i want to write as good as jenny yeah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

all on a bus.

cut with a cuss.

new york times couldnt pay me enough.

i want to write like bukowski who never knew doubt.

his fingers are the fingers that fingers dream about.

reverse xeni + frankenstein + kevynn + raspil iverson

raymi and anti came over and visted me

on easter sunday because theyre born again like me and wanted someone to fellowship with.

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

who wouldnt?

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

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

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

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

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

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

then she started talking and she didnt stop.

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

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

made me think she had a little crush on him.

they seemed to work great together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

anti + raymi + how to be a small town slut

my life is so dull.

aunt mimipeople ask me how much of this is true and i tell them none and then they don’t believe me.

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

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

heres what my astrology says for this week:

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

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

So what do i long for with all my heart?

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


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

a nice big fluffy dog named Ruffy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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