my true love just called me.

shes my true love for lots of reasons but the latest reason is because she just called me from the pit of the main stage at coachella telling me that the beastie boys were just about to take the stage and nearly on cue i heard mix master mike being introduced, a two minute scratching tribute for jam master jay and then my favorite rap group of all, the beasties.

i laid there on my leather couch, turned down the osbournes, watched my pipe smoking unattended, and marveled at the quality of a cell phone from the desert.

i love that girl with all my heart.

hang up any time you want, she told me, and i listened to the whole song, and she came back on the phone and said that she loved me and i told her that i loved her too and told her thanks and she said bye and i said bye.

you might be like me and watch a lot of e! true hollywood stories, well i live in hollywood and this is a true story, im the luckiest man. i may not get everything that i want, or even some of what i want, but i have been blessed with the coolest girlfriends on earth.

just wednesday as a matter of fact i was on the phone with my true love and she was in pain because her neck was bothering her and i told her that i would take the bus right over to santa monica and massage her neck.

she thanked me and told me it wasnt necessary, that her doctor had finally come through with the real meds.

i told her that i was out the door, that i would rub her feet, that i would rub her back, that i would rub her front.

she said she'd be asleep before my bus even made it through west hollywood.

i told her i was going to hijack the bus and floor it down santa monica blvd.

she said dont say hijack.

i told her i was gonna busjack that mother and grand theft auto that shit, crashing into the blockbuster near her house and then run to her pad and slide in through the back door and give her what she needs so badly.

she said that what she needed so badly was sleep.

i reminded her how beautifully we slept together.

she sighed a sweet sigh.

later i said something dirty and then asked her when we'd make beautiful love again.

she told me it had been two years since we had made any love, beautiful or otherwise and things didnt look good for us ever doing it again.

it hadnt occured to me that it had been that long, nor that we wouldnt ever indulge again. ever.

what sort of fantasy had i made up about our future together?

at 109 years old i knew that even if two people were perfect together, and they both knew it and said so all the time, that it still didnt mean that the girl would want any of it.

not even a taste. nor a nibble. nor a bite. nor a lick. or two. or twenty. or twenty two.

i got sad for a breif minute and she could hear it and said she was sorry. i said its ok.

she said dont be sad.

i said im not sad, but i lied.

and when she came over the next day i took hella pictures of her ass so i could remember that id never have that again.

i need to start remembering that.

tina + annessa + splink + j_live

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because marc brown is the coolest he is going to coachella today. just like chris. just like karisa. just like everyone i know.

but unlike everyone i know, only mc brown would have the capability to take pictures and then upload them to his pblog so that all of us, even you, could see what its like to go to the coolest festival of the summer. even before summer has started.

join us now as marc brown goes into the desert to see the likes of the white stripes, sonic youth, the beastie boys, the donnas, iggy and the stooges, queens of the stone age, blur, ben harper, the hives, blue man group, interpol, gomez, black eyed peas, dirty vegas, johnny marr, the red hot chili peppers, nerd, wild child, ian mackaye (spoken word) and many more.

why arent i going? many reasons. biggest of all because im a jackass. and cuz tsar wont be there.

sign up tsar next time, big shots, and you can have my $150 and my two days of eating your food and drinking your costly water.

it's nice to have people to live through in real time (or, like the stock market results, delayed by 5-15 minutes). even if their photos are stretched to 640x380 even though he doesnt want them to. and even though the time function is innacurate on the photo blog.

me, im sobering up from a wild night last night that i will blog about as soon as i get everything sorted out.

and my dss is still down.

and i have a hangover.

and im hungry + thirsty.

and i cant believe its only saturday.

a very special madpony + sk smith is always special + raymi can call me anything she wants

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its saturday morning. im watching mariah on oprah on tivo. i want to fix my satelitte dish but my neighbors are outside and i dont want to talk to them. secretly im painfully shy. and not very cool. you'll see.

