theres a theory that you cant get 71 comments unless you leave the post up on top for at least a day. i say fuck that.

i say my readers will comment their ass off, and they'll get as many as my hot blonde blogger friend.

me and karisa are about to go see zwan, if she ever gets over here.

the girl parties all night every night, but the only time she works out is right before she hangs out with me.

every time.

like every girl in america, she gets on the scale and screams and asks for a second opinoin.

so since she only runs through the canyons before she goes out with me, maybe she should hang out with me more.

i saw zwan a few years ago at the roxy. was it with her?

all i remember was i got the lord of the rings guy's autograph after the show for ashley.

frodo.

frodo baggins.

ashley used to be in love with him.

i want to have an auction for my upper left hand link.

a few years ago i auctioned off a link from my links page, this year i would like to auction one off on my blog page.

i want to see if Blogshares is right about the value of one of my outgoing links.

it's a pretty unscientific test, but arent those the best kind?

when ever i get it up, bidding will start at a buck.

the link will stay up for the month of may.

the month in which so many of my good friends were born.

oh, look at this

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moxie put this picture of herself up on her blog the other day and got 71 comments.

i would like to get 71 comments.

i think what helped was that a lot of the people either talked about how hot moxie looked, or they put in quotes from their favorite movie lines.

movie lines are ok, but also feel free to comment on any changes or improvements that you'd like to see to the busblog.

one of the interesting things that i get to see are the good suggestions that people make.

a lot of times they say dont change a thing.

sometimes i do what they suggest.

for example, there could easilly be a lot of nudity on the busblog. i mean, i am pro-nude, after all.

some of it is an extension of my religious beliefs. i am a Christian and most of us feel that the human body is a beautiful reflection of God's amazing creations.

when adam and eve ate from the tree and covered themselves, it wasnt because anyone said the human body was bad, they just felt embarrassed, and that sort of dumbass reaction was what tipped God off into knowing that something was wrong in the garden.

He never said that they should be covering themselves.

anyway, long ago i got some good advice to stay away from the nudes on the blog since a lot of people would like to read it while they are at work.

once i got an email from someone who said that his network at work was blocking the busblog from being accessed because of its adult content.

i didnt have any adult content so i emailed their IT guy who said that it wasnt cause of my content it was cuz too many people were going to it too often and it had nothing to do with their work.

everything is context.

when chris and i were doing laundry yesterday we saw this big muscleman guy stuff newspapers in his clothes.

he had finished his laundry but i saw he was putting a lot of it on.

then it looked like he had a huge diaper on.

then he kept putting newspaper down his shirt, up the sleeves, down the pants.

i tried not to stare, but come on.

later chris said, do you think its cuz he's homeless and thats how you stay warm?

i said, maybe he's about to go get his ass kicked.

moxie + madpony

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jeanine and i lived in three different apartments in isla vista. the first one was a summer sublet with matty t. he had some wheels of steel that he let me screw around with and i learned right away that id never be a sweet dj.

then we moved to 6509 madrid, which is frozen in my memory because it was the tiniest apartment you'll ever see, but it was so bursting with love it seemed huge. we lived there for a year and then moved two doors over to where greg vaine used to live. the same apartment that housed many a hootenanny, and the very one where mc brown and mc peace rapped to barbara uehling, the chancelor of our university.

one of my neighbors was a long haired rich kid who drove a mercedes and had one of the hottest women ive ever seen as his girlfriend. his name was tim and he was a great friend and perfect neighbor. i ended up buying life insurance from his father, who didnt know that even back then i was in the xbi, and actually needed a good life insurance plan

i hadnt talked to timmy since i lived in frisco with chris, so it was good to catch up a little.

right in the middle of it all i got a phone call from toronto's own raymi the minx, so i had to tell my long lost pal that id call him back.

the details of the conversation with raymi, unfortunately, were completely off the record, but i can say this, the white sands of maui are doing wonders for our neighbour from the north.

she said aboot and i was all, a-what? and then she said it american and i was a little bummed.

one day soon i will get to meet her, im hoping, and i can ask her all about rush and triumph and michael j fox and especially pamela anderson and strange brew and celine dion and tommy chong.

and of course about her.

i do have a weird life. i guess im starting to realize that. but i dont understand why its like this because as soon as im done with work

i either go home into the hollywood hills, or out to malibu to lay in the sand.

