nothing on here is true.

this letter is true, but thats it. and some of this is sketchy.

i dont work for an undercover group of crimefighting superheroes made up of castoffs from the cia, navy seals, and fbi who are often referred to as the xbi.

i dont have a flying car, im totally not 109 years old, i dont ride the bus to work.

i ride the bus And the subway.

all the hot chicks on my page and in my photo essays: none of them know me.

for example, karisa is not coming over to do laundry with me.

tsar did not go to college with me.

ken layne doesnt even know my name.

the popularity of this site isnt even true. ive doctored the numbers, cooked the books, phinagled with the hoo ha.

in reality im a very shy volunteer at a large private hospital where i cuddle shivvering aids babies, push people around in their wheel chairs, and help valet park certain doctors’ bmws.

at night i watch a lot of tv.

karisa is a neurosurgeon who befriended me.

a pityfriend.

i know the truth.

little does she know that my grandmother left me a fortune, but how would she know anything about me, normally im too shy to say much more than hello, how on earth could i possibly tell her that i own the place?

with all the free time that i have i read russian novelists, bukowski poems, and entertainment weekly, and i try to incorporate that style into this blog.

what i want to show on here is that los angeles really is an interesting place to live and its a lot different than what hollywood would have you believe that it is.

please dont get distracted by my political writings or photo essays. sometimes i get bored and the easiest thing to do is watch baseball and figure out different ways to say f the president. it’s easier than it looks.

also dont get fooled by my piss poor grammar and spelling, i can spell. and i can grammar.

the question is, can i write.

thats the thing that i ask myself every day.

people tell me i can, but half those people have a tube jammed up their arm and a bedpan between their legs. theyd say anything as long as id listen to their terrible stories.

so anyway, i really have to do laundry right now, so click around, go to the archives, check out what the web has to say about the busblog and dont forget to look at a photo essay or two.

its the specialty of the house.

your pal,

tony

the first black one. me. your pal, tony.

i know im not a republican, but who is any more? repubs are supposed to be pro-business and less government, but since Bush has taken over the government has grown 20% and businessmen like Tommy Chong are in jail for selling plastic tubes.

im going to be a republican president because i want to get away with whatever i want.

i want to be able to force myself into a war and then charge my country $100 billion and not even hear a whisper of impeachment.

not one fuck you in the press.

with the economy sinking, and with unemployment high, wheres the first Fuck You, Mr. President, in the paper of record?

im not going to hold my breath.

im just going to run, and run republican and when people say, what about when you wrote this thing or that thing in your blog, how can you say youre a republican now, i will say that i have had a change of heart. i have seen the light.

and i have seen the light.

its like being the favorite child in your parents eyes.

you can steal elections, and bungle, and have a chequered past, and have drunk daughters, and shady oil dealings, and even with a republican congress and supreme court, if you fuck up, its all good.

so sign me up for that shit, cuz where i work at, when you fuck up you get called out and nobody will defend you.

i dont want the power the president has, im not interested in the free rent or fancy dinners, and im certainly not looking forward to wearing a blue suit every frickin day, but to be completely blameless for everything that happens on my watch is exactly the gig ive been searching for on craigslist.

so please direct me to the email address that i can send my resume.

and yes, i have references upon request.

sk smith, busting + ken layne documenting history in the making + wisdom goof has the pictures

and she couldnt be more right. i disagree with some of the things she says and does but not everything. not that.

she says she shy but shes not shy of me. she just ignores me and thats fine. its sorta nice. sometimes.

i want to interview her for you. for all of you. for all of us. for me. but she wont.

it’s fashion week and i still have a little bit of arts editor in me. i always want to keep you in the know on the current events. busblog was there for you for miss universe, for the mtv awards, for the oscars, for the sunset junction street fair, for tsars march on rockington but still im not cool.

to prove it i took lots of pictures of my bald spot last night as monday night football droned from the big screen.

shit i forgot what i was gonna say.

shit.

problem with saving the world is your phone rings. a lot. and it distracts you.

my first girlfriend ever and i talked last night on the phone. she wants me. oh yeah. she pretends she doesnt. she says she wants to be a nun. she says a lot of things, but she lies. she wants me.

she doesnt mind that im not cool, cuz to her im cooler than ive ever been since she knew me at fifteen. she actually missed my peak, but dont tell her that.

even though shes sure to know.

how couldnt she know.

splinky knows and she doesnt even know me.

you know what i want to do today? i dont want to kill anyone today, thats what i want to do. i want to catch the bad guys and teach them a lesson. i want to look into their eyes at their soul and tell them that their mammas didnt sit in labor for 18 hours for them to grow up and be punkass bitches sold on the belief that they can just run around being assholes and somehow it was societys fault.

good thing about chopper one is i can show some of these fellas what mankind can do.

they especially like the part where i push the button and the blades are silenced and even the shadows of the vehicle disappear below.

they dont like it when it drops straight down.

they dont like it when they piss their pants

they dont like it when they barf themselves.

they dont like it when i tell them to swear they’ll never fuck with the planet again as we drop like a rock

closer to pico blvd.

and closer.

and when they promise they dont like it when i say pinkie swear

and they see the street shooting closer and closer and they say fine pinkie swear pinkie swear with their hands shaking like crazy omg they cant even get the barf covered pinkies to touch theyre shaking so much

and then they pass out.

just in time for me to pull up and fly back to the hangar with a born agained rehabilitated former bad guy who cant do anything bad ever again because his pinkie sold him down the river.

sad thing is i’ll probably still have to kill somebody.

and thats why the valley girl wont chat with my black ass and i cant say i blamer.

tina + bunnie + blog of the century of the week