all my friends are taking me out so as to celebrate my nuptuals. last night i went out with welch, basart, and karisa. we went to the dodgers/angels game. everyone drank except karisa cuz she was driving. she actually had one bud light. know how much one plastic bottle of budweiser light goes for at dodger stadium, seven fifty.

apparently i owed basart fifty bucks. actually he refreshed my memory that last year he gave me fifty bucks for the send my ass to the world series fund and i refunded everyone who paid in paypal instantly but ken paid cash so i never got it back to him.

so he said no problem pay me back in beers at the dodger game and i was all cool, that should send me back about a six pack and a hot dog.

we looked for an atm.

there was one on the whole level.

note to self, offer to pay the dodgers 20% of all atm transactions for the 5 atms that they will allow me to have on the the blue level, and 25% of all atm transactions that they will allow me to have on the other levels.

one atm per level is as retarded as the dodger lineup that will take the field this year.

afterwards we all drank in welches backyard and listened to old tapes of him singing princes purple rain.

and when i got home i realized that somehow i suddenly owed basart $80.

good times.

i got home at 4am and my wife didnt complain at all.

on monday you can meet us all, matt, ken, karisa, and moxie, at the tsar show at the el rey.

bring your friends and we can have a friend-off to see who has the coolest chums.

welch + basart + mc brown lives a better life than you do

# | |

three years ago today, my true love and i broke up and moved away from each other.

i didnt cry. i dont know why. i know why. cuz my new pad had so many boxes and no couch and i couldnt find a place to sit down. its hard for me to cry standing up.

its weird to think that its been so long since i was with renee maria garcia (pictured) who i would torture in so many ways. sometimes i wouldnt get out of bed for an entire weekend. this was before the blog. sometimes i wouldnt do the dishes for years. this was before the breakup. sometimes i wouldnt shower for days.

comparing her three years to mine, shes winning hands down. shes got a better pad than me, a better job, she looks better, she has a fairly new car.

me, ive got you. and a couple cheerleaders. a pot to piss in, but who wants to piss in pot? she comes over from time to time and i ask if we could get married and this morning she called and asked if i wanted to take the day off to help her find a new apartment in hollywood. i said whats wrong with living on the beach and she said, no good coffee shops. no style, no flair, no soull. and i said, marry me. and she said, but youre already married. and i was all, as a christian the government cannot get in the way of me having two wives. its biblical. king solomon, an ancestor of david and all the way down the line to jesus and up to adam had a thousand wives.

it's my religious right.

she was all, i didnt want to marry you when you had no wives and i want to marry you less now that you have a very very pretty wife.

they say that everyone has a soul mate.

mine gave me five years to fuck up and i fucked up each and every year.

shows to go ya.

when i first moved into laynes old place + sad picture + charlize was down with me three years ago

# | |

yeah so im married. big deal. lots of losers are married. my problem is now i only have two more goals to complete: have a kid, and go to heaven.

and im not even sure i want that first one any more. whats the point again? to have something that looks like me? ive never liked the way i look, why would i want to stare at something that will keep staring back?

my wife is passed out on the couch. shes been on the phone all day. ive been on the phone all day. all ive wanted to do is write. not necessarilly to you, but to someone. probably to me in the past. keep banging cheerleaders. theres nothing wrong with moxie. shes awesome. she cooks well. she always looks spectacular. very loving. far more emotional than she writes. intellectual. sensual. spiritual. and she likes to watch porn and crank call people by telling them that shes watching porn and wants to talk dirty to a stranger.

i do love her.

she knows i didnt really want to get married, but it was sorta like college: now is the time to do it. grow up fucker, everyone else is.

everywhere i go i hear the who. csi, slackers, fm, am. but passion of the christ is going to be the biggest movie of all time and how come i dont find myself in any more conversations about jesus than i had last year at this time? cuz people havent yet learned how to talk about the bible or religion or books or movies. i heard two guys talk about south park the other day and you know how they did it? they ran down the plot. thats it.

theres at least two times in the bible where jesus weeps and whats up with that mr mel gibson who's fancy movie starts off with the first time the son of God cries. the second time is when he's being crucified and hes about to die and he wails "why hath Thou forsaken me?" which is almost at the very end of mr gibsons brutal movie.

