coulter drops me off after bowling with os and the gang and drinking modelo from cans at the auto bar. i have the best friends in the world.

walk to my flat and who do i see sitting nicely on my porch with an open can of tuna feeding Losty? rosalita.

unlock the door and she follows me in. the cat wants to follow us both but keeps working on the tuna. perfect. i shut the door and turn on the lights.

rosalita has a new game that she likes to play with me. its called, “is this cheating?” perhaps tony has told you about her, shes a beautiful girl. all the girls in LA are beautiful, but rosalita and i have this sort of magnetism that is indescribable.

i guess its describable. we want to rip each others clothes off every time we’re around each other.

not only do we want to rip each other’s clothes off, but i want to rip off my own clothes.

she and i both have significant others. hers is semi-famous, mine is a stewardess. neither are around much. so sometimes its nice to be tempted as all hell.

so rosalita looks around my place. she hasn’t been there in a while. she has those low rider jeans on. shes a puerto rican from nyc and knows how to work it. i love it. but what i love the most is shes an exhibitionist and loves to hear me talk dirty.

me, i love talking dirty and i love that it seems like no matter what i say to her she smiles. she loves to be looked at. she loves to be sensual. i know her boyfriend, i like him. the last thing i want to do is do him wrong. but damn, dude, your chick is on fire.

i ask her if its cheating if i hold her hand. she says yes. i say is it cheating if i check her out, she says, check me out all you want, and proceeds to spin around a little and clack her heels around my hardwood pretending to be interested in the books way up on the top shelf.

i ask her if its cheating if i get real close behind her like this. she doesn’t say anything. i see her close her eyes and smile. i smell her neck. soap. i say can i drag my fingernails down your back? she says mmmmmm. i say is it cheating? she says, mmmmmmmm.

i have to get out of my clothes and into my jammies. its late. ive been drinking. she says no. no undressing. i say, can i take a little toke off my bong? she says no, i want you right here with me.

im dying people. this girls lowriders are killing me. her bellybutton keeps eyeing me. she and i have never done it before but weve done the dirtiest things youve ever seen two people do and not touch. im suprised tony hasn’t told you, fucker cant keep a secret to save his life.

she sees some extra strength tylenol on my floor that i dropped. she says, do you keep these things on the floor so that the girls have to pick them up?

i say, no, they’re there cuz im a slob.

she says, let me ask you again, do you keep these things on the floor so that…

and she bends at the hip keeping the legs straight, keeps the feet planted, knees locked and just lowers her back making the ass the pivot point and nabs the tylenol and raises back up stripperlike. rosalita claims to have never stripped, but that move brings up serious doubts.

we retreat to the attic where i have my computer. i want to see if tony ran my guest blogger column. he didn’t. ass. not even a “thank you. try this instead.” just nothing.

rosalita goes to tony’s links page and clicks some of the links and starts reading kitty bukkake. she says she loves bukkake. i say pardon me, she says, “omg, shes so funny.”

i say, oh i thought you meant you like the act.

she says, what act.

i say, the porn genre, bukkake.

she says whats that?

i say it’s porn. she says, show me.

lucky for her i have lots of porn on my computer. we go through a bunch that says its bukkake but its not. this is where i made my big mistake. somehow looking at this smut with her doesn’t turn me on, its just fun to watch it with a super hot babe. but her, it turns her on like crazy.

we never even get to the real bukkake and she heads to the ladder to climb down back to the first floor and i say, where are you going? she says, if i watch any more, then i will cheat.

and i hear her clomp through the house, open the door, and shut it.

i check my messages, hottest chick i know called apparently right as i was leaving to bowl. damnit.

and once again, im alone, drunk, horny, sitting in front of a computer full of smut.

stoked: that a.beam is back

Funny, i just got off the phone with my friend Tiger. Thought you might want to do some cutting-and-pasting.

Sorry that I’m not writing about lesbian sex, bukkake, or hanging out in Philly. And you really don’t want to see me wearing a plaid catholic girl skirt.

A conversation with Tiger Woods:

Yo, Tiger!

Word.

How’s it hanging?

Could be better. I kinda blew it on Saturday, huh?

