sorry about the stanley cup. i was rooting for you.

to cheer you up, heres a bunch of pictures of victoria silvstedt and her new boyfriend

keep on believing

friends, as you know ive been working hard at another blog.
a blog that has been paying me actual money. i know, wtf?
that blog is called LAist, you may know it as the blog you dont comment on.
whatever. anyways we have a feature called Ask the LAist.
this week we’re going to let you, the busblog readers, ask the questions.
so here in the comments below, ask your Q’s and i will provide the A’s on LAist.
now im off to see Nacho Libre because some people hate it and some people love it.

superhotchick i met at the home depot fell asleep on me as we were watching the ice storm. not pictured.

do you know how old i am? im old. back in the day i used to make out with this girl in westwood named money. this was back when mtv played videos. so some nights i would go to her apartment and id climb her stairs and she would sometimes freak me out with the crazy wiccian shit she would wear or shed put on all this eye liner and talk real slow and serious and i would be all baby i just wanna make out and watch cure videos.

but thered be incense in there and candles and this was so long ago that i had never been with a woman in the biblical sense. nor did i expect to any time soon. which is why so much depended on the quality of the late night viddies. money liked boys and girls and was way out of my league. she bit when i barely knew how to lick. she knew how to move when i barely knew the first rule of ass club. but what i liked best about her was her honesty. when she looked at you you were the only person alive which was hard to believe because everyone wanted her attention. but there was an honesty in that look thats still hard to describe.

i write about some of my old girlfriends but not all of them. not because im trying to hold anything back, i just still havent figured out what the hell was going on there. not that it was bad, it was far from bad. nothing was bad. bad isnt close to being the word. unless you mean seventies bad like damn, that bitch bad.

some records i cant play any more because it will send me directly back to a moment in time the psych furs mirror moves sends me right back to that futon and the discovery that this totally confident punk rock girl had been cleverly concealing huge ass titties underneath layers of ancient tshirts thrift store sweaters and a vespa brand trenchcoat which she somehow kept on regardless of the situation or climate.

and that record reminds me that that was the day that i realized that boobies are fine but what do you do after you say damn bitch and kiss em for a few minutes. her name was drink this so i drank it. her name was let me turn off the lights now. her name was lets go on the roof now. her name was my roommate isnt coming home tonight.

but her nickname was you will never ever forget about any part of me.

youth is so wasted on the young

and the wasted youth on my wasted couch is young which is why i brought up age in the first place and all i was gonna say was when i was young i would never be able to fall asleep on the couch of some dude you just met whose blog youve only been reading for a month.

why wont ann coulter leave la + john murtha says fat backside + LA Passes Vampire Slayer Act