last night i caught the subway to vine and walked three blocks north to karisas pre birthday party. her real birthday isnt for a few weeks but she and some other ladies who are also taureses threw a threeway taurus birthday bash at the newest hottest coolest club in la, the wild orchid, formerly the crush bar.

the crush bar had been a bad quasi gay 80s pop dance club for as long as i can remember. in my opinion it was never cool, but it was always there. a staple. a place tourists might go if they didnt know where to go or couldnt get in to some of the better places.

recently somebody bought it or sold it or redesigned it or whatever, but now its wild orchid and people are going crazy over it.

which explained the huge line at 10pm, and the fact that nobody, even these three pretty cute girls werent allowed behind the velvet rope.

but im tony pierce. and im friends with one of the birthday girls.

maybe they had a guest list. so i told the bouncer my name and he looked on the list and my name wasnt on it. then he said. tony pierce?

i said, yes.

he said, what happened to your fro?

i laughed and told him that i lost a bet and he told me it looked good. i said thanks. then he told me i should go to the ivar and to tell them that earl sent me.

i said, but i want to have a drink with karisa for her pre birthday.

and he said aint nobody getting in there, but he did whip out a ten and flowed the busblog.

51. earl

so i went to the ivar. confused, but laughing, cuz sometimes this shit just writes itself.

almost there + cofeenated + fearful symmetry

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hi america, did you miss me? i missed you too. this morning at the xbi was ca-rrrraaazzzyy let me tell you.

but enough about me. lets talk about you.

i hear you went to see Maria McKee last night at the world famous roxy on the fabulous sunset strip. God im so jealous.

did you have pre-show drinks next door at the Rainbow with two of my ex-girlfriends and my lawyer on the patio being served by hands down the hottest bartendress of all time. think blonde, super cute face, huge implants, betty page hairdo but blonde remember, hairnet, and the lowest hanging jeans youve ever seen. definate butt crack cleavage action which i never thought would be cute, but alas, its cute.

anyway what did you order from this bartendress? i would have started with a double baileys with a little creme on ice. but if she was that hot, i bet i would have ordered one and then another, and then maybe some water. and then maybe asked her where the mens room is, even though you know theyre upstair, past karisa at the ms pacman.

and then i woulda ordered a beer when jeanines sister and crazy friend showed up.

i hear Maria was good. im not in love with her new cd but im still in love with her. people were asking me about her way back during the lone justice days (when she was blonde) and i would say that she was a cross between janis joplin and dolly parton. nice combo if you can get it. and now i would add that she looks like a younger grace slick with her dark hair and wild eyes.

can she still sing her damn ass off? did she do that tune off the Pulp Fiction soundtrack? the one where she whistles? fucking a i love that one.

anyhow, i bet you had a great time.

get any?

50. kay

steph and lola (pictured) amuse me + Quinn likes Raymi + tc 210 has my back + and Shift is the shi*t + as is jaded girl

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caption this, please

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jenny yeah got me on instant messenger last night and asked me to take down the link to her site because she was getting too much traffic and it was messing with her chi.

i said fuck your chi.

but i did as i was asked and took down her name and link and put up the boing boing link, which is in the spot where the auction-winning link will go.

lots of hits can affect the way that you write and for jenny i have this bit of advice, dont pay any attention to the spikes when they come. if you do pay attention, only pay attention to why you are getting the hits and how many they are, but when it comes to writing put aside any thought about hits whatsoever.

what i do is i pretend that only one person is reading what i write. normally i think that karisa is the only person reading this.

i know that hundreds and hundreds are reading this, but if i think about that it would alter what i write.

i know that my family is probably reading this, and if i think about that, it would definately alter what i write.

one way to keep it real, jenny, is to write stuff that youre too self-conscious to write.

for example, i love my mom with all my heart, but she doesnt like it when i swear. therefore if i feel like im selling out because im afraid she might be reading that day, i make sure to say fuck a few times.

fuckfuckfuckfuck.

this wont really stop her from reading, but it balances out things so that i can get back to writing to karisa.

hi.

