sex saturday oughtta be called safe sex saturday is what miss montreal told me today.

i asked her if i was insane about my views on condom use and she said no, but that i practiced the safest sex shes ever encountered. and that i was intense about it.

i am intense about it and it kills me that i often find myself alone in my thinking on this topic.

to me it's simple: condoms every time, period.

nobody talks about diseases that they have, and people for some reason tell me Everything. and i know zillions of people.

am i to believe that nobody i ever met ever got a disease?

nobody?

impossible.

do people tell you about diseases they get?

if they dont tell you and they dont tell me, then nobodys telling anyone,

and if nobodys telling anyone then perhaps thats why we have this completely unrealistic and untrue collective unconscious which says: i wont get a disease because people that i know and people who are like me are clean. it's only Other people who get stds.

or pregnant.

heres another thing: everyone i know gets laid. even i get laid and im no runway model. which tells me that whatever is out there can spread fast.

so heres my christmas wish

smart people: start acting smart

mc brown has great pics of last night

# | |

# | |

dear karisa,

thank you so much for being my date at the xbi christmas party.

i had an incredible amount of fun with you!

thanks for having your roommate drive us to the thing, i felt like i was 15 and your mom was taking us to the high school dance.

thanks for daring me to drink one kamakazee after another.

thanks for starting it all off with champagne... and not the champagne of beers like we normally rock it.

thanks for rocking.

thanks for wearing that hot dress and dominatrix shoes which made people forget that even though it was a tie and coat affair that i was wearing sneakers and a sweater that i had just bought at the gap. cuz im a dork.

thanks for reminding me that im a dork.

thanks for eating wolfgang puck pasta and chicken and shrimp with me on the stage.

thanks for not laughing at my ancient dance moves on the disco floor.

thanks for not barfing on me when the bass from Brass Monkey drove us off the floor.

thanks for not laughing at the one dude who brought his transvestite boyfriend.

thanks for waiting out in the cold with me for 20 frigid minutes in line as they patted down everyone before they entered the xbi party.

thanks for dancing on the table with that one super hot chick.

thanks for giving her my number.

thanks for getting that limo to pull over and drive us first to your house and then to mine.

thanks for knowing that you were my fifth pick to accompany me last night and being probably the best date i could have had at that particular bash.

i love you.

youre the best!

signed,

drunky mcdrunken aka harry st. hangover

p.s. thanks for the cute lil kiss goodnight on my cheek. it made me tingle.

more pics from last night

# | |

caption this, please

# | |

theres a disturbing video from cnn thats on the web from the "war" in iraq.

now you know that here on the busblog we dont talk about the war because of several reasons, biggest being that it is a bush-backed sham created to distract the voters that our president failed miserably in finding osama.

and now hes failing miserably in finding sadaam, any weapons of mass destruction, or a reasonable solution to our economic woes... etc etc.

in the disturbing video there is a wounded iraqi soldier about 20 feet away from a troop of american soldiers.

the iraqi is on his side, faced away from the soldiers.

the marines begin shooting at him.

they miss twice - which is frightening and explains alot

then they shoot him and they all cheer as he dies.

it's an ugly and unfair part of war that if i was a different blogger i would immediately link to on this post.

my question to you is, is this something that you think i should be linking on the busblog?

it is a part of the american story that we're all telling in our little ways, but admittedly it could easilly be out of context.

not sure how, but it could be.

and trust me when i say that i admire anyone willing to put themselves in harms way to protect the interests of the united states of america, but i dont think that excludes me from asking why it takes three-four shots to kill a guy twenty feet in front of them who is laying still.

maybe the person knew he was doing the wrong thing.

feel free to discuss.

la encantada + gorilla mask + the ward

# | |

actual email of the week

dear tony pierce.

from some web location i clicked a link that sounded like someone's name i recognized from back when i was in high school and two of my teachers conspired to sneak me in fee-free to a poetry class at CCS.

this tony pierce dude wrote poetry like i'd never seen before in my sheltered high school kinda existence. (suburbs of santa barbara, farmer's daughter, prep school: can't get much more sheltered than that.)

