people will call you the strangest names, sometimes i wonder if they even think about what theyre typing.

elitism would suggest that i would think of myself better than others. and only mingle with a select group. take one look at my friends and you will see that i hang out with a wide variety of saints and sinners, obviously having no standard whatsoever in chosing friends other than in their ability to hold their liquor and be wonderful.

plus i just spent a month in hell where i admited i belonged.

elitist?

i look down my nose at such a slur.

from the back seat of the #21 ucla metro bus as it bounces through koreatown, where all us elitists congregate.

how can a man who writes so incessantly about himself continue to be so misunderstood?

because i dont kiss the ass of each and every person who crosses my path?

ive kissed the asses of some and it came back to bite me in the ass.

elitist. hardly.

how can one be elitist when he is nothing but a common panhandler with nothing but a colorful sign that says little more than gimme.

speaking of which, those of you who would like to give more or less than $10 all you have to do is click the picture in this post of my girl donna f. from the donnas.

yes i like girls.

no im not ashamed.

and i freaking love the donnas.

and i freaking love all of you.

even the stinky ones.

(but not the super stinky ones who tell me to fuck off in the aol chat as if i was the bitch ass and not vous)

thank you to these nice people who flowed to the busblog:

4. kim t.

5. matthew

6. orion

7. matt m.

8. timothy

9. lane

and this chick better start writing on her thing or i will be pissed

at seven fifteen pm at the corner of vermont and wilshire. and it didn’t hurt that it was sixty five degrees as the sun set that last monday in january.

wilshire can be a classy ass street, especially at night, even on that side of town and bryn was tempted.

the north hollywood red line had done him wrong.

wilshire/western ran one minute late and north hollywood ran one minute fast and even though the conductor saw him waving his skateboard at him with a parade of commuters behind him, the man with the jacket that said Metro thought to himself, next train in 12 minutes, those fuckers can wait, released the brake and headed out, fuck sentence structure cursed the run on, fuck everything said the fragment.

anarchy is fine in the uk cuz who the fuck gives a fuck about the uk the train conductor thought, ironically while knowing full well that he was a minute fast and those people really should have the opportunity to jam into the overcrowded ten year old subway cars magically graffiti free. bryn thought that it was because they dont ever let any one on them and he smiled sarcastically at a businessman who swore with an east coast accent.

so he walked up the stairs and emerged from the wilshire vermont station and toed the curb to see if the new Vermont rapid bus was anywhere nearby and that’s when he smelled the perfectly grilled dogs crackling beneath fresh onions on the metal surface of an umbrellaed cart being tended to by a mexican man who was secretly from guatemala.

at least im not a 40 year old hot dog vendor, bryn thought as he saw no new rapid vermont bus, opened up his one hundred thousand dollar bar and took a bite making sure to not chew with the right side of his mouth as that was where his nerve was exposed due to the tooth that had chipped off due to the unusual weight of the filling which caused a fracture in the tooth and eventually cracked it over time and then it eventually broke off into the mouth due to the sudden stickiness of a fifty cent balance bar bought at a ninety nine cent store that shares a strip mall with a strip club called tulips.

theres no way in the world im going to let the haters get in the way or for there to be a big giant debate on here as to this or that, its just going to happen.

at the end of the year it will be over and we will tally it up and make the purchase and then people can say whatever, but i say help it, for its good to have ridiculous things happen in the name of nonsense.

we have an imbecile in the oval office.

lord knows most of you keep trying to make something good from that

byrn thought as he went back down the stairs to the north hollywood platform, now twice as crowded with waiting working people forced to stand because the city believes that benches in public places would provide a resting place for the homeless.

the middle of a sidewalk, bryn assumed they assumed, would be better.

when he got home there was no girl, no dog, no burglars running out the back door, but there was mail, and messages on the phone machine, and within minutes there was a knock.

she looked like a girl bryn worked with.

cute as hell.

a look of mild boredom.

you’re boring me, strange boy, she shot at him.

you’re not boring me at all, hot chick who looks like that chick at work, bryn speed thought and held out his hand.

she placed a vhs copy of The Hours in his palm and he thought that’s how i should get her number tomorrow

he signed her clip board

i will whisper in her ear

so she cant

see me smile

or hear my shaky voice.

and he flipped over the envelope

and saw the big yellow sticker

advertising

tomorrow.

buzz machine