dodger ace sandy koufax said that the key to pitching is relaxation and concentration. i think the same could be said to writing on your blog.

i relax with a generous portion of rum. mc brown has gotten me into captain morgan's spiced rum.

i think the relaxation part is simple.

the concentration part is a little tougher, and thats where your audience of one situation comes in. nobody gets nervous writing a letter to a good friend, and when you write those letters they usually end up focused and direct and good.

if you are trying to write to a huge mass of people who's devoted readership is important to you, youre going to run into trouble.

spikes are spikes. most of those people will never come back to you. never. thats not a sad thing, its normal. think about how many sites and blogs you go to every day and how many you return to.

people arent going to stay. dont be sad. be liberated.

but also know that some will stay. and they'll stay because of the general way that you write, not because of anything special you write that day where everyone is coming.

dont be afraid, jenny yeah. youre a good blogger. you have good design. if that picture is really you, youre a hot babe.

im sure your chi is fine regardless of how many clicks get sent your way from the busblog.

jenny + jenny's photo gallery

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dear readers of boing boing,

so many of you have written in and asked me so many questions that i have decided to answer them all here in this post. if you have any other questions feel free to put them in the comment box. thanks.

my name is tony pierce, but very little else on here is true.

i work for a rouge group of superheroes who were former fbi agents that is secretly called the xbi. based in the city of angels we fight crime and keep the stolen goods and cash and give some of the proceeds to the victims and the poor. but mostly we keep them.

i fly a black helicopter called chopper one thats the baddest motherfucker youve never seen. its fast, its furious, its quiet, and its unable to be seen on most radar. most of this blog is done from a palm pilot that i speak into which is then uploaded at the touch of a button. thats why the grammar isnt worth shit and the spelling is fuct. if it werent for the spell check in Blogger Pro i doubt any of this would be eligible even to the most talented physic.

the blog is called the busblog because even though i have a flying car, i take the los angeles public transportation to work. namely the metro rail subway and the mta bus system. this allows me to collect my thoughts for the hectic days and decompress so i can enjoy my long cold nights alone in my bachelor pad in the hollywood hills.

i am 109 years old, im african american but mostly american, i am a libra, and yes ladies, i am single.

my hobbies include short walks on the beach, holding hands, and watching my favorite rock group Tsar with all of my friends.

i try not to write too much about the girls that i date, but i have been known to write about a special nba cheerleader who has the hots for me, several ex-girlfriends who i have the hots for, and a certain russian tennis star named anna who is a gemini - my astrologicial match.

xeni wrote about me in boing boing last night and for that i am quite flattered. http://boingboing.net/markf.htmlshe called this blog "well trafficked" which might be true, but the Instapundit gets literally 100x the hits that i get, so i consider that well trafficked. regardless, i do have a Stat Tracker that i leave public for this page because it's pretty accurate and i think it might be interesting for people to see how i get my 800-1,000 hits a day. usually it's from lots and lots of little blogs, although today is a rare exception.

i love blogging and it is exciting to be with you here in the beginning of this revolution, and because of that i want to share any information that i might be able to have. to me all of this could be considered a grand experiment. this blog certainly is.

as xeni wrote, currently im experimenting with an ebay auction where im auctioning off a link from this blog. i did a similar experiment a little over a year ago where i made $15. back then i was getting about 300-400 hits a day. so now with the advent of Blogshares which speculates what an outgoing link is worth, monetarilly, i decided to dust off the ebay auction idea to see how close they were to reality.

another art project science fair thing im doing is seeing how many of the 1,000 people a day will donate $10 to me so i can buy a car. right now after almost three months ive raised about $600. i think thats pretty good. but its far from the $20,000 that would get me a new car. the purpose isnt to actually get a car, its to get a car simply from asking people who enjoy this blog. if i wanted a car i could just keep one of the many that we at the xbi confiscate from the bad guys we bust.

but i dont do that. the total amount of funds i keep from the xbi amounts to about $30k a year. all the rest i give to charity, bums, and the united negro college fund. i do that because i dont like blood money and i want to go to Heaven when i die.

i'd write more about myself, but right now i have to catch a bus.

my dream job would be to travel the world, blogging about the cool people i meet, ideally for my local paper the Los Angeles Times.

ive also been known to do "funny" photo essays.

at the bottom of my posts i like to link cool sites

boing boing + my best friend is on the main post of reverse cowgirl sitting next to my lawyer + the front of my web site usually has something interesting on it.