Man, everyone shoots 81. I wish I could shoot 81 on the front nine.

I think the last time I shot 81, I was, what, 8? Ah, hell, who cares? Life is good.

You’re telling me, brother. You just played some of the worst golf of your life and you still walked away with thirty-eight grand. Not bad for four days.

You think I shouldn’t cash the check?

Heck no! It’s what you do. Funny, though. How much is GM paying you to push their Buicks?

Can’t tell you that, Paulie.

Don’t call me that, Eldrick.

Touche. Tell you what — every time they run one of those ads, I get a check.

You got The Man working for you.

‘Xactly.

And you got a blonde Swedish swimsuit model waiting at home.

Chicks dig the long ball, what can I say?

You know, I think that some people might be saying that you don’t think a sista’s good enough for you.

That’s bull.

Whadda mean?

I mean, come on. Do you see anyone bustin’ Derek Jeter’s chops because he goes out with white girls?

Derek’s goin’ out with half the female population of Manhattan. And he was dating Mariah for a while.

Maybe that’s what pushed her over the edge.

Maybe. But anyway, it’s not like people think that D-man’s the great black hope.

Man, people keep forgetting that I’m half-asian, too.

Well, it’s not like you’re reminding them.

Should I?

Can’t answer that question for you. But you’re not exactly going out of your way to be progressive.

Nature of the game, man. You think that I should get people riled up because some stupid journalist has a bone to pick?

You could stick your neck out a little. People listen to you, ya know.

They do?

Yeah, they do.

They shouldn’t.

Why?

I wear red polo shirts and I can whack a little little white ball three-hundred yards. It’s what I do for a living. I play a game. I’m the best in the world at it. And people think that I should be Martin Luther King, Jr. because of this?

Hey, someone’s got to say something.

You know, the old saying? Hand, dog, biting? Is being the greatest golfer ever not enough? Is being the first black man–

–there you go with the black thing again–

–OK, first black/asian man to win a major, let alone all four of them, not enough? Maybe I’m not Jackie Robinson, but I got the hate mail, the death threats, all that, too.

So what you’re saying–

–is that hey, cut me a little slack. So what if I’m not organizing the sit-ins. I’m here, and I ain’t going anywhere. And I’m doing more, just being here, than anyone could be out there banging on the drums.

Well, still, it wouldn’t hurt you to express an opinion every now and then. Come one, look what you did to your pal Casey.

Oh man, you’re bustin’ me for that?

The guy was your roommate, for freaks’ sake.

Look, walking in an important part of the game.

Uh-huh. And the Laker Girls were the reason the Lakers three-peated. Hey, all you had to say was one word and Finchem would have folded like a pair of deuces staring at straight up.

Maybe. But remember that hand-dog-bite thing.

You are the PGA, Tiger. You own them. Without you, they’re just a bunch of flabby white guys waving a stick at a little white ball.

Not gonna totally deny that. But hey — I’m not beating anyone up.

True.

I ain’t doing the thug thing. You want your kids too look up at someone? They gonna look at the Answer, who’s looking at hard time? Or they gonna look at me, a guy who drives a Buick, smiles a lot, is nice to the kids?

Well, I’d rather they look at you.

Exactly. Hey, I gotta go. Elin says dinner is ready.

The girl can cook, too?

Oh yeah. And she cooks with gas.

Swedish food?

Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.

In my dreams, Tiger. Peace to you. Hey once more thing — it’s a red shirt? It’s always looked more maroon-ish to me.

Get a new television, man. It’s red, trust me on this. Peace to you, too. And send the love to Tony.

Will do.

—

paulf | Some days you’re the windshield.

@ | Some days you’re the bug.

panix | ——————————–

.com | <http://www.asterius.com/pf>

Good morning class my name is Miss 677 and I�ll be subbing for Mr. Pierce today while he is out recuperating from a nasty case of the carpal tunnel syndrome, one of the last remaining syndromes known to man.

Mr. Pierce and I go back to 1994 when I was 21 and living slash existing on Pine Street in West Philly. Back in tha day when the Internet consisted of some lame chat rooms on AOL, back when I made $6.60 watching TV at Annenberg and getting by on Entenmanns chocolate glazed donuts and pasta.

