i get interview requests all the time

usually i turn them down. i ain’t got nothing to say.

sean penn, though wanted to interview me for Bikini.

i said, isn’t that magazine kaput? he said, might be, i don’t know. anyway, how you doing?



no, not really. i just had a good lunch with my boss’s boss. really inspiring.

name some of my movies that you liked. sean penn asked.

shit, man. i like most of your movies. racing with the moon, bad boys, fast times, colors, even that one that you directed, the one with the guy from american beauty.


totally. loved that one.

ive been noticing that you’re not getting many comments? what’s up with that?

i really don’t know, sean. i guess people are busy.

people seem to be leaving notes for everyone else, like moxie and meesh and dawn.

well, they’re all hot babes.

vodka pundit gets tons of comments, so does lil green footballs.

doesn’t matter, sean. part of being your own thing is you cant compare yourself with the others. some talk about politics and discuss. i don’t really discuss with the readers here. i just write stuff down and hope they like it.

but dude, they’re not even buying you beers.

dawn flowed me a buck, that was nice. she shouldn’t have. she broke the rule that says no one who has met me can flow the buck, but its cool. shes a nice woman.

did you see her naked on her blog this weekend?

no, sean, i don’t look at naked women who are married.


well, i try not to. in fact i wish that they’d label the porn at the video store so you’d know that none of the actresses are married.

it’s a sin to look at married women having sex and not unmarried women?

yeah, i think so. its sorta adultry in my warped mind.

ever do coke, tony?

no, im too hyper.

i think you shoulda done coke with meesh that night, bro.

sean, there was no coke there, meesh was just trying to be scandalous.

ever do an asian?

ive had sex with a couple asian young women. two, actually. one was chinese, one was half japanese.

how was it?

like i have to tell you, mr. shanghai surprise.

i was married then!

all women are unique and wonderful, sean penn, you know that. for example my friend carlisa and her sister and her friend just launched a new fashion line and—

karisa, i thought she was polish.

no, carlisa. different girl entirely, same dot com, but different girl. carlisa got a college scholarship to play hoops back in the day.

what’s their line called?

Pink Cookies.

get out.

i swear.

what do they sell?

airbrushed tshirts, cool stuff like that.

i don’t wear airbrushed tshirts, tony.

me neither, but they’re cool girls. i spent last halloween with em.

what did you dress up as?

an fbi agent.

you ass.

ha. yeah, i know.

rabbit’s been down for ten days: will today be her return?

feeling like a hundred bucks, exchanging good lucks

im feeling better now. someone approached me, i shamefully hid my powdered hands, and they said, “hey did you know theres a stick hanging out of your ass?”

and she pulled it out and whew, do i feel a bunch better.

how long could that thing have been in there? weeks, at least. here it is the middle of summer. im getting summer loving from all over this magical town. i get to watch julianne barbarie twice a day, howard stern, my house is clean, my body is clean. my hands are fucked but i can still type to you. all is good. all is good.

but still, fellas, you can buy me some beers, and ladies, you can email me your fantasies.

the american economy still has a stick up its ass, but no one on capital hill really wants it removed or they’d legalize pot.

simple as that.

those fuckers, i swear, they call me up at all hours all the time to solve their problems and it wouldn’t bother me so much if they’d only listen to what i have to tell them.

the other day this marketing company called me up. they have a client that makes underwear for teenage boys. they wanted to put together a survey that they could give the kids to figure out what they should call this line of underwear.

i said, kids don’t care what some madison avenue marketing yankoff calls the tidy whities, they just want them. they don’t even buy them! their moms buy their underwear! im ten thousand years old and my mom still buys my underwear and socks.

they said, tony, heres a bag of money, what questions should we ask these kids so we can find out what we cal the underwear that will have skateboards and footballs and cool stuff like that on the boxers?

i said, forget it. you guys just want to make work for yourself. ask me. i am eternally 15 years old. 15 year old boys, like the men that they grow up to, have lil nicknames for their lil fellas. name the undies accordingly.

in order to have a “hip” name, i told the marketing geniuses, you have to have equal parts hip-hop culture and suburban nerdiness. mixed together properly you have a crossover hit that, if funny, will appeal to the demographic you allegedly desire.

call the undies: Jimmy McSchwing’s. its a name that the kids will chuckle at, due to its subtle naughtiness. and the parents will ask for by name until they realize the harmless crudeness. but basically, the company who goes for it and has the courage will win. big time.

they claimed to understand. but i knew they didnt.