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you know im a dork, right? well, i am.

not only do i not talk to the hot chicks on the bus, even though getting a date at the busstop has got to be one badass achievement, but i play fantasy sports.

i play lots of fantasy sports.

right now i am playing in 11 fantasy baseball leagues. yesterday it had been cut to 10.

apparently the commissioner of the league didn't want anyone challenging his rule. he posted these remarks in the messageboard and then quoted Duke Nukem and told everyone that it was his way or his way and then called us all fags and whiners if we didn't like it.

naturally i had a difficult time ignoring the opportunity to throw my two cents into the mix.

but when he vetoed my Greg Maddux and Alex Gonzales for Jeff Suppan and Rafeal Furcal trade (where I would be getting the future Hall of Famer) i had to say my peace.

i was immediately rebuffed.

then someone else agreed with me, and he, too, was put into his place. we were both accused of being homosexual, and then promptly locked out of making any moves and we couldn't post our statements any longer.

after a full two minutes of research i found the commissioner's home email address. then i found his work email address. then i found his work web page. then i found his work phone number.

i thought about calling his work pretending to be an auto dealer to verify his employment. i imagined that they would say that yes, he works there. then i was going to say, and does he reside at 1122 Boogie Woogie Ave? to which they would probably say, no, he lives at ... and then i would have his home address.

i didn't go that far. im a writer, and an xbi agent. im no stalker.

so i wrote him a little email that started off with dear fuck for brains.

i asked him what sort of nazi locks people out for exercising their freedom of speech.

then i told him what sort of nazi locks people out for speaking their minds.

then i went into some graphic detail about his mother and the things that make her different than most women.

saddest thing in the world is my best writing comes when im super pissed off.

and just as sad is it usually is wasted on emails to people who quote duke nukem.

so i concluded my email by telling him that as soon as he was finished licking his moms hair nutsack that he should consider unlocking me and whoever else that he locked out of the league unless he was the pussyass bitch that i was betting he was.

this morning i was unlocked from the leauge and he told everyone that he was no longer playing.

sweet victory, im warmed in your glory.

cannes 2003 line-up + earth-info + folded space

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clipper girl knocked on my window last night in the wee hours i thought it was a dream so i rolled over. she said no no no. open the door.

she had lost her key. but i was still asleep and hearing her voice made me excited so i reached down and kicked off the covers.

she tapped on the window a little more and called out my name. that only got me more happy and i worked on it.

this only made the cute clippergirl giggle and she just stood there and watched for a minute and finally started banging on the window which startled me and woke me up.

tony, she said.

i looked around and said what to no one in particular.

let me in.

i looked over to the window, saw a face where no face usually is and it made me shriek like a girl.

hi-e she waved.

i let her in.

why do i let these people in.

she came inside my apartment and told me that she wanted to watch tv with me because she had had a nightmare and couldn't sleep.

i reminded her that it was 3am.

she said please please just for a few minutes.

so i put a log on the fireplace, made her some hot chocolate and we cuddled in blankets on my couch and watched cartoon network.

what do you want to be when you grow up, she asked me as i sat there with my head on her shoulder. we hold hands a lot. shes got nice hands.

not so dumb.

no really, what would you like to be.

loved by hundreds.

you cant even be serious for a minute can you.

she gets mad easily. oh well. the cocoa made me burn my tongue. it always does.

when i grow up, clipper girl, i want to be as happy as i am right now.

and with that she turned off the tv and we passed out like monkeys on my dumb leather couch.