That shit was a long time ago. Now I make five times as much and a chocolate glazed donut would wreak havoc with my slowing metabolism.

Very good class. I am almost 30. And mad as hell.

First things first � housekeeping items. Yeah, I said housekeeping so now you know I am sitting in an office someplace on the east coast. For the sake of level setting, let�s just hold these truths to be self evident mmmmkay:

For those of you 30 plus, an age not a size: 30 is a big deal. It was too you when it happened to you, so don�t deny it. And just cos yr beyond it doesn�t mean yr above it. It�s scary, whether yr married with kids or single and renting. And for us ladies, we get the extra added bonus of all the biological clock shit commentary slash inquisition (the male equivalent: thinning hair? I don�t know but that shit sucks too).

For those of you basking in your 20s for lo the years to come: Please, player please don�t be getting up in my face telling me its all in my head and that I only feel as old as I think slash act cos I will refer you to my calcium supplements, fine facial lines, random grey hairs, inability to consume more than 3 alcoholic beverages on a school night, the 15 pounds I put on and took off this year and a corporate job of nightmarish proportion that requires me to spew useless nonsensical phrases that demonstrate what a total fucking loser sell out I now am. Are we all singing from the same sheet here? Have we mindshare? Or do I need to net it out for you further?

Class of 1990, we�ve lived through interesting times. Always on the cusp we were: the cold war (we had the fear but didn�t grasp why), HIV and AIDS (we�re all just starting to feel the love then we�re all shrink wrapped and paranoid) the Internet (encyclopedias fed our brains, word processors took it all down), the boom (we were close on this one), and now the bust (oh snap we caught it on the back end). But the thing that did us right: the music.

How lucky was I? Busting in to my older sister�s room so I could listen to Pink Floyd, The Who, Styx, and Genesis records. The lamer part of me spent my weekends trying to tape Pat Benatar and the Go-Gos (cassette player next to radio speaker effort) so I could bring said player and 4 C batteries on the bus and feel like a rock star, shit and groupies and all.

Years later, we�ll call them my late teens, I saw the Ramones, the Sisters of Mercy, Public Enemy, the Dead Milkmen, Jane�s Addiction and countless other now non-existent acts live within a twelve month timeframe. I saw the first Lollapalooza as an idealistic saucy surplus wearing 19 year old and only years later caught Nirvana at the Roseland Ballroom. As a DJ at my college radio station, I was on-air when CNN reported Kurt Cobain�s body had been found. No you didn�t?? It�s true.

677�s apex: When she was 16 and saw the Cure/Love and Rockets/ the Pixies in Toronto. She wept. Eyeliner everywhere. She wept cos she knew she�d never feel that way again. And class, me thinks she was right.

Cos here I sit with my lame marketing job that pays for my Volvo (f you too) and downtown apartment reading stories of corporate baby boomer asshole types ruining it for me and my parents. Trying to understand why the fuck O-town gets a TV show and Lance Bass goes to space when the only fing malternative station in Boston wouldn�t play the Afghan Whigs EVER and now they�re gone too. But Eminem gets steady rotation. And the only music I hear that I like slash know slash can sing along to is on some kitschy bone throwing lunch hour horror show.

30 here I come. I can�t eat what I want without acid reflux or drink as much as I used to without other bad shit, and I think my brain has some damage from bygone weeder days. I watch the news and read the paper and gripe about the kids (useless. pointless.) and the adults (tanks middle aged white guys bunny cos that 20K that I earned coming to this (and other) mind numbing spirit robbing job(s) was really only my chump change). Therapy: I long for gap cord overalls ringer t shirts and royal blue nikes and repeat bullshit mantras about my 30�s having the potential to be the BEST and MOST EXCITING!!!!! decade of my life.

Riiiight. At least I�m genX enough to be all whatever and can stare off into space reminiscing about the time I made it to the stage at a Beastie Boys show and had to get pulled out of the crowd by a beefy security guard. Could have pulled me arms right out of me sockets. Yeah and now they�re all divorced and shit too rocking the mid life crisis at the drop of a hat.