im not out clubbing like karisa, or being rock stars like tsar, moving to reno like ken, or interviewing dirrty princesses like kate sullivan.

i watch baseball via satelite and this shit happens to me.

i am a victim i tell you, a victim.

and i did remember to call timmy back cuz he's my bro.

piker + mondoego + chinomikan + hilton sisters

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rarely do i smoke but sometimes i do and all the ladies in the house will say ho.

one time a friend of mine tried to commit suicide and i drove that person to the hospital and i sat on the curb with an ambulance driver and he let me bum a smoke, and then another. and then one more.

there have been a few times here at the xbi where i have had that urge, but i never followed up on it. to smoke, that is.

until this morning, when the whole stratosphere collapsed around me and everything became super slow motion and i used my superpowers against evil and i was able to matrix the bullets and bend over backwards and fire back while doing gymnastics and to remind them who the fuck they were dealing with i jumped to the next building like crouching tiger and pulled off the split kick flip landing on my hands and holding that pose with my feet pointing out.

then i popped back on my feet and spit through my teeth.

dug through the pockets of one of the bleeding assailants and took out an american spirit and threw the rest of the pack at his chest.

lit it with the adrenalin that was shooting out of my pupils leaned against the rail of the balcony and pulled a long drag

and released it.

a little bird said he was going through some shit himself and asked for a hit which i gladly obliged.

tweet tweet tweet tweet. that damn bird wouldn't shut up. talking about how the crows eat his eggs and how his wife doesn't like the nest.

how she says that the worms taste "funny."

funny how?

she wont tell me. she just says "funny."

so i put the rest of the cigarette on the edge of the table and went on my way realizing that life could be worse.

you could be walking around with no hands forced to eat funny tasting worms all day.

the coyote's bark + bunsen + tiffany

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caption this, please

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theres not enough food in the world for me im eating like a pig and chris told me that i looked skinnier and whatshername said i look skinnier and i have been pretty good about just water or diet pepsi at work and im making my own lunch.

ever since me and chris broke up i have been fascinated by animal magnetism.

in sports they call it chemistry.

sometimes there becomes conflict when someone who you are mentally physically and emotionally attracted to, and animally magnetized to, does some fucked up shit that pushes you away.

then somehow they become very far away. then they get very very close, physically. then feelings return.

and then your astrology becomes realized and you want to cry.

cuz you miss her.

and she feels good when you hold her.

and your sorry that you heard her cry on the phone the other day. since what she had to say was so nice.

the balls in your court they say. but the balls always in my court.

i dont want to make the wrong desicion. weight of the world. wait.

when i lived in san francisco i didnt live on haight street for the first two years that i was there.

then when i did i thought, why the hell didnt i live here on day one.

my astrology this week tells me to go for the things that i really want.

not really want, but really really want.

no more bullshitting.

and there are two things that i know i really really want.

one of them i know i cant get cuz even though i would be perfect, well, sometimes, kids, you dont get it anyway.

im not going to get that one.

the other one i could probably get.

and yet neither of those is what i want most of all.

and that is to write really well, on my blog

every damn day.

to all of you.

treacher + vote for dc's bikini girl + anti with the fisheye

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this is a test, this is only a test.

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karisa thinks i date too many girls who read my page. karisa is one of my best advisors.

she thinks that i should date more girls here at the agency since she hears me talk about them a bunch, and because then i wouldnt have to keep what we do here so hush hush. she thinks that if something ever got leaked out to the wrong person it could be trouble for the whole agency.

her beliefs are pretty much shared by everyone at the xbi. in fact, this is one of the few companies that ive worked for that not only allows fraternization, but encourages it.

we have beers in every fridge. sexual harrasment rules are completely ignored. we even had a sadie hawkins dance last summer and i cant wait for this years one.

any time i go out on a date with someone who reads the busblog they always ask me how old i am. sometimes repeatedly. i think its because i look old in my pics, and i look younger in person.

usually i stick with the tried and true, 109 years old.

most of the girls are a little more persistant. i told one of them if she got naked i would consider telling her my real age.

poof, she was naked.

quite a shock for the people in front of the Orange Julius where we were enjoying our Hot Sams pretzels.

yes, i like to take my lady friends to malls. shut up. theres a lot you can learn about a woman while you window shop with her.