splink + mallory + j_e_g

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marc brown threw a swinging party the other night and sometimes its fun just to watch the guys hit on karisa. ive never seen anyone do all that well except this one guy who whispered a poem in her ear.

its one am. i should be asleep. i only got three hours sleep last night. cuz im a dumbass.

boss wasnt at work today. didnt matter. still had tons of work to do.

this one girl emailed the whole agency saying she wanted to hang out. it was actually super sweet, all in different colors, telling everyone where she liked to drink and dance. its funny cuz earlier that day i wanted to tell her that i really liked her style.

she always has some interesting get up going on.

anyways, she'll probably get canned for abusing the precious company email.

too bad i dont like to dance.

im up late because the white stripes are on conan all week this week starting with tonight and i wouldnt mind seeing them before i sleep. i must have talked to 45 people on the phone tonight. my lawyer, chris, dude from work, karisa, mary, my cell phone company, ashley, and even raymi, who said shed call me back in twenty minutes and then never did. she was calling me from the kmart.

blonty, where are you?

she had dropped the phone.

im here im here. i yelled in the phone.

keep yelling, im finding you, she said.

help me, ive fallen!

blonty, ive found you.

raymi calls me blonty because my name is tony like tony blair, thus the bl and then onty because thats t-o-n-y all tangled up.

raymi can call me anything she wants.

since everyone is going to coachella, looks like there wont be any raymi party, so i guess we'll just have to wait till next year.

the cubs are in first place.

i made the best chicken today.

thanks to everyone who added a comment on the thing. experiment complete. it really worries me that it took three days, four days just to get 71 peeople to say something, anything, on a blog comment. it worries me that it might take ten years to get this car.

its ok, ive got ten years.

49. Georgy

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caption this, please

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dear alabama,

j mascis wants to know where you been. ive missed you and i aint never kissed you. tell me all about yourself. where do you live. are you a neighbor, are you a faker, are you a player, are you a hater.

i walk down the street with one hand in my pocket and one holding a cigarette squinting cuz i always forget my cheap sunglasses and i see girls with parisols and girls with high tops and girls with dreadlocks and i wonder is that her, and two of them will push their noses up against the window of a shop and i pass by whispering alabama but they never turn around.

alabama. what sort of name is that? italian?

i still cant get that white stripes bass line out of my head and i guess thats a good thing. life is beautiful when theres a good song being played on the radio. i remember the first time i heard with or without you. the first time. you too hadnt had a new record in a long time and in the middle of the night going south on the 405 just past the 10 the dj put on the familiar bass line of with or without you and it was like someone slowly opening up a christmas present for me in the middle of the night like a magician with white gloves while a rabbit emerged from the hat and it wasnt a rabbit at all. it was bono and he wanted to howl.

where did you sleep last night. was it beneath twinkly stars. are there fireflies where you live. was the window open. alabama, whos the manna.

do you like the beastie boys ms whoorley. i dont want to be here today. i want to be anywhere. i fly over these houses and theres all these swimming pools and movie stars and nobody is ever using their pools and it makes me sad. it makes me want to land chopper one and dive in. it makes me want to oh theres someone swimming. lots of people dont wear clothes when they swim in their pools. i think i would. im sorta shy about that stuff.

last night this girl found my s/n and started asking me all these question. personal questions. sexual questions. i was in a trusting mood so i told her. im sure it will end up in some british tabloid but i'll just deny it. but i'll tell you cuz youve never done me wrong. youve always been so cool to me. ive never done anything for you and there you went and made a blog with my name all over it. she asked me about oral and i told her and she told me that i was insecure. i told her that i am insecure but not in those moments. i told her that the best cure for an insecure boy is a naked girl getting nakeder. not saying a word. no music playing. no nothing playing.

just the crickets in the tall grass, just the thin curtains rubbing against the blinds. just the breathing. just the eyes closed. just the mouth opening, then the mouth closing. rubbing their legs together. making little sounds together.