Jesus doesnt cry when he's being whipped or when the nails go through his hands and feet or when he gets the crown of thorns or when peter denies him three times before the cock crows.

he cries at the begining of the movie because he's bummed that this is his last night on Earth, the show, the big time, the reason for everything, the home planet, the grand experiment, the big blue marble, the third rock, the mothership. but hes also crying because he will never get to be a man again, because hes excited and nervous about paying for every sin that was ever committed and will ever go down. hes crying because the pressure must have been unreal, hes crying because he spent thirty some years on Earth and now hes going to have to go back to being otherworldly, more otherworldly than normal. and hes crying because even though his twelve were all knuckleheads, all of them, hes going to miss them because thats what mankind is, he learned, a slovenly hurrang of mediocre non-believers who wouldnt know God if he was freestyling parables next to them.

and for you kids out there who read the new testament and wonder where the peace loving hippie jesus is with flowers in his hair being all lovey dovey jefferson airplane its in those tears the night in the woods, right before the arrest. thats when you see that God loves you. cuz he met you and he dug you and now its time to say goodbye to all our family...

and as good as the passion is they dont talk about why jesus wept or when or what it meant, and thats cool. no really. thats cool. how could they have?

people ask why you cry at weddings and most people say its cuz weddings are beautiful. and ive been to some kickass beautiful weddings in my day from the rolling hills of france to the dramatic cliffs of baja california, from the presidio in frisco to the train station in la and many other places inbetween. ive seen lovebirds and ive seen beautiful things, trust me. i dont cry. theres beauty everywhere.

but i cried at my wedding the other day for probably the same reason why jesus wept on the cross waiting for the man. cuz a chapter, a huge chapter was ending, and just like the messiah, the only next chapter worth mentioning would be the last chapter. even the good book isnt interested in its main character after the crucifixion until revelations, end times, judgement day, the night of the locust which will come like a theif when youre least expecting it. the surprise ending.

all the stuff between the wedding and the funeral seemed to be filled with all the droll menutia that the savior must have to go through between the dawn of christianity and the end of the world. and women wonder why we need our televisions so big. because we want to forget that we're alive.

the reason the clans of past generations got married at younger ages, im learning, is because you'll do anything when you're young dumb and full of idealism. you'll sign up for the army, you'll vote republican, you'll get tattoos, you'll knock up your girlfriend, and you'll even swear to stick together until you die. all fucked up things that should probably be illegal. two kinds of not giving a fuck: when you dont know any better and when youve seen it all. get your cock sucked by three girls in one night and tell me how you feel about the new blah blah blah record and i bet your interest in top fourty music vanishes like vicodin at a dallas cowboy training camp buffet table.

youre being forsaken, jesus, because you forgot that no one here gets out alive.

and nobody is here to save you.

youre God, remember. you're waiting on you. you wanted to be malkovich. you sent your son you down to the earth to save all the you's made in your i mage. dont freak out when one crucifixion you looks like three yous and one of them is talking shit the whole time. youre being forsaken because youre a mustardseed short of a miracle but the miracle is that youre a mustardseed short of anything since you are after all perfect and God and this is your magic moment and in forgetting your line you deliver the most human line of all which is

get me out of here im a celebrity

but mel gibson is a catholic. and catholics created a world where on one hand they say the only way to the father is through the son but on the other hand they have all these saints and all these cardinals and all these bishops and then theres the pope and theres the virgin mary and theres priests who cant have sex for some reason, and all of those people are celebrities with their own prayers like the one to st christopher that as a boy i was taught to pray to before i played basketball so apparently the only way to the father might be through the son but if you want a double double the son cant help you out as well as the middle man. and that sort of teaching should be illegal too but its snot its not only tolerated but revered and now its one of the reasons why radio station talk show hosts cant talk about fucking which might be the sole reason that people keep on keeping on in the first place cuz it sure as hell aint cuz of the promise of the american dream or to wait for the next volume of kill bill to get released.

only in america, which kicks the shit out of anywhere else, would we tolerate adults telling other adults that they cant talk about their favorite topic because kids might hear. only in america would we dumb down our entertainment and limit our right to speech because of the possibility that little us's might get the wrong idea about cocks going into cunts. heres the wrong idea about sex: that kids hearing about it on tv or radio could get damaged or scarred or twisted or fucked up or damaged. heres what damages people (children and adults) in regards to sex: when idiots do, key word is do, hurtful shameful dumbass sex shit to people who dont want that shit done to them.

show a kid 8 hours of sex a day for 10 years and i will show you a kid who will end up normal. how can i be so sure? because most kids have more than just basic cable and most kids end up around other kids and most kids have two working ears and two working eyes and over ten years they end up seeing and hearing and talking about sex tons and most of them turn out to be you and me which are fucked up humans but probably doing ok in regards to whats ok and whats not ok about our cocks and our cunts so leave howard stern alone and do something about these fucking gasoline problems like im paying you to you fucking asswipes.