so i found the busblog, and have lurked for a couple of weeks and marveled at how many girls probably do dance naked for you in front of their webcams.

but just lately i've been so happy to be reading more poetic words from you. the same tony pierce, i know cuz you posted a picture.

you always seemed very prolific, and i can't say this about many people in that class i had with you, but i kept those xeroxed copies of your poems.

truly, i am not saying this because you're a world-famous blogger with international groupies (because - don't take this personally, but if you do, then take it as a compliment - i could give a shit) but because you are one of those poets who inspired me to say, hey, i can be one too.

you had such a distinct voice that made me fervently wish that i too would eventually grow into my own voice (at the time it was all quite self-consciously trying not to be hi-skool poetry and sadly failing). and i can actually conjure up lines from some of them, like: it's falling i feel it the wheel started shaking and something something something the kids are out making and now it is raining your troubles on me (ok, close? but not quite.)... but i don't go around memorizing poetry. it just sticks sometimes.

so i just wanted to say i'm glad i ran into you again even though i never actually knew you, and even tho i probably sound like a stalker (i'm not, don't worry), and even tho you probably get thousands of emails from adoring girls who even send you naked pictures (good on ya, by the way).

but hi, from an admirer who digs on your brilliant, brilliant words.

signed,

jessica

chelle + stop breathing + gilliam

# | |

had fun last night. had fun this morning. probably wont have fun today. but i will have fun tonight.

anna kournikova called me last night. i was watching no doubt on the billboard awards at the time.

she wasnt happy with what i wrote about her the other day.

she wanted to let me know that our private conversations are not fodder for the blog, the internet, or anything.

i told her to complain to her husband.

she told me that he wasnt her husband any more and that maybe they never got married in the first place.

i told her i wasnt interested in her gemini behavior.

she said what gemini behavior.

i said all this dating this guy dating that guy marrying this russian hockey player- sorta, marrying that latin boybander - sorta.

she said, enrique was never in a boyband.

i was all, wasnt he in menudo.

she said, no!

i said, i coulda sworn he was.

she was all, quit mixing him up with ricky martin.

i was all, my tivo is waiting.

she was all, sometimes youre the biggest dick.

i was all, thats not necessarilly a bad thing.

she was like fuck you tony pierce

i was like again anna what you are saying sounds like an invitation. it sounds like youre begging for it, and not a put down.

then she yelled, maybe i am begging for it but youre being such an asshole.

then i said ok thats an irrefutable putdown, but i dont get it on with married chicks.

then she said some mean things in russian.

i said, do not put those old school iron curtain curses on me.

and then she started sobbing.

im such a sucker for crying girls. ashley used to get me all the time with that.

but she taught me that when girls start crying to just hang up.

which i did.

and it sounded like this.

click.

hi, craigslist chicago + hi vodkapundit + hi, baldilocks

# | |

i dont know about your town, but in los angeles county the health department does inspections of restaurants and bars and places that sell food, and assigns a grade based on the cleanliness, or lack thereof, of the establishment.

if they find vermin, unsatisfactory refrigeration devices, no hot water, or adulterated food, they will deduct points from the score and calculate a grade. any grade of an A to a C will allow you to stay in business. the grade gets put on your front window and you go on your little way.

if you get less than a C, they shut your ass down until you fix your shit and get it together.

the day before thanksgiving 1997, right around when this program was put into practice, one of the oldest and finest diners in los angeles, a downtown eatery called the pantry was found to be lacking and it was shut down from the first time since it opened in 1924. the pantry, you see, is a twenty-four hour a day diner whose motto ironically enough is "always open, never without a customer."

also interesting is that the pantry is owned by former mayor dick riordan, who was the la mayor at the time his historic eatery was shut down.

some people wont go to a restaurant that has a C on the window. some people are even sketched out by Bs.

i couldnt care less either way. you can have a good day the day the health inspector shows up, that doesnt mean you deserve your grade.

i think this is why its a good idea to pray before each meal.

