i hardly ever have anything to say to you. one day i will have something to say to you but today i have nothing.

walked outside to check out the strawberries and saw that the aliens have carved out another maze in my purple haze field. crazy rascals.

oh wait, it was paris hilton and lionel richie’s daughter.

i still have nothing to say. i didnt ride the bus today. i got a ride from rosalita who was going my way. i didnt have anything to say to her either. we rode in silence and listened to howard stern berating his editor for dating a 20 yr old intern.

howard: how old are you?

gange: 34.

howard: why are you dating a teenager?

gange: shes not a teenager shes twenty.

bababooey: she just turned twenty, howard.

howard: shes barely even developed, what are you doing man?

bababooey: oh, shes developed.

everyone laughs.

rosalita turns up the radio and shoots me a dirty look.

rosalita is 28.

im older than 34.

im 109, turning 110 in a few months.

rosalita wants me as her man and i dont want to be her man and i dont want to be the man of any teenagers neither but she wouldnt believe me if i told her that because some things you cant convince anyone of.

plus i got nothing to say to her.

stale silence.

the worst sort of silence.

the kind you get from two people who have ripped off each others clothes on several occasions in drunken sinfests and now arent really sure they even know each other let alone like each other.

and now are stuck in rush hour traffic.

listening to sit n sleep commercials.

azarok + the king of all bloggers + a review of the neil young rock opera

i keep telling you my life isnt easy.

my biggest problem is that the cigar smoking monkeys who type this blog have been churning out crap lately and cranking the faith no more isnt encouraging them the way it used to.

so today you’ll have to settle for me.

hi.

last night was a weird one.

someone stopped by my house to give me two presents as “a peace offerring.” I’m not really into people coming over to my house who im not in the best of terms with, but she was cute and she did have the Anna Kournikova maxim, so i accepted the gifts and went back to choking my monkey.

i mean monkeys.

i mean, going back to watching big brother four which was a sham, and now im gonna stop watching it.

then i fell asleep on my couch. too much rum and thai food will do that to you.

i woke up and might have had a conversation or might have had a dream. its hard to tell.

if you call me and im mumbling im probably dreaming.

its probably a good time to ask me all the deep dark questions that are burning in your little hearts.

i remember a girls voice.

she told me some things about how i took care of business that made me happy.

but again, it may have just been a dream. but since i dont dream it may have been real.

when i get home i’ll check the caller-id.

i want to shake the hand of the man who invented caller-id.

or hug the woman who thunk it up.

this morning i woke up in a pool of my own blood.

then i realized that really was a dream.

and woke up again, but this time in my kingsized waterbed which i had thought had sprung a leak.

but it was just the sprinklers from outside that had shot through my open window.

ah, spring.

paris and nicky spotting + another paris and nicky spotting

i take off my shirt and put in death certificate and see what theyre saying about me on technorati.

Jakester:

Cool.

Tony Pierce linked to me on his site along with about 5 or 6 other blogging Jasons. I don’t always agree with his politics and I am sure the reverse is true too but I have always really enjoyed his writing – he is one of the top creative writers on the internet in my opinion and I can’t believe those bastards in LA won’t hire him. In fact, I am a proud owner of not one, but TWO of his books. One of these days I will be able to auction one of those on Ebay for a ka-zillion bucks.

Just heard that a meteorite has hit somewhere around western Washington. Excellent.

Ok, back to the All-Star game.

:: 7:58 PM [link]

rotten little girls plaything:

A new find.

“it was my teenage belief that prostitutes knew more about the love-making process and as long as i made sure that they showered first, then they would be the correct teacher to send me on my way into manhood.” Tony Pierce.com

lynn carrier:

One last thing, thanks for the love Tony. During the last year I have read everything Tony Pierce has written. He has been such an inspiration and example for me.

What really excited me isn’t that he is great, he is great too, but what stuck with me is that his writing improved and it didn’t have to because he was great from the git go.

Check him out. Someday you and I will both say, we knew him when.

::: posted by Lynn at [8:12:17 AM Link]

noah glass:

7.22.2003

tonypierce.com + busblog: “as if we’re not all gawkers at a terrible wreck on the highway”, damn, tony pierce’s lies contain so much truth…and for what it is worth, I think that you are insane in such an elegant way.