i could go on more but my wife has risen from her little cat nap and wants to get boned again, and she should get what she signed up for when she chose a black man to be her lawfully wedded husband. we only had a few deals. we would never refuse the other physical pleasure, we would never lie, and we would never bring home a fuck disease. i never thought i would be in this sort of situation where i would be so happy and so empty at exactly the same time but here it is and its pretty much what i feared id feel if the cubs won the world series without deserving it. so i hope i stop feeling like a yankee fan by morning.

caught in the blog + nay has a new layout + r.i.p. sloopy

# | |

well, it was bound to happen one day. and moxie pleaded with me to announce this yesterday like she did so people would acutally believe us, but i put Lick up so it would be on time. then we got it on for the sixth time and because im olde i passed out in a happy little heap in the last bachelor pad that i will ever have.

the first person who knew was my landlord. I told him two weeks ago that I was going to propose and if she said yes I would like to get of my lease. Because I pay so little rent you could see his smile through the phone. He's been trying to get me out of that apartment for years. The place on the left and the right are now renting for twice my rent and my place is bigger and better than both of them.

then i had to tell my college girlfriend Jeanine who picked out the ring and put in a bigger and better diamond. Moxie is a classy girl, so we decided a vintage ring was the way to go.

i also told karisa because of all the girls i know, for some weird reason i thought i would eventually marry her. she and i get along perfectly, and we share a lot of similar beliefs, but shes the wrong sign and we've never gotten past that. and now that she has a man who is all the things that i will never be: tall, rich, hung, i knew we'd only be Just Friends.

if only we woulda had one night in the sack, i know she woulda come around... oh well. a man needs friends. im told.

the last person i told was my "true love". she knew how close moxie and i have been over this year, but i wanted to make sure that there was no way in hell that she wanted to get back with me. chris was clear. she said there was no way in hell. i was all what if hell froze over. she said even if hell froze over i wouldnt be getting back up in that shit.

i didnt tell my mom, cuz she woulda wanted to come to the ceremony, i didnt tell my friends cuz they woulda wanted to come, she didnt tell her friends or family cuz they probably woulda said, "youre marrying a black liberal?"

many funny things about this relationship and our blogs. even though i say that nothing in here is true, the belief out there is that i have a turnstyle to my apartment where all the hot young ladies of la just come in and out. so not true. shit, look at me!

then moxie has been sobbing over these totally ridiculous boring NOT HANDSOME bros and people totally believe it. have none of her readers ever met her or looked at her? the girl is fucking on fire. and smart. and funny! and totally parties.

who on earth would believe the crap that she has been writing over there?

apparentely everyone.

so we went with it. i wrote about dating cheerleaders (which i was doing up until about a year ago) and she wrote about being all bummed out with her love life (which was the furthest from the truth).

this valentines we had a super romantic day, and she tried to give her readers hints that she wasnt going out with a long haired pretty boy bush lover. tell me that illustration isnt the epitome of me and my new wife.

and lately, if youve noticed, ive been putting up lots of pictures up of my favorite family, the cobains. moxie has always wanted to tie me down, and ive always said that theres no way i could marry a republican with no ass. her arguement was that kurt got married in his twenties to a woman who might not have been the most stable person for him, but they made a beautiful baby who will probably save rock and roll.

she said our children would save america, and thus the world.

so i was in.

it didnt hurt that she f's like a beast. 4 times a day is rare. normally we go 6-7. she claims thats what normal people do when theyre in love. apparently ive only been in love a few times cuz i dont remember that sort of action.

because we never talk about politics, ever, we never fight. if Bush does something stupid and we're watching tv we will change the channel. i will laugh to myself quietly, but i wont bring it up. if i do she tells me she wont put on the little slinky thing she knows i like, so i shut my trap and say something like, ooh, look at the new beyonce video.

i will reserve talking about the special day that i proposed and we eloped cuz some things should remain private. both of our lives are generally public, to a point, but some things are extremely personal, and thats why we got hitched the way we did. shes a deeply personal person and i couldnt care less what people think one way or the other, so it was cool with me to keep the affair, proposal, and nuptials just between her me and the lord above.

feel free to meet us for drinks at Marie Callendar's on Wilshire on Monday after 6pm, which is a few hours before the Tsar show at the El Rey.

we love all of you and we plan on celebrating with everyone on Monday and later this month.

mox's announcement + the first time we met + more pics from that day

# | |

when i think of this years nfl season the first thing i recall is janet's nipple.

then i recall New Orleans Saints receiver Joe Horn scoring a touchdown, going under the field goal post to retrieve a cell phone and making a phone call as the crowd cheered.

then i recall former 49er receiver Terrell Owens pulling a Sharpie out of his sock and autographing a football after he caught a touchdown pass.

what do you remember from last year?

probably less than that.

but the NFL in all their lack of soul has decided that they will go back to penalizing players and teams for such "outrageous" activity.