miss montreal is over here. we did my laundry. we tivoed ryan and tristas wedding. she watched it while i tried to stop myself from jumping out a window.

now we're watching the billboard awards.

how can television get away with being so bad?

there needs to be a health inspector for tv shows.

ryan and tristas wedding should have shut down that entire network for being shallow and bogus and overdone and so cheesy that children shouldnt have been allowed to be corrupted by it.

now they have jessica simpson and nick hosting the billboard awards with ryan seacrest in the crowd.

both shows deserve fs

the president should be allowed to veto this shit.

my tivo should allow me to give thumbs up or thumbs down at the end of a show cuz neilsen ratings just showed you how many people watched it, they dont tell you if they liked it.

now the cast of the oc are presenting a billboard award.

now i am pouring myself a tall drink.

great photo by marc brown

# | |

every year the xbi throws a christmas party. last year me and ashley had a good thing going and she and i went together.

this year i havent really hung out with her much for a variety of reasons, one being that she has a boyfriend who shes into. but because we had so much fun last time, i figured i would extend an olive branch and take her.

she asked me if i would be able to keep my hands to myself. i asked her if she would be able to keep her hands to herself.

we both realized that we wouldnt be able to keep our hands to ourselves and since we hadnt been intimate in a year the volcano of lustful passion would probably errupt all over the dancefloor, into the mens room, on top of a table, across the spread that will be catered by mr wolfgang puck and probably into the alleyway behind the white lotus as the rain poured down and our animalistic sillouhettes merged beneath a spotlight.

so i asked miss montreal if she would go with me. she said she'd rather not. didnt explain why and i didnt ask. people shouldnt have to explain themselves.

i then im'ed my true love. she doesnt have a man any more. she said i should ask karisa. i said, why dont you want to be my date (my true love i can dig for reasons with, she never takes it the wrong way). i forget what she said, but she reminded me that i hadnt hung out with karisa in a while, so i asked karisa.

karisa asked me if i had asked anna kournikova. i think my exact words were fuck anna kournikova. then she asked me if i had asked paris hilton, i told her that paris was out of town.

so karisa said, hmmm.

i said, if you say no i will probably go with ashley and she and i will make passionate love in the club, on the club, in the street, in the subway and then ontop of her red miata.

karisa said, doesnt she have a boyfriend?

i said yeah.

so karisa said, ok, i will go with you. cheating is not cool.

and thats how i got my date for tomorrow nights xbi christmas party.

kruftbox + ten gallon hat + hosemonster

# | |

being that this is probably the only blog you'll read today written by an african american let me say a few things about how i feel about kwanza, since its approaching and all.

fuck fucking kwanza.

motherfuckers.

kwanza.

our fucking dude was born and youre going to even for a second whip out some fucking bullshit kwanza nonsense.

motherfucking santa claus wasnt enough?

my bro ian drove me home today from work. we were going to the mountainside hollywood hills secret lair so usually we just go straight up wilton.

wilton north of beverly has some kickass homes. two million dollar ones. million dollar ones. big ones. bigger ones.

huge ones.

on some of the huge ones i saw some equally huge christmas decorations. i saw a blowup snowman that was at least a story tall and twenty feet wide.

i saw christmas lights the size of footballs.

and yes, i saw some gigantic images of santa claus.

of all the people in the world who should be saying, man im glad you were born, my lord, it would be them.

but instead they celebrate the birth of their messiah with huge images of winnie the pooh wearing a fake white beard

like fools.

and then theres kwanza.

one thing black people can do well is praise jesus. we do it better than anyone in the world. the music we make when we do it might be the most magical of all music, the preachers we have might be the best there ever were, and the clothes we wear to church are the sharpest.

then on the flip side we have our brothers and sisters who are muslim, and watch them pray. they win at praying. they win at pilgrimiging. they win at letting their spirituality become a solid and regular part of their lives.

with those two options, theres no need for any damn kwanza. some watered down bullshit made up strip mall phony holiday so you can wear a koofi? fuck that shit. we need to focus up on the biggest birthday of the year. we dont need no stinkin kwanza getting in the way.