i like to date girls who read my blog because i think its good for someone to know how you think. especially if how you think is different than a lot of the other people walking this crust. not that i think different in a good way different. but it is different.

for example, if someone has their heart in the right place, and theyre coming from a place of courage and trust, theres no way i would ever judge them. so when that girl was back at my house and got naked there, i didnt judge her for how her body looked, etc. if anything her body looked even more beautiful to me because she had less hang ups about it than i do about mine.

im not entirely sure that a lot of other men feel that way. not that im judging my brethren either. im just saying.

have you seen the new J.Lo video? the one where she pays tribute to Flashdance.

the video should be called Assdance because we see more of J.Lo's famous rear than ever before. and i dont know if it has always been that different than your typical movie star / singer / uber-celeb, but it's definatetly out there. and to me, i say rock on to J.Lo for having the guts to say, this is me, fuck you if you cant deal with it.

madonna, however, loses points to me this week, by watering down her anti-war video "American Life" which will debut today on MTV.

since when cant we as Americans put out a anti-war video whenever we damn well choose? and tell me when is there a better time to put out an anti-war video than during a so-called war?

the myopic view that supporting the troops is mutually exclusive from not supporting a war is retarded.

and its hella retarded to change a music video because a handful of flag wavers get their feelings hurt that you dont agree with them.

this doesnt mean that i dont still think that madonna is hot, but she used to be the epitome of courage.

now that she actually has something to lose, it's disappointing that she has erred on the side of conservatism.

therefore i will not be dating her any time soon.

moxie

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hi. it's playoff time

be prepared for massive laker coverage.

since the lakers are going to go back-to-back-to-back-to-back i figured that all you good people would like to know what its like to live in a championship city, pretty much at ground zero.

last night when chris and i were doing my laundry both of the televisions were set to the laker+warrior game. one of the beautiful things about sport is it transcends culture, language, status and economics.

there we were folding my cubs shirts and you could hear all these people in all their little accents clapping and cheering and talking to the tv.

kobe, no more mistakes-uh.

im no good at accents.

laker all the way.

sacramento dont have skill to beat shaq kobe and laker, my friend.

the owner of the laundrymat was sitting on an unused washer and pulled up a chair for an older man who appeared to be from ethiopia. several latin gentlemen folding their soccer shirts clapped when someone made a special play.

chris, because shes the greatest, cheered along.

shes a hot babe with curves who will girlwatch with you and watch every second of a basketball game with you as you wash your clothes. how does it get any better than that?

my only fear for the defending champs was Dallas. but now that michael finley is hurt they only have to worry about dirk, nick van smack, and steve nash. however if they want to hack-a-shaq theyve got some pretty big guys in the 7'6" shawn bradley and the 7" raef la frenz.

to be honest, i have no idea how the Lakers have made it this far with really just two players.

so you really have to give a lot of credit to the coach.

and, of course, the laker girls.

beck + spybabe

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even though she has a pinched nerve in her back or a slipped disc or a slipt disco chris called me and told me that she was picking me up after work so we could do laundry and sure enough there she was right as the guy pulled the birds tail and before fred flinstone could slide down his dinosaur's tail i was rounding the corner and i saw my baby sitting on a step exhaling a camel light.

she has blonde hair now. dark roots on purpose. a frayed green denim levis jacket, powder blue sweat pants and a wrinkle on her forehead because the generic pain killers her fuct up doct prescribed her weren't worth the ten dollar copay and how do you tell someone, listen, i know a few things about meds and this shit isn't working, i might look young enough to get carded, but im an adult and my shits fucked so give me the damn vicodin for this is why the good Lord made it.

but shes so sweet she just hangs up the phone and yells fuck into her pillow. fuck! and breaks down and sobs cuz it really hurts and it would be one thing if the doctor was unsure but this shits coming from the nurse practioner not even the doc but from some bitch who can only prescribe advil. and by the way, what fucking loser needs a prescription for advil.

meanwhile in america everybody has the hookup. this one, that one. look at her over there. yep, even him. dosed, drugged, done. and this is a girl who wont have a beer with her meal after the laundromat because the label clearly said no alcohol on the bottle of pills that don't do shit.

and im all, don't you remember even one day in isla vista?