this isnt anything new to the sport that so desperatly wants to be the national pasttime, after the Redskin "Fun Bunch" had well-choreographed dance routines after touchdowns, the league instituted a policy of zero tolerance for these post-touchdown "celebrations".

they eventually repealed their decision.

but since the winds of change are now blowing from the conservative white house and effecting all aspects of american life, this decision to re-instate the banning of touchdown celebrations should come as no surprise.

which is stupid.

everything in football is about the touchdown. if you are to believe the marketing of the nfl.

we true sportsfans know that football is about teamwork, defense, special teams, strategy, AND offense, but when was the last time you saw a great block on Sports Center.

boo-ya, look at that guard pull!

and no offense, paul tagliabue, but this penalty is slightly racist.

the receivers who usually have the most exciting, innovative, and outrageous post-touchdown activity, are of color.

when brett favre made the Lambaugh Leap popular nobody said anything. that was a post touchdown celebration. it had no soul. but it was unusual. and there was no action taken against him.

so whats up with that?

and whats up with not involving the fans? the fans love that shit.

the fans love terrell owens grabbing the pom poms from the cheerleaders and dancing with them after he scores.

consider this post my challenge. i would like an instant replay on this decision. the nfl was leapfrogged by the nba who encourages personalities and showmanship.

as a wise man once said

dont hate the player

hate the game.

im hating you nfl.

all of the nfl except for the raiders who were the only team who voted against this schlock.

new empire lounge + sk smith + kitty bukkake

# | |

although i dont find it necessary to have a president who knows how to snowboard, or look cool trying, i do think it's nice. i also think it's nice for a president to be forthcoming when discussing things like what he knew right before and right after 9/11.

thank you.

i would also like a president who knows how to juggle.

i would also like a president who can tell me a joke a day.

its twelve noon, you are listening to npr, national public radio. and now for the noon time joke, the president of the united states of america.

two whores walk into a bar...

i would also like a president who isnt afraid to actually take the information that the citizens ask him to investigate and actually do something with it. nobody is complaining about indecency on the television or radio.

we have a war we're barely winning. today they were dragging dead US soldiers through the streets of iraq, fuck this fake debate about the pledge of allegiance, fuck this fake debate about half million dollar fines if the f bomb gets dropped on the air when children might be listening. fuck oil presidents getting away with jacking up oil prices to all time highs and then saying well if you prorate the prices to todays cost blah blah blah.

i want a president who will say right after the war the prices were a buck sixty and now theyre two twenty, somethings fucked in denmark.

i want a president who doesnt look like some asshole's son. and act like some kid who just got his first suit. we're the united states of america. whats up with canada kicking our ass? im sick of my country acting like we're scared of having our shit blown up every ten seconds. did goliath have terror alert charts? did andre the giant run around saying someones looking to kick my ass?

of course people want our asses kicked. but theyre not going to. which is why we call them third worlders. which is why our God is better than their god. which is why they cant get a record in the top fourty. which is why they cant snowboard worth fucking shit.

i want a subway sandwich with turkey breast, mayo, mustard, lettuce, oil, vinegar, swiss cheese, on that crazy italian bread with parmesian on it and seeds in it, and cloves or some crap in there. i want to be overpowered by its foot-longness.

we are full of shit + brit coal + the ward

# | |

they say you shouldnt ever get used to having people shoot at you, so i keep it to myself.

7am this morning they were shooting at me. little shots. about one every twenty seconds. quickie little pops coming from behind a dodge dart. or was it from that window. or from behind that dumpster.

is amazing how tired you can be at 6:45a and how awake you can be at 7am.

and how dead you can be at 7:01am.

someone was dead at 7:01 and it wasnt me. no more pops from the backside of the dart.

now i only heard pops from the window. third floor. no fire escape like on tv. no moving van to climb on like in the movies. i coulda used the gas grenade but the whole 10 story apartment complex could catch fire like waco. fuck that. xbi is quiet.

pop... pop.

i knew i was going to have to go through the front door and up the stairs and through that bastard's front door and bring death or meet it. fine. mark pryor is hurt, cubs dont have the chance that they did a few months ago. so fuckit.

i nodded to my partner who popped back at the window so as to keep them occupied.

fucked up thing about windows. it could be a grandma, it could be a kid, it could be a dad, it could be the guy we wanted. could be some totally random guy who thinks hes protecting his neighborhood. you never know until you break down the door and shot and jump out the way of their shot.

ran to the front door. but first grabbed the bulletproof vest from the back door of the escalade and threw it on. felt like a pussy. death doesnt own me. i own life. huge difference. actually im leasing it from jesus but i want you to think im a badass.

pressed every doorbell on the front of the apartment most people told me to fuck off, some dumbshit buzzed me through. i could be anyone!