black folk, the racists want us to have kwanza. it makes us look ridiculous and lost. kwanza represents something missing from being Christian. racists dont want black folk being Christian. they dont want to be equals to us. they dont want to share beliefs, they dont want to have anything to do with us, cuz they know that familiarity destroys ignorance, and only the ignorant can remain hateful.

worst thing you could do to a racist is go to his church, stand next to his daughter, sing the songs better, know the word better, and exclusively talk about america as if its your home and has been for hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years longer than him.

watch him smile when you talk about africa, cuz thats where he wants you.

keep your koofi.

pass the turkey.

read the bible.

f old santa

and the kwanza

and the reign deer

and the pooh bear.

and the sleigh bells

and the dead trees.

get on your knees

thank the savior

wrap your presents

say your dumb prayers.

jack bog + negrophile + uppity negro

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the hassle of having a writing staff of monkeys is theyre always pissed off at something. we were watching Average Joe last night and for most of the two hour finale they were going on and on about how all the guys shoulda been black or all of them shoulda had like ten inch schweens or lisps.

if you hadnt watched the show, basically it was about a hot model who thinks that she was going to be courted by 14-15 hot single men who she would vote off one by one until she found her true love. it turned out that the men were single, but they were less-than-average in the looks dept. half way through the show, however, the producers introduced three model-looking guys who competed for her attention versus the remaining men.

last night two men remained: the final average joe, and the last handsome dude.

the monkeys complained that it was obvious that the former cheerleader was going to pick the average joe, especially once it became known to her that he was a self made millionaire and was loved by all his friends and family and coworkers.

they screeched that like duh she was gonna pick the funny, sincere, normal one instead of the prettyboy who lived at home who became her bitch immediately while they ate their jerk chicken next to the sea.

they were so bored with what they thought was a sure thing that for the better half of the show they played cards, groomed each other, worked on their needlepoint, or secretly masturbated.

then when we least expected it she picked the pretty boy and youve never seen such pissed off primates.

one of them just stared at the box and said

what the fuck

over and over and over

like hed lost a bet or something.

like it was he who she passed over.

the television was quickly covered by angry banana and marlboro smelling monkey dung, then one of em threw a rocking chair at it, then it exploded and caught fire. the monkeys jumped up and down and started swinging from the chandeliers and showing their teeth but soon the smoke filled the small break room and those that didnt run out either became nauseous and pukey or simply passed out like a bum.

this morning they were still doing nothing but bitching about the show.

what were we to learn from that shit? one of them asked.

(typically one would remember the names of those who worked for one but not me, i call all the monkeys monkey and they all call me asswipe.)

are we to believe, he continued, that not money or personality or good jokes or normalcy or profesional success can trump a sissyboy from the oc?

he inhaled from his cigar stump, held it, and exhaled.

fuck them if thats what theyre trying to say to us and fuck the new average joe, the monkey spat as he watched previews of the next season of the show.

i could see his eyes close and his teeth clench and i was all dont you dare shit in your hand and throw it at that tv, thats my tv, if youre going to throw your shit at anything throw it at your tv which is now smoldering in your break room.

and he did.

tiffany + coyote at the great wall + sahalie

# | |

heres the problem with drudge. he's not interested in news unless it will be beneficial to his political point of veiw, his boss's political point of view, his sexual preferences, and his views on race.

people, smart people, go to his web site to find out news. even journalists go to his site to try to find out the latest breaking news. but all he presents are items that agree with his agenda.

case in point: mr. michael jackson.

today the smoking gun released a document of an investigation by the lapd and child services that said that allegations made by the family who is accusing the king of pop of sexual misconduct with their underage son, indeed are "unfounded."

hi, matt, but thats big news.

some might call it a bombshell.

and yet it is NOWHERE on the drudge report as of right now, 4:20pm on 12/9

here you have the LAPD, who i admit havent always been perfect, with the cooperation of child services interviewing the parents of the accusing boy, and the boy himself earlier this year. and they all say michael didnt do anything wrong.