she smiles and i take her hand. we're in a booth in silverlake. the crest. its dark. theyre playing slow jams from the eighties. pointer sisters at the moment. it doesn't sound cheesy. it sounds of all things, classic, for lack of a better word.

thank you for all the love you give me i tell her and she smiles and says my name.

its like groundwater. its vital. to not have to wait for the flood or the downpour, all you have to do is open your eyes and theres this super strong foundation that hasn't wavered a smidge since it began.

which isn't to say there weren't disagreements. or fights. or nights where one party would huff to the guest room and put a blanket over his fro and try to go to sleep on the futon. there were disagreements.

and tears, and loud moments, and angry lipsticked messages on the mirror.

there were no angry lipsticked messages on the mirror.

but there were some loud moments.

and those moments usually ended up with the one in the soft comfy bed creeping over to the guest room after about twenty minutes and crawling into the futon with the tearful one and whispering all the right things as they both fell asleep among unopened boxes and books.

is it good for a man to want a lot of love in his life i asked her as we waited for liver and bacon and a thick burger with an onion ring and mashed potatoes and homemade chips.

and she said yes. its good.

she said i pretend that i don't want it too, but i do.

and later she said that my hair didn't look so bad

that in fact it looked good.

and the liver came and they gave me a mini pitcher of coke

and we both talked about how much sleep we were going to get as soon as we got home.

lago + mental spigot + joh3n

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astrologically, libras are supposed to be the harbringers of magic so it doesnt suprise me that meesh is surrounded by incredible nature, super famous celebrities, and neighbors like "aisha" who claims to be from sweden and single (pictured).

if america flowed me enough to get my car right now, i would drive to aspen and spend a week this summer with meesh and aisha to support them in any way that they require.

hark. whats this? meesh types, "We'll be waiting and in dire need of some sexual healing."

one of the good parts of being as old as i am is once you pass a certain age you start to have control over your emotions, mastery over your body. breathing technics come into play allowing for creativity like you aint never seen before.

can i actually heal? hmmm. thats a tough question.

whats toughest about this all is my mom reads my blog.

i might have to ask my mom to stop reading my blog.

the answer is fuck yeah ladies

why do you think they call it playing doctor.

other problem is some big wigs from across town are looking at this blog this week and i was trying to mellow it out but every time i do that it just makes the writing super boring. and then to make up for it i start cursing like a pirate. all in all you can understand why i cant get a paying writing gig to save my damn life, and why im stuck in this deadend job of saving lives of the good citizens of hell-a county.

today is humpday. time flies for me here at the xbi. i like it and i hate it. i never have any time to do the things that i need to do. and it seems like we never catch as many people as we want to and then its time to go home.

i think ive compensated for that lately by staying up till 3am trying to write something good. but the sad thing is i have such a hard time writing at night that it isnt even really worth it.

saw a little bird today who was orange. but my bus was late which made me late and by the time i passed him i was late for work and didnt have enough time to take his little picture for all of you bird watchers out there in the rock-a-sphere.

jack valenti supporting tim robbins as the baseball hall of shame continues to bungle even the simplest of chores: showing a classic baseball movie and letting the lead actor introduce it. if they cant pull this off, charlie hustle doesnt stand a chance.

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went to my first ballgame of the season last night with the Owens' of Ventura, howard and billie, as lovely a couple as you could imagine, who treated me and my pal matt to choice seats behind home plate.

perhaps you have read howard's wonderful blog that not only sports some level-headed political thought, but great design, and the courage to publish ones own poetry. i admire acheivements like those since i dont have the fortitude or ability to do any of those things.

howard is also a fantasy baseball geek like myself. and as matt is slowly becoming one himself it was fun to toss around some ubergeeky thoughts about rookie pitchers, strategies on autodrafts, and whether or not you should pinch run for old men like fred mcgriff when youre down by three runs.

i felt a little bad for billie who was completely surrounded by baseball nerds, but i imagined she knew what she was getting herself into. but maybe she didnt know the ridiculous depths our sick passion for the national pasttime would sink to when we started contemplating exactly where the pitcher should bunt the ball in the top of the seventh with two runners on.

the correct answer is "in play."

it was candlestickian cold last night at chavez ravine. but after an eighth inning hot cocoa i was completely satisfied.

thanks to the ultra slow style of hideo nomo and jake peavy, four hours later the game was finally entering the ninth inning.

i didnt care.

baseball is pretty much the only thing that could keep me outside in the cold, happilly.

i love you baseball, classiest sport there is.