ran up the stairs. kicked through the door that shoulda been the right one. didnt see anyone. stuck my head through the window, saw my partner pointing to my right and holding up one finger. ran out of the sad little apartment and busted down the next door and shot twice one high one low and dived to the left.

the high shot missed his head by an inch the low shot shattered his knee. fuckr.

he cried like a baby and i lunged at his dropped .22, broke his nose with my elbow. and told him to shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up motherfucker im death.

he shut the fuck up.

shot the fucker up with needle full of demoral and threw him into the back of the roller. i went back there with him. he was our guy. he was in shock. fairly new to la but already used to owning the lapd. he had only heard of the xbi and never experienced the majesty.

wheres the money fuckface. i demanded as we rolled past the ambassador hotel fast, like we had a destination. we had no destination. we were going to get money or we were going to shoot this motherfucker.

what fucking money? he asked.

we went past a tommy's burger near where otis parsons used to be. i was all, wheres tommy, fuckhead.

he looked at me like i was crazy. he was about to either pass out or vomit from the demoral. i didnt care if he vomited, but we need him to be awake. sleeping crooks tell no tales. so i plucked a chesthair from beneathed his ripped shirt.

who the fuck is tommy!?

pull into that alley i told my dude. he pulled. we stopped. i aimed my weapon at his crotch i told him to start talking or there would be nuts or pussy all over my partners back seat.

my partner hissed, probably pussy.

i no nothing the guy whispered. he wanted to die.

why were you shooting at us.

you were shooting at me.

only after you started shooting at us.

i yanked another chest hair. then another. he had lots to chose from.

i eyed his bloody knee and licked the corner of my mouth it was my next target, would i squeeze it or punch it or bang it with the handle of my .38. decisions decisions.

cuz i cant go back to jail.

whats in jail?

they'll fuck me over.

im about to send you to hell in about a minute, so whats the difference?

oh no, im born again, the lord is my shepard.

i pointed at his huge bicep. it had the virgin mary tattooed on there. i said, did you read that your shepard doesnt like tattoos.

he looked at me.

dont make marks upon your body. leviticus 19:28, bitch.

he had marks all over his body.

dont steal, dont lie, love each other the way ive loved you.

my partner chimed in, dont fucking steal huge fucking garbage bags of diamonds and sell them to the chicago russian mafia and shoot at the fucking xbi.

sbi? he asked.

x b i fucker like the x on your forehead where the highway to hell is being constructed.

i rose my gun at his head and then lowered it to his knee and told him he had exactly five seconds to tell us where the diamonds were and where the money was or there would be a half alive motherfucker not dead definately not dead laying in the alley waiting for the pigs to pick his ass up.

9-1-1 motherfucker, my partner said holding up his cell phone.

there was a faint aroma of piss, an address, a name, a whimper and then the thud of a bad guy being tossed from a slow moving escalade.

and the only good thing about waking up that early is listening to howard stern on your way to the booty.

henry copeland + things magazine + anti

# | |

ive been eating like a pig and today im paying for it. first i put on my dress pants to go undercover and it wasnt pretty. my gut, my big gut has this huge way of messing with my mornings. everythings fine when i wear my shorts when i get to fly, but when i have to walk the streets and dress like a grownup, it fucks my shit.

ate some of those Wow chips yesterday and my poops have been insane.

got a phone call from my good pal aj who is now teaching at ucsb. just for the quarter. have i told you that she invited me to teach one of her classes during the last week in april? all true. all wonderful. all awesome. i get to teach jim carroll's the basketball diaries which were excerpts of his real diaires from when he was 12 to 15.

im starving. im drinking water and listening to Lovelines. i want to eat cheetos, i want to eat famous amos cookies, i want to eat mint chocolate chip ice cream, i want to make a sandwhich, but im tired of my food shooting right through me like it was a slip n slide.

aj said that the kids are going to love me. she says that she plays a few tracks of music at the begining of each class. today she played the replacements bastards of young and tori amos covering nirvanas teen spirit. the class is coming of age novels. aj rocks the world.

robyn, our advisor, mentor, and role model, who has been teaching at the college of creative studies up at ucsb totally rocks the world and if you ever wanted to know why the earth is tilted its because all the coolness that robyn embodies is so heavy that the world just cant stand up straight.

i wish i had something cool to give her when im up there next month. without robyn i would not be writing the busblog. thats for damn sure.

woke up with a pretty girl today who said she wanted to marry me and have three babies with me. yes, im that good in the sack mr flynt. usually.

funny thing about getting older. even the hottest chicks can come over and look great and be busting out all over and you will be able to ignore that mad passion for a good two three hours. you might even go to bed thinking, yeah, im not going to f her till the morn.

