jeanine came over

jeanine came over yesterday to suntan in my courtyard and it’s always good to see my good friend.

i dont know how she does it (yes i do), but she’s skinnier than the twenty year old, and her belly is perfect for bouncing quarters off of, which i did a few times as she snoozed beneath the velvety rays of the southern california sun.

she threatened to move to new york with her retired parents who promised to set her up in whatever sprawling peice of real estate they are sure to snatch up if the Big Apple does end up to be their new home.

her visit, as always was far too short, she did rid me of a few stray Bud Lights that found their way into my fridge and thanked me for always remembering to put pictures of monkeys on this page whenever i stumbled across one of them. this image reminded me of how she used to say that if she didnt wear a bra her boobies would turn into pancakes stretching to the ground.

i would argue, “you’re 21 years old, im topless, you should be topless too, we’re in the comfort of our own home!”

she would fire back, “i will compromise with you, i’ll take off my stove pipe hat but nothing more.”

Jeff and Dawn and Eric and Shira have their hearts in the right place, but they have it all wrong, but i appreciate it.

From what I understand, you don’t have to put my name on your site and link to it to influence Google, alls you have to do is go to Google’s page, put in the word “tony” and then scroll down to where you see that it’s my page and click on it.

It’s like how the Republicans vote. By cheating, i mean by grassroots networking and insightful, intelligent social planning based in human potential, realistic economics, and courageous… ok, it’s cheating.

but come on, everyone, make me the president of the united tony’s, i promise to legalize fun and toplessness.

This just in, I am now #12 with a bullet! Thanks to you I’ve passed Anthony Robbins, Tony Roma’s, Tony Brown’s Journal, and Tony Bennet. Step aside, old men.

49. N.Z. Bear

anna rang me on my cell phone

it seems like everyone knows that i have a cell phone now, and not only knows, but knows my number.

my mom called the house this weekend and asked me for the number and i had to call Ashley to find out what it was because i couldnt figure out how to make the phone tell me.

anyhow Anna called me from England.

“why are you writing about the Internet crash– still!?” she asked in a huff.

it wasnt about the Internet, it was about Baseball. i told her.

“but shit man, why arent you writing about me?” she demanded.

anna, you lost in your opening round in Wimbeldon. 6-1, 4-6, 6-4

“yeah, but i almost won.”

ok, never thought about that. are you, you know, happy over there? i asked

“dude man, i feel awesome. i swear i almost beat her in that last set. im feeling better and stronger and i think you will see me win some more games very very soon.

wow, anna, ive never seen you so upbeat.

“i just emailed you a picture that my friend took of me whispering the chick who beat me. i told her that im going to wipe her punkass all over the court next time so watchit.”

anna kournikova!

“yeah. i gotta go. remember that tournament that Martina Navritolova came back out of retirement to play in?”

yeah, the Eastborne, right? the grass court tune-up there in England?

“yeah, this African American girl won and shes my doubles partner and we’re going to turn some heads here in Wimbledon.”

the chick who looks like Tiger Woods? hey, what happen to Hingis?

“who? oh yeah, her, she had surgery last month”

ok, anna, well, keep your spirits up, it’s great to hear you happy again.

“i think it’s just the weather, i love it when it’s warm. kisses, smookums”

and she thought she hung up the phone but she didnt and i could hear her giggling and singing very nice, Very nice things about me.

and that made me super happy.

people will talk shit about dot.coms forever

but most of them weren’t there and dont know and wont know and dont care, but i think thats a big mistake because there were so many lessons to be learned from that era.

one of the lessons that you should know is the sock puppet was not a failure. it was classic. it was perfect. it was good. and in no way did it have a negative effect on the failed website.

but advertisers act as if it did. how do i know this? because i havent seen very many good commercials, and im sure it has to do with the dot com crash.

people will talk trash about my former industry, but what they should be doing is paying more attention to Major League Baseball, who spends more money friviously, is run by senior citizens who should know better, and has a product that could be marketed in so many different ways it’s ridiculous.

Baseball claims that it barely makes a profit and makes believe that they’re the victims of something other than their own incompetence.

Our national pasttime has a deal with the government that allows it to not have to follow the rules that most businesses or even sports have to abide by, and for some reason that allows it to even lie about how much money each team earns.

If you want to see something explode in its face, something beautiful that has a real history, a real story to tell, a huge worldwide potential, and an emminent doom poised right over the horizon, look no further than the Grand Old Game and pay attention to such telling signs as a Saturday afternoon game between the first place Los Angeles Dodgers and the 1/2 game out of first place Boston Red Sox that took place a few days ago under ideal conditions in Southern California.

It was 70 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, no basketball, hockey, college sports to compete against, no holidays to flood the freeways, and still only about 35,000 showed up to take advantage of the much ballyhooed Interleague weekend, manufactured to fill the stadiums and inject the game with a heretofore missing spark of life.

Personally I hope baseball crashes like a russian submarine.

I hope half of the teams go bankrupt and be forced to sell their teams to young millionaires. I’m fucking sick of huge corporations like Tribune and Fox and Disney spending millions on stars one year and then the next year saying that it’s too hard to survive in such an enviornment where salaries are out of control.

MLB commisioner Bud Selig is asking for a salary cap for the players. But why should the actual workers be forced with a cap if the owners arent asked to put a limit on their income. I mean, really.

Isn’t this America?

Yes, and because it is, Baseball should have to play by the same rules as every other business. Its sweetheart deal with the US Government should be revoked, I should be able to see Every Fucking Baseball Game when I order the Season Ticket on Directv. They should abolish the bullshit girlie rule of the DH. They should rip down the lights from Wrigley Field. And the American voter should elect the Commisioner of Baseball every four years.

In the meantime, you can do your part by voting for only Minnesota Twins and Montreal Expos for the All Star Game. You only have until Wednesday to stuff the ballot box. But the purpose is to vote for players from the two teams that Selig is trying to kick out of baseball. This year the game will be held in Milwaukee. Because it would be against Baseball’s rules for a commisioner to own a club, when the owners put Selig in office, he signed over the team to his Daughter.

In order to “save” baseball, Selig recently organized a way to “contract” two teams– disolve them into the league. He picked the Twins and the Expos. Those teams are playing very well this year, and even though the good people of Montreal seem to have better things to do than root on Vlad Guererro, there should be baseball in Quebec, mais oui.

Therefore, there would be nothing more sick for Selig than if most of the field was filled with Twins and Expos on the All Star game on his– I mean his daughter’s brand new baseball stadium.

That’s today’s punk rock anarchism, stay tuned tomorrow when we show you how to rig a Presidential Election in Florida.

this time for the Libertarians.

46. In the Court of the Crisco Bandit

47. sassafrass