Class I�m certain I�ve failed you miserably. Mr. Pierce should be back tomorrow so show him some love and don�t be talking shit about me out in the hall.

kitty bukkake

Tony said in his blog today that he, as a rule, does not meet up with people who contact him from the internet. That’s not true. I guess it is if they contact him, but not if he contacts them. Tony and I met last summer, almost a year ago.

He emailed me in response to a diary entry, he said:

there’s not that many people, really, who know what bukkake is. and what they really truly want to see, instead, is in your diary. so help em out.

Yeah, well, from time to time, I get a “what, no bukkake?” email, but for the most part, Tony was right.

Is this too meta? A guest blog about blogs?

He asked me to write about something sexy. I could tell you the whole story about how he and I met that very same night we started emailing,

but if Tony hasn’t already told it, he probably doesn’t want you to know.

So I’ll say this: after watching 3/4 of the Sex & the City women expose 5/6 of their tits over the course of half an hour last night, I decided that nudity is waaay too much of a Big Deal in America.

I have been thinking about how much I wish I could hang out at a nude beach for a weekend.

I think about seeing the naked landscape. I want to know if people walk differently when they’re publicly nude, and if the men get boners all the time. And whether personal space is different.

I hope so. I’m not nude beach material though, and not for fear of being naked in front of strangers–I used to be a figure model.

I just don’t think I could handle the beach experience because

1. I sunburn easily and there’s no way I want peeling nipples

2. I’d be afraid of creeps (had a little of that in the art classes too but in the workplace there are rules to protect your naked ass), and most of all

3. I am squeamish as sweet FA, and I’d be so scared of getting bugs crawling in my parts. Never mind sand. I’m talking about sandfleas. Screw that.

No pants on a beach? You get the fleas and crabs (not the disease, the crustacean) and dolphins all fighting over who gets to be up in your warm, wet stuff.

I can’t even handle having an ant on my foot, never mind a fucking monster in my crack. So I think that’s the biggest deterrent for me.

But that all makes me think: why do it at a beach? And why allow creepy people?

How about a private, casual nude party?

Sure, my college days are finally over but so is most of my false modesty and leftover, post-adolescent insecurity.

I’m thinking nude cocktail party at dusk, no bugs, no animals, no creepy strangers, soft towels and cold drinks for everyone, voila, nude party.

And I’m no hippie either, so don’t think it’s like that, and no drugs, because I hate drugs, and it’s my fake party.

And definitely no “show us your tits, girls gone wild!” mentality, because that’s not sexy.

But just having them out there, with everything else out there too, is pretty cool. I think.

Nude party. My house. Someday.

wanna help tony and write something for the blog? write it and send it here.

as a rule i do not meet up with people that contact me from the Internet. even if they’re super hot babes.

i like the internet because for the most part you will be judged by your thoughts and your thoughts only.

once someone sees you or hears your voice or watches you eat, they start changing their ideas about you. i don’t like that.

in a perfect world you’d only be judged by your ideas and how you express them.

our bodies are simply the cars that our souls ride in.

i know im not my hair, yet as it leaves me, i feel worse about myself, same goes when i had zits as a teen. as humans, it’s very hard to think differently.

similarly i want to extend the same courtesy to others, and simply reading their words and looking at their design is plenty for me. but inevitably i see their pictures, or they call me on the phone, and the idealism is shattered and my feelings about them change. rarely for the better.

when i heard that s.e. hinton, author of my favorite novels as a youth, “the outsiders,” “that was then, this is now,” “tex,” and “rumble fish” was a woman and used her initials to disguise her sex, i thought it was brilliant because even as a kid i merely assumed that because the narrator was a young boy, the author then, of course, must be a man. and her little misdirection worked perfectly.

j.d. salinger, my favorite writer when i was in highschool also didn’t want his work tarnished, so he asked his publisher to avoid using pictures, illustrations or fancy graphics on the covers of his book. this is why when we think of “Catcher in the Rye” we usually recollect the classic maroon cover with gold lettering, even though the first editions had an illustration which salinger objected to vehemently. as he became more successful, his wishes were allowed to become reality.