things like having a headache actually win out over before-we-sleep sex.

fortunately my penis is ageless and as the chickie and i were settling down to some sleepytime spoon, my little'n tapped her on the back and said, hey. hey you. you, the super fucking hot chick. yeah. down here. forget the loser im attatched to. hes gay. but me, i want to bang you hard and fast and long and deep.

and it will wake up the hand and tell the hand to warm up her happy spot.

and it keeps tapping on her back.

yeah, you. babydoll. yeah. hi. penisman down here. ready to rock. hi. yes, im hard. im ready. hi.

eventually, because shes not old, infact shes the perfect age, her ass starts grinding around and before you know it jay z in being played loudly and the penis has won another round of quit acting like a million year old guy who thinks this shit grows on trees.

and just imagine if i had actually paid more attention in school

bruner blog + la blogs + franklin ave

# | |

people ask me if i miss bunny, i do. she was a sweet girl. but now shes gone and shes dead to me. until i see sweet pictures of her calling me on the phone so as to reminice about her spring break in hollywood.

ah memories.

i like bunny because shes not full of shit. you have no idea how many people who are entirely full of shit that i have to deal with here in la and online. it's getting regoddamneddiculous.

for example, over at jeff jarvis's buzzmachine, a place that used to be a haven of intelligent discourse, theres a few knuckleheads who proudly claim that they dont listen to howard stern - judging him. sorry kids, you cant have it both ways. go back to burning books.

who has the gall to talk about shit, let alone judge shit that they claim not to listen to?

not bunny mcintosh.

which is why i like her.

the other day i was hanging with my girl moxie who is a devout republican, so obviously we have our differences, but whats nice about her is she doesnt try to puke those beliefs all over those who dont share her ideals. see, thats reasonable. she also sticks to talking about things that she actually knows about. i realize thats a radical idea for some, but... whatev.

me and miss montreal watched our gov'nur in Pumping Iron last night. id never seen it. what a great documentary. arnold hasnt changed much. he was both charming and obnoxious, cocky and confident, big and bigger, dumb and dumber.

for lunch the fellas went to versailles and had it waiting for me when i landed. very few pleasant suprises better than that. food and sex is the way to a man's heart, america. and if you cant give the one, definately have the other waiting. especially if its roast pork and rice and plantaines.

id tell you how me and miss montreal made beautiful lust last night while listening to dj noodle's mix of jay-z's the black album and nirvana's unplugged in new york but larry flynt told me not to sixty nine and tell.

wisdom goof + sahalie + cynical cyn

# | |

dear janet jackson,

please dont go on david letterman in your first bigtime interview since your nipple changed the world and ask him not to talk about the only reason that anyone has wanted to interview you since you left "good times".

people are going to want to talk about nipplegate for the rest of your life so i suggest you to get used to it.

just like youve hopefully gotten used to being asked about your crazy brother

your crazy sister

and your crazy family.

here's how you should have handled last night's interview:

"yeah dave, it really was an accident. im really sorry that things happened the way they did. im sorry that my nipple caused so much controversy. im sorry that children saw my nipple. but im even more sorry that conservatives saw my nipple and decided to use it as a way to inflict their extremist ways on american broadcasting.

"a black woman's nipple shouldnt have that much power.

"people have been fired from their radio shows, bono's f-word has been re-classified as being indecent, howard stern got fined for something he said years and years ago. and yet i wasnt fined!

"the fcc is really spinning out of control, and if the president doesnt get a grip on it he might be voted out of office because of my nipple and their reaction to it."

instead you tried to be coy and quiet and that only brings about more probing and questioning, and like condi rice, makes you look more guilty than you might be.

even though you are probably lying about it being a mistake and an accident.

dave asked you point blank "what was supposed to happen" and you didnt answer him.

were you supposed to have a bra on? was a sticker with the logo from your new album supposed to be on your boobie? what was supposed to be there if not for your little nubbin?

simple question that you should have expected dave to ask.

he asks people questions, you realize, for a living.

you looked lovely, by the way. and that frame around your bellybutton distracted us from your bosom for at least a millisecond.

next time you might want to ask dave to let you sing your song first so that people remember that we should be paying more attention to your songs than your sex.

but what do i know, i show my nipples all the time and the fcc doesnt say shit.

next time claim sexism, cuz thats what it is you know.

get on david letterman and say, its sorta sexism when men can do things that women cant on tv.

and then let dave unfurl the comebacks.

your pal,

tony

virginia anne + no matt + unswung

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i just made a flash thing!



you can too. if you make a tsar ad like i just did,
let me know and i will post it on here and link your page.

