go out.
we're both air signs and if you believe in that stuff, we're super compatible.
a few problems are in our way for true love, of course, but that could be the case for any two people.
biggest problem i would imagine is my age.
if youre into older men then i guess its ok. its ok with me, if you were wondering. ive dated girls in their early 20s for most of my life.
the other minor problem is im dead.
and im in hell.
but we can work that out later.
my turn-ons? i like to make out in hot air balloons. i like good food. good friends. short walks on the beach. and i really like blogging.
because nothing on my blog is true, you dont have to worry about me giving away any of your secrets cuz noone would believe it anyway.
my turn-offs? hell, hell-related activities, back pain, carpal tunnel, major newspapers who wont hire me even though i beg them through blog entries, death, and the sad decline of kroq 106.7.
im a fun loving, caring, sensitive poet with a mellow disposition and a good computer loaded with tons of mp3s.
strangely, anna, i know very little about you.
so please feel free to write me at firstname.lastname@example.org
nice work beating Henrieta Nagyova earlier today in the Austrailian Open 6-1, 6-2.
p.s. i lust you.
dear la times
hi, my name is tony. i've written you before.
i really need a new job and i would really like to work for you.
all my friends bash you and i can understand their point of view. but me, i think that sometimes it's a little easy to bash the biggest target on the block.
i want to work for you, i want to make everything better, i want to make a little more money than i make now, but most importantly i want to rock.
dont you want to rock?
of course you want to rock.
i like what youre doing with the format and design of the paper. what it says to me is that you want to be different than before, you want to be better, you want to throw out the old and bring in the new.
im new! im new! im new!
and im old.
ive been around the block, la times. i have. i swear i have.
i have something to say and i know how to say it.
young and olde alike say that im a good writer and normally i dont believe them but sometimes i do and when i do it pisses me off to no end that i cant get a job doing what i love to do which is writing.
i want to be the new school mike royko. is that so bad?
let me write obituaries for you like he did when he started out. i dont care.
but eventually let me write a daily blog on your website because i think the good people of the world would love to know whats happening in LA that doesnt get covered in the paper or on tv or on any of the hollywood tv shows or even on E!
all my life i have totally enjoyed finding the cracks and filling them in.
so much slips inside those cracks thats worthy of exposure and now we're seeing on tv that tons of stuff that were never before believed to be Important or Professional or Interesting or capable of getting ratings are hugely popular.
when i was a lad there was news on tv at 5pm, 6pm, and 10pm and thats it. there was no espn. now there are multiple news channels and multiple sports channels.
why hasnt pro journalism also expanded in the daily paper?
why isnt the young voice represented in a column, and how come there are a million blogs and none on your web site?
i am tired, of waiting, la times.
im dying out here.
somethings got to give and i swear to you it's killing me.
please save my life.
if you dont im going to have to work at fatburger and wear a paper hat and i cant go for that, noooo, no can do.
your next big thing,
saturday was ashley's birthday. she's 21 now. my but does time fly.
her friends picked her up and took her to several bars and they drank and in the morning they had crepes and saw "chicago". she was upset that none of her friends from her drew barrymore web site said happy birthday to her and i appeared into a dream of hers and told her it was cuz all of her friends were jealous of her popularity and assumed that popular people didnt need to be told happy birthday to.
she sobbed and said that she isnt as popular as people think and she loves being told happy birthday to.
so i told her that i would put her email address on my blog so that people could wish her happy birthday.
my weekend in hell was pretty good, considering.
in hell its normal to add "considering" at the end of most of your sentences.
i had a beautiful dream that lots of my friends came over to my old apartment and we barbequed and watched the raiders trounce the jets. and we drank and ate and chris brought over brownies and jeanine and kim tried to see who could be skinnier and karisa came over with her pal liz and some dog peed in someones purse and people laughed but then got sad cuz there was a lot of pee, i mean a lot.
then a hot 21 year old girl came over in my dream and watched High School Reunion with me and Best In Show on Tivo and we fell asleep on the couch like little monkeys all tangled up and then we woke up and made beautiful lust.
but then, alas, i arose from my dark cave this morning with no beautiful young girl going down on me, no soft bed to recline in, no remote controlled operated stereo system to drown out the low moans, no towel to wipe off with, no howard stern to drive to work with.
all i had was a little flow of lava to block the entrance to the community shower of slime and a cold of artic wind to welcome me to the working week, and a terribly sore back to remind me that i am old and in a bad place.
and it's only monday.