when aol first came out and brought irc chat to the mainstream, hundreds of thousands of people were once again simply being judged by their words. i was shocked at how well received i was because i could write decently. i didn’t have a picture in my profile, i didn’t have any personal information on there. if anyone asked me what i looked like, i borrowed a phrase from mr. kfi and said, “better than some, not as good as others.”

i also saw how i was making my inevitable “judgements” of people simply by their points of view and how they wrote them.

if some ass wrote “u r f##ing stoopid” it wouldn’t matter to me how cool their car was, or the similar interests that they had to me, or if they were a super hot chick in her thong at miami beach working on her deep dark tropic tan.

blogs have now entered into a similar situation. people like a.beam and (when he was anoynomous) the rallying point are my favorite examples since no one knows who “he” is and “he” is simply judged by his words, as sparse as theve been recently, but we like “him” not because of his pictures or position in society, but because of his thoughts. it’s perfect.

so saturday night meesh calls me up. shes in town. we’ve chatted a little bit before that. exchanged photos because i never expected to ever meet her. exchanged phone numbers. and then she betrayed my trust by calling me and saying she was in town and wanted to meet me at the coolest hollywood hotspot on santa monica blvd.

meesh, my friends, turns out, is one of the top five beautiful women ive ever met in my life. her pictures do her no justice what so ever.

tall, dark, not a blemish on her gorgeous face, lovely, happy, sultry, womanly, slender, exotic, fashionable, girlie, fun.

sitting on her left was a young black woman who works at a huge hollywood agency that represents all the biggest actors, directors, writers, producers. she was awesome and looked hot in her blue velvet bustier. sitting on her right was a super cool blonde who i’d discover was born on my exact birthday, her name is simone.

apparently sweet babes are allowed to stay at bars after the 2am deadline. and because i was surrounded with hotness i got to enjoy the benefits and when the bouncer turned on the lights all that was left at the club were the most amazing chicks and a few lucky fellas. it was like what 49ers hoped for after they sifted through the sand and debris while looking for gold.

nuggets of shiny gorgeousness were everywhere.

the only riff raff was me.

we had one more round and me and meesh jetted over to my house to grab some coronas and a bottle of absolut. we then went over to simone’s luxurious apartment right off of wilshire, wonderfully decorated and filled with awesome art, rare oriental carpets, incense, all the things you’d expect from a libra scorpio young woman with taste and enough means to bring it to reality.

the four of us partied till 6am listening to cuban mixes, millie jackson, and rufus wainwright. four air signs, enjoying beauty and peace and love and incredible music. everything was mellow and happy and balanced and nice and free.

yes, i am the luckiest man in the world.

yes, all the ladies seemed to like me, mostly cuz i kept my big mouth shut and let them entertain me with their beautiful stories and fabulous spirits.

but no, i will probably never chat with my pal meesh again, she’s way too hot and now im super intimidated.

today: is os‘s birthday.

fiction by Madison Slade

On my last day at work, a bunch of my co-workers informed me that we were going out for a celebratory night of debauchery. Always game for a drinky-poo or two I wasn�t about to become the guest of honor in absentia.

So we end up at this club. We were all dancing when suddenly it was just this girl and me. This is the same girl who was chastised at work for weeks because she informed everyone that she saw a bunch of heesh on her drive from San Diego to San Francisco. Heesh was Jane�s way of indicating that she saw many horses in the same pasture. More than one goose=geese. More than one horse=heesh. It made perfect sense to her.

So she wasn�t the sharpest tack in the box. But she was a lot of fun and the boyz liked her.

The musc is good. The boys were cute and Jane whispers in my ear, �I know how we can get the guys here to REALLY notice us,� and before I know it she�s grinding me. I don�t really care, I�m moving across country in less than a week so I grind her back.

The music gets really loud; in fact I�m sure I have hearing loss from that night in particular. So she whispers in my ear again. It was my bad ear, so I yell into hers, �hang on, let me switch ears, I can�t hear you.� So somewhere after I began turning my head her mouth caught mine. And her tongue winded around my own. I was shocked, excited and intrigued.

We retreated from the dance floor and found a dark corner. I sat on her lap and we felt each other up, and kissed some more. A lot more. It was nice to kiss someone whose lips didn�t cover � of my face. It was delicious to kiss someone who didn�t leave saliva dripping down my chin. And no stubble to give me beard burn.