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slow day at work so i went to the barber shop to get my hair did. its always a good idea to talk to the fellas when theres nothing going on on the street. the problem with the marines is they always want me to hit the streets when the shits going down. aint gonna learn anything when its hot on the block.

and on top of that, theyre going to know youre the heat if you only show up when there's a bustle in the hedgerow.

now that i dont have a fro they were slow to recognizing me. then they were all, whoa broth-aaaa!

alot has changed in the barbershop. theyve taken down the nubian artwork and added a wall of tvs. they were on the same station, playing the same commercial. i was irritated cuz they used to play these neosouljazz mixed tapes that i really loved cuz id never heard anything like that before.

sat down and told the guy i wanted it shaved down to nothing. i had maybe 2 millimeters of hair and i didnt like how it was growing in. i looked olde. dumb. mean.

before the guy had a chance to put the smock on me an older man showed up asking for harold. harold is the young brotha who runs the place. harold has a huge fro so huge i have always thought it was fake, but you never know.

a half white barber kid yelled out, harolds at the store.

the sto? the old man questioned.

my barber was all, no, he in the back.

old man repeated even louder the sto? looking at the half whitey. and held the look.

my barber put down the buzzers, ran in the back and collected harold.

a bus sped by. a twenty. with an old ad for the nba allstar game on it. shaq.

when harold and my dude came out together the old man complained about the tvs that i wanted to complain about.

y'all selling tv's in this place? what if i want to talk with these gentlemen?

i looked around.

apparently he was talking about us.

the barbers didnt say anything. i laughed. the old man demanded a remote so as to turn down the televised hip hop. nobody went for one. B.E.T's "rap city" was on. beyonce was dancing around in lingerie.

i got a hammer in my ride if you cant find your clicker, the old man said. not moving from the point.

the tv was turned down and we were able to conversate.

the fellas didnt know the old man was my partner.

a seven twenty rapid barrelled past the barber shop. a blur of red.

twenty minutes later my head was fully shorn and i was being asked to pay $20. i slipped my man two twenties because the info was good.

the ninety degree sunshine hit my bald pate and i walked down the dirty boulevard like i owned the place.

cuz i did.

kitty bukkake + tsar plays one week from today at the el rey + amy

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one of the best parts of this heat wave is that everyone is bringing their pets out: cats, dogs, hiyenas, baboons.

my apartment has no a/c and no heater. its pretty typical in hollywood. it only gets hot enough for a fan maybe 10-12 days a year, and only cold enough for a space heater for about a month. some would call the weather here ideal, which might explain why so many people move here and never leave.

its so nice i want to get a haircut during lunch. im getting fat. i need to do other things at lunch than eat. i need to get into the gym. i need to read the bible more. i need to clean out my closets. i need new sheets,

i need to decide if i will stop allowing people to post comments on this thing without leaving behind a valid email address or homepage url. people shouldnt be allowed to lie in the comments without having to put themselves on the line at least a little bit. im fucking right here. tony pierce. thats my name dont wear it out. the least someone could do, especially if they want to hate the player and the game, is put their own name on their bullshit.

i need to start calling people back more. kitty bukkake is right. i will post her phone message but not return her call. thats punkass shit. im ashamed.

i need to get this internet radio show going. i have an idea for two shows. one being the busblog talk show the other being Devil Radio where i play quote unquote devil music. the kids today are soft because theres not enough satan in their music.

checked out the britney spears concert from miami last night on showtime. the bitch just doesnt sing. she sang one song at the piano but then FAKED PLAYING THE PIANO! then on the second verse grabbed the mic, walked away from the piano and there was no difference in the music. plus she dressed like a ho half the time and come on britney half your audience were in highschool and junior high. wheres the outrage? satan loves little hos how lie to their fans by pretending that theyre singing which is why i will play a britney song a show on devil radio.

the devil also loves monopolies like Ticketmaster. right now i could get two tickets to see Madonna play at the Forum. these arent great seats. theyre good, but not great. 20th row, not floor, but Loge. $300 each. how does tickemaster figure that they can charge $22.50 "convience charge" for each ticket?

its the same ticket that they print out for a $30 face value ticket where they ding us for $8.50 "convience" fee. if i was john kerry the first agency that i would investigate would be the fcc and the first business i would shut down would be ticketmaster cuz its one thing for madonna to say fuck you pay me, but its an entirely another thing for ticketmaster to be able to get away with a real monopoly in 2004.

makes me want to buy every pearl jam record or let lose the baboons through the offices of ticketmaster which reside across the street from tower sunset in a black shiney devil dwelling of hate where you can bet this blogger will be near during the next la riot.

the unsomnambulist + w-uh + who is heidi

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i guess everyone is bound to make a mistake or two. but a million dollar mistake? i wonder how many of those ive made over the years. i suppose not buying amazon stock back in the day... or buying ebay stock.