i dont want to be anywhere near here today but since i have to i will do what my good pal told me to do and ask that girl from the third floor to lunch. i have my evil kenievel leather pants on and my super tight tsar tshirt, black. my belly is shrinking but not by much. my hair is so bad. hows a guy gonna get any with this hair. i want to keep my helmet on. i want to keep my cowboy boots on. i want to keep my spurs on but the marines think im going loco. im not going loco alabama.

im not going anywhere.

ms. whoorley

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i want to write as good as jenny yeah. she pretends that she cant write but she can. she makes up the best stories like the one about her being the drug dealer escalade driving hottie knowing full well im the undercover five oh in the mothafuckin hizzy. which one is the red light witch one is the blue light. she is the perfect example of what this auction is all about, but not really. im happy that hers is the link where the winner will be for may, cuz her shit is tight, even if shes not that italian girl in the window.

i want to write as well as raymi with her canadian crypticism. always one step ahead of you. always making more than you. while singing. while dancing. while getting studied. by the xbi. on the beach. on literal lockdown here in the land of the free and home of the brave. poked and probed and examined with electolight and blue uv rays from across the street when she wasnt looking.

i want to be able to tell sex stories like the adultress, but i have this crazy idea that the right people might read this thing on the wrong day and not get me out of this tower, repunzel, and i need them. i need them more than i need to write about the carnal side of this rubiks cube. twist and turn and pull the lever and one day you'll have cherry cherry plum. spin it again, jackpot cherry cherry. 'round like a record baby. i dont spin enough thats my problem and when i do it isnt the max bet.

the problem with writing on here looking for a luster who wont drive me crazy is old school journalism new school journalism any school journalism just wants the same old bob greene bullshit and they couldnt care less that even though i date the teens he dated the fucking pre teens while being married for like twenty five years and thats who oprah has as an expert on her show. but no, because i push the envelope like every linebreak i get punished. and in a perfect world i would be so honest. and i could pull it off. lord knows i could pull it off.

i saw joyce carol oats at a reading and you think she tells the truth. she doesnt tell any damn truth. kids arent linking her ass on the web. the kids barely link my ass but theyre starting too. and whats fucked up about everything is i have eighteen to thirty four locked in bitches thats whats fucked up. nobody busts with the slow jams the freestyles the freaky deakey around the back through the legs take off from the charity stripe

switch hands slam on my man like your boy. nobody.

which one of those cleancut sellouts change their shit up once a week, invent new rules, turn you on to new girls, brave the new world.

all on a bus.

cut with a cuss.

new york times couldnt pay me enough.

i want to write like bukowski who never knew doubt.

his fingers are the fingers that fingers dream about.

reverse xeni + frankenstein + kevynn + raspil iverson

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raymi and anti came over and visted me on easter sunday because theyre born again like me and wanted someone to fellowship with.

first lets talk about anti because when you have two big personality types like dumbass (moi) and raymi, theres not a lot of space to get a word in edgewise. fortunately anti isnt the type of guy who seems to worry very much about getting a word in edgewise. he seems perfectly content to sit on the couch with his feet up looking way too much like ad rock, being far too mellow while drinking his beer, and at the same time very attentive to raymi's needs. i think he has a little crush on her.

who wouldnt?

my girl raymi has it all. shes young, fun, and full of canadian trivia.

like nearly everyone that ive met in real life who i originally was made aware of through this blogger thing, raymi is far prettier in the flesh. and, sadly, less nude.

raymi has a blog called i think manic. she doesnt think manic. she thinks and she says it and i like it. she touches her nose for emphasis and i think it means something.

because it was easter raymi got dressed up. extra dressed up since we had never met. she wore a black striped jacket and a tshirt. her jeans were fashioably ripped at the knee, freshly, it looked like, and accidentally since i think i spied a cut on her bare knee. she had things written on her jeans, but i dont stare.

she did have a button on her lapel that simply said fuck in all caps.

her hair was reddish orange. it was up. then she shook it out and it was down. then she stole anti's hat. then she took off antis hat and put my pick in her hair.

then she started talking and she didnt stop.

if you tried to get a word in edgewise she would tell you timeout and keep going.