But it didn�t go any further that night.

Just before I left town she and I and her boyfriend went out. He bought us drinks and kissed me on the dance floor. Incredibly, he was an even better kisser than his girlfriend. After last call we went back to his place and I held Jane while he did his thing to her. �Now you touch her,� he said. So I did.

She was kind of drunk in a silly way and as she lay there she told me how when she was a child her parents had a barnyard full of heesh. �Maybe when you come back west to visit we can go riding.�

When I left that night Jane�s boyfriend kissed me again and said something weird. Jane looked at me and said, �Oh him? Don�t worry about that. He�s just mad because you made me come so fast.�

..I put a link up to your site and I got nothing….NOTHING!

supertsar7: i have carpel tunnel;

supertsar7: i havent put up a bunch of links yet

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: not my fucking problem put up my link

supertsar7: whats your site?

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: Man0fSeas0ns.Tripod.Com

supertsar7: hwo did you hear about me?

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: through 21Pundit steet

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: I offerred to trade Wisdom teeth with you

supertsar7: oh yeah right

supertsar7: wheres the link?

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: its on the page that has the links

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: i think its the same page with the stores on it

supertsar7: ah, ok

supertsar7: i’ll put you up in a few weeks

supertsar7: after i recover

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: fucking westcoast lightweights

supertsar7: ok i wont link you then

supertsar7: feel free to take down my link

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: what the fuck? thats unamerican!

supertsar7: not really

supertsar7: we reserve the right to refuse service

supertsar7: to idiots

supertsar7: very american

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: oh…i see…its cuz Im black!

supertsar7: exactly

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: I guess…i dont respect theives either

supertsar7: blacks are theives?

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: all of them

supertsar7: any last words?

supertsar7: im about to bail

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: nope. hope the tunnel gets taken care of…I liked the no tying in baseball thing

supertsar7: ah, thanks alot

supertsar7: later dude

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: piece

supertsar7: hey, can i put this on my page in the mean time?

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: this

supertsar7: yeah, this chat

supertsar7: its funny

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: go wild

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: its america…you’re free to do what you want

supertsar7: cool.

MAN 0F SEAS0NS: see ya

Poor Tony has been afflicted with some horrid disease that won’t allow him to update his blog. He asked me to fill in for the day + since I know neglecting his beloved blog will only draw out his sickness, I agreed even though I’m sure noone really has the need to hear from me. But I guess that just shows how much I love him 😉

Tony + I agree that it’s important for everyone to know the latest news on the people I dig.

Drew Barrymore is currently dating Fabrizio Moretti, the drummer from The Strokes. They seem superhappy, which is great b/c after the whole 2nd marriage ending in divorce, she definitely needs some sunshine. The twosome traveled to Brazil together for the World Cup where they had an awesome time together. Drew finished 2 films which are going to be released next year – Confessions of a Dangerous Mind + The Duplex. Now she’s gearing up for filming of Charlie’s Angels 2. She was most recently spotted at Amoeba Records in Hollywood. Which makes me want to claw my eyes out since it is right down the street from Tony’s house + he and I very recently drove by it. Could this picture have been taken as we unknowingly drove by on Sunset? We’ll never know 😛

No Doubt’s new single “Underneath It All” is doing well + getting loads of airtime. It is my personal favorite song from Rock Steady. I know you were all dying to know that. The video world premiered on Thursday + it completely rules. If you’re interested in seeing some crappy stills from it, then check out this site a nice nodoubt.com forum member set up.

Tony will kill me for even mentioning them, but Incubus announced their fall tour recently. Much to my glee, they will be in Irvine on Halloween. This time I will absolutely meet the band + make Brandon Boyd fall madly in love with me. You heard it here first.

As for me, I’ve been spending time with a boy named Matthew who is super cool + weird + beyond cute. We’re “just friends”. But it’s a good thing we’ve got going. I think I may be his only good friend right now, quite an honor! I’ve also put my 2 weeks in at the suckfest of a store I’d been working at for 4 months. I’m going to be going back to my roots, working at the company I was at in Vegas.