its hard going through life pretending not to give a shit about money and then being even slightly depressed about stocks during a beautiful sunday afternoon when the santa anas are blowing their hot winds through this valley like during a drunken grab ass.

her name was chica. she was a showgirl. wild flowers in her hair. little beemer over there. tapped on my door in the middle of the night last night and i was startled because i thought it was super late but it wasnt it was only 930p but i had fallen asleep after the east coast showing of the sopranos. she wanted to know why i hadnt called her back after our last date and i have a hard time not telling the absolute truth on sundays and i said it was cuz i didnt think she liked me and she was all i like you and i was all why didnt you put out and she said that she wanted to that she didnt think that i wanted it and i was all guys always want it and she said girls always want it too.

but i didnt want it. i wanted to turn back time and sign those option grants and pay my $500 and get my 45k shares so i could have a house and a car and all the troubles that come from having to answer the phones when people called asking for money and i wanted to be able to say where were you when i was working for the xbi giving all those bags of ill begotten cash to the poor. where were you when i was riding the bus in the middle of the night to get to miss montreals birthday party and you look in the bus and theres one two three four five homeless people sleeping and each one has a huge hefty bag of their shit in the seat next to them.

and one of the dudes walks up to the busdriver as hes booking down wilshire at midnight and he said youre cool man i like you and the driver says thanks. and the dude tries to sell him sunglasses because he reportedly has one dollar to his name and the driver says oh its ok, im good. and the guy goes no try it on. and it couldnt be more midnighty dark. and the driver could have easily pointed to the sign that says any unnecessary conversations with the operator is prohibited. but instead he just goes, no thanks, i dont have any money and i wanted to say driver carries no cash.

and a little voice says your reward is in the kingdom of heaven give to george washington whats george washingtons give to andrew jackson whats andrew jackson and give to ben franklin whats ben franklins.

and a littler voice a more annoying one says a hundred grand would buy you that burrito hut in isla vista and there will be a girl in a bikini top out there from noon to six next to the keg and she will pour out buck cups and that will be your big attraction, the senior vista bikini buck beer girl and i look at chica and wonder if she even knows who shes trying to make out with and i ask her what records shes been listening to lately and she says bright eyes and im all hmmm thats a toss up and i say who else and she says john mayer and i walk her to that beemer and i vow never to see her again and convince myself that i wont miss her. and its that sort of logic that keeps me broke ugly and single.

jessica + smile at me + whats your damage

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woke up with a naked young lady next to me. we hadnt gotten to sleep til 5:30am. didnt say thats when we got to bed thats when we got to sleep. oh yeah. heh.

woke up at 10am cuz her friends wanted her to have breakfast with her and i was all bone appittite. and she was all wsss wsss wsss. i was all huh. she was all do me before i leave and i was all again? and she was like yes, do it any way you want. and i was thinking hmmm. and i said i will but it wont be pretty. and she ripped the mexican blanket from my nude form and said anything you do will be pretty.

and then i did the foulest thing ive ever done to a woman.

well, ive done it before, a few times, but this was worse because a) it was sunday 2) i was talking dirty and pulling her hair and iii) she was talking dirtier and groaning. not moaning. eventually moaning but first groaning.

then we went to jack in the box where they have breakfast all day.

and i thought i have the weirdest life, all this is happening before noon.

then my buddy from the former dot com failure came over to borrow some cable splicers. i was all hows your new dot com and he said awesome. then told me how his stocks are doing. then before he left he was all, oh yeah, hope you kept your options for the former dot com failure, cuz they might go ipo now because theyve been outsourcing their shit offshore in the phillipeans.

i was all uh

he was like, how many options did you have ten thousand, twenty thousand?

i was all fourty five thousand.

he left, but not before saying oops.

and i was all, i have the weirdest life, and its still not noon.

at 11:45am my old buddy aj called to tell me that she has arrived in santa barbara where she will be teaching this quarter at ucsb at our alma matter the college of creative studies and she was drinking coffee outdoors at the sojourner, downtown. and she told me about the class shes teaching and i was all, im so excited for you you dont even know. then i told her how the burger king is now a sushi place and she was all, so great!

then she said how she wanted to renew her radio liscense while shes there and substitute on some shows and i was all thats so great and i meant it i know how crazy new york can be, and to be plopped in santa barabara to teach at the greatest school of all... sheesh.

then she said, yeah so that brings up something that i would like to ask you about, how would you like to be a guest lecturer for when we talk about jim carroll's the basketball diaries, and i was all

i have the weirdest life.

and then i saw it was noon.

sortapundit + techlaw advisor + click here

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