11:28 AM

this means whore:

Wednesday, July 23, 2003

tony made me promise that i would write 6 our of every 7 days. so i am doing this before i do anything else! even though i’m stoned and a little tipsy off of the half bottle of red wine i drank earlier with court… 🙂

makeout city:

everything tony writes makes me laff really hahd. honestly. it’s like watching a pauly shore movie, except you’re not laughing because someone paid for it.

it put things in perspective.

made me not be so distracted by things that arent important.

trivial things.

things like how long or short my hair is.

things like how i cant get mtv west coast on my directv.

things like how i dont have a nice tie to wear to coulter’s wedding on saturday.

you learn a lot in the xbi, more than you would in any other agency because in this one people are not afraid to shoot and not afriad to kill and life and living and living in the moment is everything.

every moment is precious.

even this one.

sometimes i’ll see someone kill someone or get shot at and i’ll think, that guy put a tupperware lid on his green beans last night.

and now noones gonna eat those green beans.

and theyre still perfectly good.

but i aint eating no dead mans tupperwared green beans i dont care how good they are.

i see some guys steal dead guys clothes, i think thats not so cool.

people talk about bad karma. i dont believe in karma.

i believe in

fuck, i dont know what i believe in.

i just want to have a good time and save the world.

<3 kristin <3

sometimes the shit flows downhill and you realize that youre at the bottom of the hill. sometimes you think that your ways arent any better than anybody elses ways and even though you have done your best to treat people with respect and class and gentle behavoir that they’ll still talk about you like youre some belching fratboy who literally does have notches on his bunkbed and he cant remember which one you are.

and far be it for me to say that the good book teaches us any of this but it does. of course it does.

even Jesus’s disciples, dudes who dropped what they were doing to follow him let him down on nearly every step of the way: outting him, and not trusting him, and lying about him, and dissing him three times before the cock crowed.

stories that are important to remember because the underlying theme is: if this will happen to the son of God, your fate is even worse, fuckhead, so dont be so surprised.

learn from everything is what the good angel says, dont be sexist, dont be racist, dont be religionist, dont be agist. bad angel says are you going to believe that shit? good angel says remember the bus.

when the bus is full it will blow right past a busstop. fast as it can.

if you can catch a glimpse of the driver he will give you the hitchhiker thumb which means “the next bus right behind me will get you.”

theres another bus coming.

one thats better.

one thats not as full. one whose a/c isnt blowing like mad just because it *was* hot outside earlier in the day.

one that doesnt smell of old tacos.

one that isnt driven by someone who doesnt know how to gently apply the brakes.

one who calls out the stops in a pleasant manner, and not in grumbles to himself, or not at all.

one whose passengers are quiet or respectful, who dont gossip and spread lies.

there’ll be another bus coming

the wait wont be that long.

it might feel like its taking forever, and it might actually take a long time

but its coming.

hose monster + alecia + kimbalina + noah

without todays birthday boy, mr oswald rosenkrantz the busblog wouldnt have ever existed.

and before the busblog there was tonypierce.com and before that there was allstar install.

and before that there was simply darkness

and light.

somewhere in the middle of all that came os.

fluent in french, czech, and hillbilly the youngest rosenkrantz of the boise rosenkrants, os transferred into uc isla vista after being kicked out of princeton for delivering an oral presentation in a ridiculously high voice.

as he tells it it was a fine overview in the downfalls of reganomics and its impact on southern californian auto sales and its correlation to the nations ultimate economic downward spiral, but because everyone in the classroom was laughing so hard the professor couldnt hear.

and eventually he didnt want to hear at all and ordered our man out of the class and damned into new jersey.

a pool shark, a poker cheat, a left handed stepchild who looks good in any hat, vest, or lampshade.

hes the crosslegged doodad floating across your conscious always there always aware always near always dear.

i call him mr. os because he brings the southern gentleman out of you.

one whose bathtub gin tastes hauntingly different than yours.

and thats because its from a meticulously manicured still.

not a spare tub.

class, bitch. class.

os is the type of fella who could wear a pink beret at a rodeo and walk out of the rodeo with two pink berets.

drunk.

and yet appearing perfectly sober.

until the cawwing begins.

happy birthday mr. os.

only one more year till 100.

that broken girl + leah + nothing special website hosting