48. The Coyote's Bark

after being dropped off i chatted on the internet with pretty much all of america and when they were done with me i was able to do a mini photo essay about the evening which i hope you all approve of.

today is wednesday. which means the brezney astrology for last week is almost over.

im happy it's almost over because it said i was gonna cry this week.

i didnt cry even once.

i take that back. i nearly did when a hot chick told me she had zwan tickets for me saturday night.

on the floor.

rupaul + moby + mc brown

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if you only knew who reads these pixels. it would scare the holy crap out of you.

typically i get about a thousand hits a day to the site and the blog. lately its gone down a little. whatev.

in a perfect world you would think that as the popularity of blogging grows, so, therefore, my hits would steadilly increase. but that doesnt make sense. because with more blogs comes more choice, therefore less hits.

regardless, that southern gentleman, the Instapundit gets 100 times the hits i get and the growth of the web seems to only build his readerbase. but he and i are playing different games.

im trying to make something out of nothing. people come here and they have absolultely no clue what theyre going to get. mostly because the author has no idea what he's going to give.

instapundit is going to tell you all the things you wish your newspaper and cnn would give you: news, politics, law, and current events in a trustworthy, intelligent, concise manner.

busblog is going to probably just break a few hundred rules of grammar and spelling in a roundabout way of talking about Self.

thus 1/100 of the popularity.

for some reason i consider Instapundit a peer. which is like a mite considering a crocodile a peer. sure they walk the same grounds, feel the same sun, and God loves them in the same way, but theyre not damn peers. one is an incredible super creature. the other is a fucking mite.

this mite is very comfortable believing that the thousand points of light are really a hundred, but more like ten: chris, karisa, azarock, madpony, basart, and my little brother who rips my shit off and puts it in collegehangover dot com.

i dont look at myself that way out of any sense of humbleness, although i am incredibly humbled by the talent and popularity of other bloggers in the blogosphere, but i guess in a way i dont even really think that the thousand people who read this are real readers and some are loyal readers and some are famous and some work in super cool places, and some might even work in places that i might even talk about.

with that said, Google, i love you.

Blogger, i love you even more.

im sorry if i made you think otherwise.

i am so loyal you dont even know, and all i wanted to do last night was let my man Bunsen get his props on the left hand tally.

im doing a weird little thing where im asking perfect strangers to give me, a perfect stranger, ten bucks for a car.

you know how ridiculous a concept that is?

its a science fair art project that if the Instapundit wanted to abuse his power he could be a millionaire in a week.

100,000 times $10 = InstaMillionaire.

i dont want to be a millionaire, i just want a car.

if i was a millionaire i would think all these babes were after me just for my fat wallet.

wait up.

where was i?

totally spaced out.

san dimas highschool football rules!

blogger + google + paypal + new photo spread

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when someone new online asks me what i look like i normally say roy jones jr.

except i have a little more toned belly.

i do love the internet.

hi internet.

hi tony, baby.

ive gotten so much from you.

youve given so much.

concert tickets, mp3s, smut, driving directions, pizza, pharmaceuticals from canada, admirers, fashion tips, dates.

chopper one is rigged with the internet and i don't know how they do it but they do. i don't ask many questions, i just fly the damn thing and press the right buttons.

my favorite button, and i think ive discussed this before, is the low frequency destablizer.

it was improved this weekend and today we got to give it a real-life test.

these bad guys were hiding in a garage, we could see where they were thanks to their body heat. so we aimed the destablizer in their general direction and sent out beams of super low frequency sound waves.

imagine sudden sea-sickness.

imagine wanting to vomit, needing air. needing anything other than what you are having right now.

fuckers ran out retching within seconds, right into the waiting hands of the ground agents who allowed them to finish losing their breakfast jacks and then took them away to our holding cell of misery.

thing about the xbi is because we're not really even supposed to exist, its not like you can take the rest of the afternoon off thinking that you just had a good day. at any point one of the criminals can come at you, or the cops, or the fbi, or the cia, or anyone.

so its not cool to say to someone, damn, im having the best day.

they're afraid if you say that you'll jinx it.

i don't believe in jinxes.

i just believe in you.