Schwing is what Mike Myers and Dana Carvey said on television on SNL when they were talking about a pretty girl.

Mc is simply funny when added to a funny word.

jimmy is what the hip hoppers call their schweens. “dont forget your jimmy hat” equals “dont forget your condom, friend.”

i could hear a lone pencil tapping on a shiny oak table in a meeting room.

so then i said, “and if you want to bring back the american economy you’d legalize weed, letting the american farmer finally have a legal cash crop that he could grow and sell at a reasonable profit.”

more silence.

“and if you really wanted people to come out to the baseball games, you’d have Snakehead fish races in between innings.”

your check will be in the mail, the yuppies announced, and turned me off the speakerphone.

permalinked: to my first Salon blog

im not in the best mood

normally i put on a happy face when i write in you, blog, but today i can’t fake it. and normally, i don’t fake it. normally i feel blessed with my situation here in the richest country in the world. normally i feel lucky to still have a job, and hot babes to date, and close friends to hang out with, and fancy electronics to entertain me.

but today none of those things seem to lift my spirits above crabby.


i never talk about my job here, but today i will. im terrible at my job and everyone knows it. there are all these rules and i cant get them straight. its the main reason the fbi kicked me out. i kept breaking the rules. i didn’t mean to break them, in fact i’d look at the huge book and find what im supposed to do, and then it turns out that im not really supposed to do that at all. fucking sucks.

this year ive been in the xbi is pretty much the same. i keep unintentionally screwing up and i keep thinking i’ll be transferred but it never happens. now im stuck because i have to make this huge proposal but i cant do it because my hands are fucked up.

typing, oddly, doesn’t hurt my hands, but using my mouse at home brings me to my knees in pain. now i have these blisters in my palms, its terrible.

want to depress a bachelor writer? put incredibly obvious blisters on his palms thanks to the super unattractive wrist braces supplied by the workers comp doctor. now i cant feel up the hotties or make photo essays of me and ashley’s weekend.

i don’t know what to do about these blisters, so i put athlete’s foot medicine on them. a few years ago me and chris went to cancun. we climbed the mayan pyramids. i was teasing chris about her fear of heights. it was rainy and slippery on the super steep pyramids so you had to put your hands on the stairs as you climbed them up and climbed them down. next day my oh-so-sensitive hands were covered in fungi. i put socks on my hands when i went to bed.

today i have this foot powder on them. i already look like a nerd. nothing i can do about that. now i look like ive been playing pool all night.

i need a new job. screw saving the world. the world doesn’t even want to be saved. i just want to write. even in the most uncomfortable moments of my life i have the urge to write. somewhere in there i think that some of this might be amusing or interesting or entertaining to someone. merely suffering to myself and keeping this bottled up does nothing for others. this might make you feel a little better about your lot.

tried to call ashley last night to tell her that i appreciated her visit and i was sorry about all the times i was a big idiot but she was on the other line with her true love.

downloaded some of the new springsteen last night. remind me never to get married. it totally kills your art.

the best rock music is a mating call, a lonely wolf howl in the night at the moon, a call to arms, a battle cry.

the sound of a middle age man treading water is what i heard from my computer last night and i ask you all, wheres rosalita? come sit by my fire.

heres how you can make me happy today if that is what you’d like to do.

fellas: put a few bucks into the tip jar. consider it buying me a beer, cuz for sure that’s what i wish i could have right now.

ladies: guest blog for my ass. any topic will do. tell me why i should keep watching sex in the city even though all the male characters (and their mothers) are idiots. tell me about your first kiss. tell me what a man should do on a perfect date. tell me what you’d do for me if we were on a first date. tell me what web sites you like and why.

me, im going to go back to the job and try to figure out these rules. i swear i try hard when i work. i swear!

and i also promise you that these sorts of downer posts will remain few and far between.

wishing: doc searls a happy 55th birthday!