so heres the problem, even if mj DID do something wrong you have the kids and the parents saying he didnt, therefore you have unreliable witnesses, therefore mj is not guilty, therefore drudge, if he is a journalist and not just a gossipy blogger, needs to write about it.

but he wont.

just like he wont cover rush being in the middle of this drug ring.

just like how he wont talk about how bush knew and how bush sucks and about how maybe clinton wasnt so bad after all.

instead his big headline right now is about joe lieberman and how hes bummed that al gore, who beat bush, is giving his support to dean.

and instead of saying Dean's the Dems Dude, he spins it as a Lieberman's Bummed. like all the other candidates arent also bummed?

so thats whats wrong with your boy drudge,

today.

i'll tell you more about how hes a slanted towel boy to the right next time.

meanwhile lets be thankful that one of the planet's finest entertainers is probably not a child molester after all, but just a freaky dude who used to wear one glove and hang out with monkeys.

robopimp + sk smith + drudge

# | |

paris hilton was over last night. again.

good news and bad news about having paris hilton over to the house. good news is shes hot and she puts out. every time. bad news is she, as you now know from the video, is attached to her phone and it rings constantly.

as you can imagine when you start hanging out with someone like her, you dont really put your entire heart into it because you never know when its going to be over. but i try. she probably cant tell but i do try. my time isnt as valuable as hers, but it is mine, and sometimes im willing to share it with people. rarely. super rarely.

she reads the busblog and is always trying to figure out which parts are real and which arent and whos who and all that but she knows how much i leave out and a lot of times she thinks that i leave out all the real sex that im having and i tell her that im pretty much only having real sex with her and she went over to the floor of my bed and saw the used condom wrappers and said so all of these are just from us and i examined the evidence and said yep.

not sure if she believed me.

anyway, one way you can tell that i like you, and the only reason by the way that i think shes with me is cuz she thinks im the only person who actually really likes her for the right reasons and simultaneously doesnt like her for the right reasons, is if i show you whats on my tivo and whats in my record collection.

last night i was supposed to do laundry with her but instead we started drinking some of that trader joes three dollar wine and i started playing randy newman cds for her and showing her the great beginnings of movies and we watched and everything was going good. might have even been some cozy cuddling happening there.

then the phone rang.

omg the phone!

she sprang up and answered it.

the first time didnt bother me so much because i know about her friendship with nicole richie, but when it kept happening as we were watching the finale of average joe it sorta became tiresome to me. eventually she asked me if i was going to spend the night at her house and i said maybe.

then nicole called again around 9:30p and paris said, wait, bubba isnt there? he hasnt been there all night? ok, i'll be there at 10, er, 10:30.

at this point i had retreated to the computer closet. body language is everything. there i was totally opening up to her, forgetting my responsibilites about laundry, the blog, the site, the xbi and instead of telling her friends tara and nicole to chill for a lil she kept picking up the damn phone and it was a total wet blanket.

so i wrote.

hot as that girl is, i dont really like the fact that her timetable is determined by her friends.

theres a reason the term cockblocker was coined.

but some people allow it to happen and they dont know sometimes that the guy is reaching out, it might not be reaching out in the way that they might be used to but it is. and it sucks when the good thing is fucked with.

and last night i was gonna ask paris to the xbi christmas dance cuz she has been good, but the phone rang again and i said forget it.

and id ask my true love but she'll probably say no cuz shes smart and secretly im superlame.

operation gustation + resident jason + jeff mcmanus

# | |

in all the world in the tallest of grasses near the bubbling brooks atop the neighingest asses floats a butterfly of majesty a notebook full of dashed dreams a pocketful of shaving cream a mousekateer of slutty fear

her name was dopey seventeen prom queen of the unseen. typist with the jelly beans, icycle licker at walgreens. never said a bad word, never touched a dead bird, always said the right things strung out on my collard greens.

touch me if you want

touch me if you want

she loved to say the darndest things

touch me

tony

here

now here.