Speaking of Vegas … I’ll be going home on Aug. 1 for a little stay. I miss it there, I have to admit. Totally looking forward to enjoying the warm summer nights. We have a severe shortage of those out here.

Well hopefully this is enough for Tony. Maybe I should add a paragraph all about how great he is to help in the healing process.

10 Reasons Why I Love Tony:

01. he’s smart

02. he’s funny

03. he drives a lot to see me

04. he calls me all the time even though he hates the phone

05. he makes me feel super special, even though he knows so many pretty cool girls

06. he’s an excellent tour guide

07. he buys me food

08. he holds me all night while we sleep

09. he kisses me all the time

10. he’s an off the charts lov-a

Later skaters!

Ashley*

loving: tony’s ebay feedback number

hi president bush’s dogs.

hey we want to be guest bloggers.

sorry, dogs, only humans are allowed to participate.

that sucks, we just read the good review your fashion photo essay got in the Dallas Morning News and we wanted to jump on the bandwagon.

no way you mangy mutts. you’re republican dogs and i dont like republicans.

thats a damn lie, and you know it, theres lots of republicans that you like.

doesnt matter. nothing affiliated with george bush is of any interest to me.

what about his daughters?

ok, except for them.

make you a deal, let us write an entry or two and we’ll hook you up with one of the daughters. theyre always up for a party, and of all people, tony pierce, i bet you know how to par-tay.

president bush’s dogs, you’re creeping me out.

we could tell the world our take on Big Brother 3.

too late, moxie already did that yesterday.

whats up with her? you call her yet?

nope. she called me though. her voice sorta sounds like kate sullivan’s i like that.

hey, what are you doing totally stealing Nay’s blog entry and putting it on your site?

i think its exactly the sort of guest blogging that i would like emailed to me. just random thoughts. but real thoughts. either do that or tell me about your town or your friends or what youre going to do this weekend. but i have to go, my hands are recovering.

who is this Doc Searls?

i really dont know, but from the amount of traffic that he’s given me, and from the respect that he gets from the rest of the world, i think he’s the west coast version of Instapundit. now i really wish that i had met him at that bash.

you better hope you stay on his good side.

totally.

whats up with ashley? looks like shes back to being in love with her first love.

yeah, that happens. you never really get over your first love. good for her.

ok, woof woof, tony.

woof woof, terrible republican dogs.

it’s just typing, people

layne is back, as is Rabbit: does that mean welch, and a. beam aren’t far behind? hope so.

NaynERz

Opinions are fun. I need to start writing more shit like this. So here it goes…

Are the people of the United States over medicated?

I’ve had this conversation with two people in the past two days. Quite frankly, I have to give the answer of this question as a big fat YES. Now I’m not saying the medication isn’t needed. Of course it is. There are many people whom have problems and need the much provided medication. Sometimes doctor’s are a little too flemsy with their medication.

God knows I use to cry attention. I kind of try to keep my problems out of the spot-light when it comes to my “depression,” or whatever you want to call it. Like I was, so many teens are quick to say they’re depressed.

Answer to that question? Pop a pill and make it makes everything all better.

It’s to the point that they don’t even need sufficient studies or logical evidence that this person is even depressed. They’re just quick because God knows that we all have problems. Yes, I know I seem like a hypocrite. I myself am on the ever-so-popular Celexa.

Sometimes I wonder how much would I actually need this medication. They’ve never done testing on me. Just by what I tell them. Shit, I could walk into a doctor, tell them I’m having troubles relaxing and all of a sudden I have a nice little prescription for a tranq. Truthfully, I think it’s time that people start opening their eyes a bit more.

Also, senior citizens as well as adults. So many times a doctor gives a medication to the elderly and they don’t seem to recognize the effects it may have on other parts of their body and do nothing but go in a cycle. I know this because I’ve seen and read about it many times.

My own uncle was put on a medication for an injury and it ended up affecting his liver and they now have to keep an eye on his vitals because again, they’re too flemsy with their medication.

I’m not saying that all doctor’s are this way, but we too often fail to recognize these types of situations. I’m just curious as to what you guys think about it. – stolen from nay