anti would jump in and tell her that she should be careful with a certain train of thought because it might actually drive her manic, and she would listen.

made me think she had a little crush on him.

they seemed to work great together.

raymi is constant motion. a tornado of ideas and theories and swirling commentary. shes childlike with the wisdom of a poet on acid. she likes to smoke. she smoked a bunch with anti and they put out their butts in the little container of ranch dressing. after i warmed up some pizza slices she poured garlic powder on it and looked at the ranch dressing ash tray and wished she hadnt ashed in it cuz now she wanted to dip her pizza in there.

shes skinnier than youd think. she gets tall and gets short within minutes. i saw her levitate. but just for a second.

if i had something bad on tv she would ask me to pause it or turn it down three or four. if something was good she would ask me to turn it up four or five. she wasnt afraid to ask for what she wanted. mostly she wanted things to smoke drink eat watch or listen to. often times all in the same moment.

on one hand i was happy to to oblige. these were great people whose blogs i greatly admired. on the other hand it did get to be a little part time job all its own, but i didnt mind. raymi's rad as hell and if i ever have a talk show she will be my ed mcmahon. i asked her if she would and she said yes.

raymi, 20, is from canada. we know this because she says aboot. we also know this because she says things like, they paid me 500 american. she talks a lot about alex trabeck too. lots of things not canadian are canadian to her. its cute. if you call her on it she'll just get going on something else. she has it bad for douglas copeland and bill gates, in that order.

i took lots of pictures but none of them turned out very well cuz i suck.

i want to have a party this weekend at someones house so that we can celebrate this canadian celebrity.

she wants to be a star, but she already is one.

anti + raymi + how to be a small town slut

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my life is so dull. people ask me how much of this is true and i tell them none and then they don't believe me.

i never get to play major league baseball. i never get to hit three run home runs. i never get hit in the head by some soloman torres chin music that ends up cracking my helmet.

i pretty much just fly chopper one all day, take the bus home, and watch tv. i guess i cant expect wild craziness to happen if im just sitting on my ass pausing live tv on my damned tivo and taking pictures of palm trees and traffic lights.

heres what my astrology says for this week:

Libra for the week of April 17, 2003 by Rob Brezney

My acquaintance Judith decided to go all out in helping her daughter sell Girl Scout cookies. She filled her garage with cases of all nine varieties in preparation for a marketing onslaught on friends and neighbors. Then one night disaster struck. Raccoons exploited a hole in the roof to break in and plunder the stash. But while the marauders ripped open boxes of every cookie type, they ate only one: the Samoas, also known as Carmel deLites, which are covered in caramel, sprinkled with toasted coconut, and laced with chocolate stripes. In the coming week, Libra, I urge you to be like those raccoons in this one regard: Unleash your passionate hunger very precisely. Don't go after what you sorta kinda like; pluck only the treats you long for with all your heart.

So what do i long for with all my heart?

a great job that pays me a bunch of money? for the Cubs to win the world series? world peace? for my afro to return to even more glorious splendor? a super hot bisexual girlfriend who is constantly trying to impress me?

hmmm.

a house, a car, a horse, a bar, no more spam, all the local channels across the usa on my directv at a reasonable price?

a nice big fluffy dog named Ruffy?

71 comments on every post that i write from people who want to tell me how cool i am and how beautiful moxie is?

a good cd from beck that sounds more like odelay and less like mutations?

for my phone here at the office to stop ringing since i have a hangover?

for the cute girl in the typing pool to ask me out to koo koo roo for lunch?

to get an interview to work on the howard stern show?

to get to blog for a living while traveling the world?

for the fcc to say that boobies on cable tv are ok, since they are just boobies after all and since we live in america after all, the land of the free and home of the brave after all and they're just boobies and kids don't need as much protection from boobies as we thought?

for my aunt to know that i love her and i was happy that she called me on easter even though i haven't talked to her in probably 75 years?

yes, i think i would want that one, mr. astrology man.

buffonery

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