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someone asked me last night when i was going to move to moveable type. which is a helluva question because the only reason i was staying true to blogger was cuz i felt that Ev deserved the loyalty until he got rich.

and if he isnt on his way to getting rich after getting gobbled by google, then i certainly cant help him.

ive enjoyed my time with blogger. it's a good system that allowed me to talk to all of you, and for that im grateful. and it has certainly given me what ive paid for.

there are parts of moveable type that i think i will like better.

as you know from my homepage (tonypierce.com), i dont rely on blogger for hosting. my man os supplies that wonderfully.

speaking of which, he and i have been deluged with requests for people who want tonypierce.com email addresses.

why do you people want those things?

madpony@tonypierce.com

anna@tonypierce.com

iwastecompanytime@tonypierce.com

me and os figured it out that if people are serious about these things that they can email me at stokeme@tonypierce.com and this is what you need to write in your note:

1. the email address that all the @tonypierce.com mail wil get forwarded to.
2. the prefix that you would like to request.
3. your full name.


what will happen is we will send you a PayPal invoice for $6.66 which will give you that email address for one full year. you can change where that @tonypierce.com address will get forwarded to once for free.

all proceeds -- all proceeds will go to my man Os who has hosted this three-ring circus even before it existed, which is a tough trick, let me tell you.

back to Blogger. this blog is serious business. when my left-hand column is unable to be updated the way it is today, people write me mean(ish) emails. i need software that doesnt have these sorts of bugs. or i need to be a fulltime employee of bloggergoogle blogging while traveling the world.

or i need to move over to moveable type.

we're through the looking glass, people.

i went to sleep at three am last night and i feel like a damn king this morning.

thank you, nasty girl, who left me the best email this morning.

layne + welch + owens + weekend box office charts in full on detail

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soon as i got home i had all these messages. ignored em. turned on e!, they were having the golden hanger awards.

i dont care what any of you say, i like joan rivers. shes a classic.

made a pot of rice. i have this little pot. heats up the rice fast. im not cooking for eight.

saturday i george formaned six chicken breasts, and ive been eating them like crazy. i put the rice in a bowl, then a hunk of chicken on top, microwave it for two minutes.

heat up some peas.

eat, repeat, eat, repeat.

ive been eating like a damn pig.

got ten bucks from bunsen today. i was a little nervous cuz there was no flow for a week.

didnt help that i hadnt talked about it for a week.

you know this thing is going to work, dont you.

47. bunsen

i think i have rounded down the choices to a mini cooper or a saturn.

ive had ridiculously good luck in saturns.

anyhow, to celebrate the flow from my man bunsen, heres another picture of meesh.

she just told me the greatest story.

her story.

i have heard some pretty interesting tales from some truly interesting women, good people.

strange and beautiful stories, my friends.

starring hot girls and the men... and women... who lusted them.

after i ate my chicken and rice i got on the instant messenger and this young girl. legal, but obscenely young.

she said things to me, even after seeing my picture.

i sent her two just incase.

big ones.

she sent me some pictures of herself and typed the most perfect pleas.

it took everything to resist stealing a car and driving all night.

i was distracted by lisa marie presley being interviewed by howard stern.

are all the women in the world perfect today?

howard: [regarding michael jackson first kissing her] did he tounge you?

lisa marie: did he do what?

howard: did he give you the tounge?

lisa marie: will you... stop it?

howard: yes.

lisa marie: thank you. {pause} i married the m-f, so...

howard: did he spank you?

lisa marie: no.

howard: did nicolas cage spank you?

lisa marie: i dont want to talk about it.

howard.: he did. i knew it. i would tie you up and spank you.

lisa marie: really?

howard. yeah.

lisa marie: good.

howard: absolutely.

lisa marie: good.

howard: you wouldnt even know what hit you. right, robin?

robin: thats right. but can you even tell us... were you sexually satisfied by michael jackson?

lisa marie: um, you know... uh... see...

howard: the answer is either yes or no.

lisa maire: the answer would be, would i have married someone that i wasnt.

saturn + mini cooper

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even though it's gray and terrible and cold and wet and miserable, im not sure this day could be any better for me.

i got a comment from my long lost pal Meesh (scantilly pictured) who has updated her site with news from her winter wonderland. apparently shes not in the best moods. and she thinks she looks fat in one of her pictures.

oh meesh.

you dont look fat.