we'd walk down the street and it felt like spain it felt like led zeppelin street it felt like baja. she held my entire arm in hers she couldnt get enough she couldnt smile more she couldnt but she would if she couldnt but she could: wait.

never saw when harry met sally and he loved her for that what about joe versus the volcano and she said no what about sleepless in seatle and she gave him a look like come on think alternative nation think exclusively babish feel her docs under the table think slightly unstable.

come over here closer

she sign languaged so subtlely

george forman grill clicked off

hot tub started bubbling

she said i feel like im chasing you all over
she said i feel like im another bladeless lawn mower

and certain falls the cocky rocky
lost but sure his way is right
turns his back upon the present
and sleeps alone and cold at night

but he did have a magnificent
and throbbing
mighty sword

the kind they talked about
round the world

an envy to some
a miracle to others
a dream for daughters
a sin for their mothers

but then there was sonny

fake name was tony

teef full of gold

hollow leg stuffed with money

whattya writing about. love. what about. about a woman who has to pick between a man with a huge magical perfect dick and a man who doesnt have one. what does the other one have. a baldspot, and hes a good writer. anything else. no. hmmm well hmmmm does the other guy have enough money to get a vibrator. yeah. well then whoevers nicer

she had small teeth and made brocolli beef. candles everywhere even in her hair. she knew something right she was super high. he knew everything but he was about to fry.

sometimes theres a sound out there something not so kosher there sometimes theres a sometimes something sometimes times some sum times tie me's.

and summer brings a false september through the waving grains of gold

and mothers call their daughters home but

somewhere theres one

not alone.

chokey chicken + large american penis + kitty bukkake

# | |

went to the grocery store today. one of the striking ones. theres a grocery store strike going on in california, fyi.

i dont know why the people are striking, but they are. four grocery stores: albertsons, ralphs, vons, and some other one. basically all the biguns.

somehow they pulled the strikers away from Ralphs and said that we can shop there if we want, but the people who will be working there will be scabs, but its cool. dont ask me how that makes any sense.

lately ive just been eating out cuz when i sold hot dogs at candlestick i was union and i loved being union and i swore that id never cross a picket line cuz being union ruled so mightilly.

so i went into the store today, and right before thanksgiving the Teamsters said that they would honor the strike and they wouldnt bring food to the striking stores. somehow that doesnt include Ralphs, who today had about 90% of the food that they normally had.

what was missing? you ask. well, let me tell you. about half of the make-your-own salad tray, pre-cooked chickens, various chunks of fruits and vegetables, etc.

but what was really missing was the smile and professionalism of the checker.

the dude i got, the scab, was bad!

imagine that.

here the guy is getting paid to screw over a striking worker and he was no good at it.

i didnt get a receipt and the chick behind me didnt get a bag.

for those of you reading this from third world countries, let me explain something to you about america and our grocery stores: we Are our grocery stores.

supermarkets is what we call them. there needs to be every fruit and vegetable that can be grown or manufactured - all ripe, no blemish, and low priced. every shelf needs to be packed. every corner display needs to be bright and cheery. there needs to be a huge deli with a short line. there needs to be places where one can sit down and speak to a pharmacist and measure ones blood pressure FOR FREE. there needs to be a machine that will accept all of our coins from our piggy banks and within seconds tell us that we have collected a FORTUNE.

everything should be on sale.

we need name brands and generics, seasonal items, international cuisine, fresh meats and seafoods, and hot bread at any hour. there should be a customer service counter where i can get my bus pass and where michael jackson can get his payday advances.

and that shit needs to be 24/7 with free parking.

i once went to a supermarket that made you put a quarter in a shopping cart so you could use it, and once you returned it you got your quarter back.

we burned that store down within a week.

even the old ladies arrived with mason jars filled with gasoline.

so, todays experience with only 90 percent of the store filled did not impress me, nor did the poor service. so i will begin my strike against Ralphs post-haste. thank you.

banks + brody + right over there

# | |

caption this, please

# | |

saturday night live tries so hard to make jimmy fallon funny or interesting or edgy or witty but all they end up making him look is pathetic.