do you have any idea how many times a week i have to tell super hot babes that they dont look fat?

if i had a french kiss for each time i had to convince a total knockout that she was, indeed, a total knockout, i would probably have dual US/French citizenship by now.

anyways, meesh, you have my phone number, call me, i promise i will pick up this time. use the 666 number. or the cell phone. whatever. i miss you. im happy youre alive.

be my roommate.

marry me.

bear my babies.

divorce me and sue me for alimony.

reconsile with me after a year or two separation.

break my heart and make it better.

hit me with a flower.

do it every hour.

none of her pictures do her any justice.

meesh is one of these women who float down from Heaven and walk with us, all the time pretending to be one of us, but theyre not fooling anyone.

who do you think youre fooling?

some of these women will drink with you, or toss pills in your mouth, or just smoke to appear mortal but even their bad sides are good.

karisa is like this, and she doesnt fool anyone either.

chris fools the fools, and even fooled me for about a week.

meesh is phat.

i like that.

i miss her. i want her to move back to her daddys house and invite me up to drink homemade tom kha kai soup.

this time i promise i wont say no.

meeshness

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rained this morning here in southern california. so of course the subway had hour-long delays.

because somehow rain affects the trains a mile below the dirty boulevard.

a good writer would make a perfect segue into the fact that Anger Management was the weekend box office winner with a whopping $44.5 million. the second-biggest opening by far this year.

the good people at Variety have amazing charts for things like this and this one illustrates how amazing this weekend's feat was. the sandler/nicholsen comedy outdid the action adventure blockbuster Daredevil which pulled in $45 million on valentines day with help from its stars Ben Affleck and that chick from Alias.

number three this year was Bringing Down the House at $31 million, followed by How To Lose a Guy in Ten Days which had a $23.8 million opening weekend.

even though Jack co-stars in Anger Management it's really an Adam Sandler film, and this weekend was a personal best for both stars. Variety reports that Sandler opened with $41 million with Big Daddy, and Jack hit big with Batman at $42.7 million on its opening weekend.

strange thing is, even though these are two of my favorite actors, i have no desire to see this movie.

it looks stupid.

stupid as a subway being shut down cuz of a few inches la winter rain.

alecia + oish + zak + no use for virtue

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looks like another year that i'm getting passed over for a pulitzer.

sux.

woke up with clippergirl next to me this morning. she was playing with what little hair i have.

you have the longest eyelashes for a boy she told me.

i mumbled something about carrottop and rolled over.

she said no no no its early lets seize the day, lets maul the morning.

i swear to you she said maul the morning.

please tony please lets actually do something today. ive been good.

she had been good. so i told her that we could do anything that she wanted today.

she asked anything?

i worried for a second and said, sure, why not. anything.

a full eight minutes later she kissed me on the cheek and asked me what i wanted to do today.

i told her that i wanted to go to hollywood park but it was closed.

she said, what about santa anita?

i said, i thought you didnt want to rack up miles on your miata.

she said, fuck the miata, lets go to the races!

went to the track. im a mess at the track cuz all i want to do is drink and swear. and take pictures.

clippergirl says ive been annoying with my new camera lately taking pictures of every damn thing, so she asked if we gave the camera a day off. i told her it was palm sunday and how great would it be to take pictures of palm trees today.

she told me how great it would be to just enjoy the day, like adults, holding hands, drinking white wine, watching the horses with the san gabriel mountains in the background.

i reminded her that she was a cheerleader and put on my gwar shirt and gave the finger to adulthood.

clippergirl persuaded me to put on a different shirt and we went to the track.

we lost all our gambling money after the third race. im not a good bettor. fortunately our drinking money wasnt even close to being tapped.

when i was right at the point of either being too drunk to drive or just buzzed enough to deal with being at the races without betting, she started asking me questions that i only hear when she is one wine past drunk.

do you love me tony?

of course i do.

who do you love the most?

my mom.

who do you love love the most?

chris.

still?

shes only gotten better with age.

who do you love the least?

probably anna kournikova.

why would you say that?

i only love her for the material.

on a scale of one to ten, how much do you love me?

i brought my right hand to my nose, looked up into the blue sky, sniffed and said, eight and a half.

and i'd be lying if i didnt tell you that it was a quiet ride back home in that miata.

dan the goose + the fat guy + the buzz machine

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