the other day they wrote him some good double entendre jokes with miss paris hilton and you know youre not much of a comedian when shes better at reading the jokes than you are.

lucky for him most girls and gay guys think hes cute.

hank in my comments says that i should stop trying to be charles bukowski and just get back to being tony pierce and hes got a point, buk was a great poet short storyist and novelist and im just an average blogger and photo essayist.

but then bro from france told me that i should give up blogging for a while and write a novel.

i dont want to write any damn novels.

and i dont want to stop blogging.

and i certainly dont want to go to work tomorrow.

super hot chick came over today to take me to the laundrymat. we never made it out of the house.

nice.

soon as she came into the house i couldnt keep my hands off her. best part was she loved my hands all over her. third girl in a row ive met who feels this way about my hands on their person. fascinating.

we were making out standing up. my hands wouldnt leave her ass. then they settled for the lower back. skin so smooth i was sure she was just another android, but the switch on the back of her neck only flipped from human to superhuman and didnt include android, so we were good.

my sheets were off my bed, pillowcases filled with dirty clothes, so she threw me on the bare mattress and i bounced right off cuz you need the jams. came back from the weight room with the boom box, popped in the new nelly, the derrty remixes, took off my cubs hat, and clapped twice.

now im a sucka for cornrows and manicured toes

ho

droppin outta high school, going straight to the pros

ho

and there was a time when i could make it through a double album but lately ive been lucky if i can make it to the chorus of track one

which is fine cuz the thai arrived and what cheerleader doesnt love thai on a rainy coldy sunday night?

we ate all cuddled up and toasty and watched the simpsons which was good, south park which was great, and viva la bam which was pretty good.

and then she asked for second helpings and i asked if i could at least put a sheet down and she said of course, but we never made it off the couch.

franklin ave + treacher + dawn olsen + david janes

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i don't usually do book reviews or review anything really anymore, but there's a new book out that i have a feeling that if you knew existed you'd like. if you like me.

american bachelor is a photo book of about 100 pictures of thirtysomething men, their homes, their loves, their wishes, and their lifestyles.

mostly set in southern california, with a suprisingly sensitive storyline of a man who doesn't really want to be a bachelor forever, but isn't going to get all crazy inside if he never gets hitched.

for the most part these pictures are of men's men. theyre not prettyboys, they have dirty apartments and well worn floors. there's a hint of recreational drug use, social drinking, after hours dance parties in small apartments, drunken toplessnesses, skateboard collections, mattel old school l.e.d games, cigarette smoking and so cal surfing.

the pictures show a promise of bachelorhood the way a highschool boy would want it: individualistic, rough around the edges, sloppy, and fun. in nearly every picture you can see the need for a womans touch, and its sorely missing, in a good way.

the lie of the tv series thirtysomething was that once you were no longer fresh out of college you had to be all serious and wear button down shirts and beards and buy houses, beemers, and baby diapers.

these hundred and thirty pages give an alternative that to some might be far more appealing.

the cover photo shows a young shirtless man laughing while holding a blended margarita in a goblet. he has a little hair on his chest, hair in his armpits, wetlooking short hair on his head, a casual five o'clock shadow, and seemingly not a care in the world. not the babyfat on his gut, not the lack of trendy tattoo on his arm, not the impending dark clouds behind him.

his goblet is definitely half full.

the women inside are attractive and adult. theyve been around the block a few times. and will be around it a few times more.

the men shoot lighter fluid into the flaming weber grill. they wear boas cuz theyre so not gay. they iron their shirts next to their cluttered sinks.

i like this book because its cribs minus the fame. the fridges are mostly barren, just like theyve been since college. the beds are unmade, and the magazine pages that are scotch taped onto the walls could be from the same magazines that i scotch taped onto my walls... under the nerf hoop beneath the christmas lights.

these are the friends the friends of Friends have in real life california. their real friends.

if you want to have a quickie little glimpse into the world of right now, here it is.

and it doesn't suck.

american bachelor
by michael rababy
get it at americanbachelor.com
or on amazon

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