oh, hi crazy italian bull.

hi. yeah, im not italian, im spanish. basque, actually.

oh, hola, senior.

yeah hi. hows it going?

me? ive seen better days.

yeah, me too, im about to die.

all our days are numbered, bro.

oh i know that tony, but my number you could count on one hoof.

ouch, keemosabe. i dont know what to say.

yeah. uh huh. yeah.

so did you have a good time here on earth?

can’t complain.

meet some nice cows?

oh yeah, there were some good ones, some bad ones, you know.

actually, i dont know, whats a bad cow like?

stuck up. thinks shes all that. swats you away with her tail when you’re trying to get close.

you know what they say, if youre not getting said no to, youre not out there going for it.

yeah but some times, im just saying hi, and theyre all, moo. and im like fuck you, whore.

ok, well, maybe thats your problem. part of being a girl is the dance of them saying no. you cant be calling them names off of that first no.

well these are the stuck up ones, the heffers. dont they know who i am?

maybe they do, dude. maybe they know that you are a bullfighting bull and you wont be around for all that long and they dont wanna commit to that and just get their heart broken.

i know, trust me, i know. but they might be liking the regular bull and he might get sold before i get shipped out, or he might just keel over. there are no guarantees in life. you gotta live for the day.

true, true.

you know what i like though. and it’s the reason im talking to you right now.

yeah, whats that?

well, i do like your site, of course.

thanks.

but i dont think you know it, but we like this running of the bulls stuff. we like stomping on all these fucking hooligans. these pussy ass bitches that call themselves men. want some adrenaline? here’s 12 curved inches of it right up your ass. we know we’re going out in a few days, and it’s nice to get a few shots at these fuckers before we go. take a few down with us.

never thought of that.

yeah so quit sticking up for us so much. we dont need your help, helper.

got it.

and keep chasing that anna chick. enrique aint got shit on you, partner.

play on, player.

digging: tomorrow’s baseball strike

and this magazine interviewed me yesterday around midnight when i was in the middle of doing a photo essay on the all star game. the interview went on for so long that i couldn’t really concentrate on the work at hand and the proof is in the pudding. please accept my apologies.

here’s excerpts of the interview which will be published in OCTOBER! in the beautifully romantic Dutch language.

What’s your middle name?

That’s a weird first question.

Are you ashamed of it?

No, it’s Hugh. I think it’s a cool middle name. It’s no Maximillion, but I like it.

Tony Hugh Pierce?

No, if you’re going to use the middle name, i think you have to use the formal first name and the suffix, Anthony Hugh Pierce III.

How do you like being an Internet pioneer?

Well, the money sure is good.

Do you make a lot of money from your site?

No. It was a joke.

What are the top ten web sites do you read?

Welch, Layne, Collins, Beam, Smith, Brown, Bukakke, Vaine, Sullivan, Sullivan, and Rabbit. I know that’s more than ten, but Rabbit doesn’t update much, neither does Amy. not enough, at least.

What do you like most about those sites?

‘Cuz sometimes they write about me. just kidding, actually because they write great and i like their topics.

Who do you wish had blogs or journals?

People you wouldnt know. friends of mine like Jeff Whalen, Stacy Sullivan, Genevieve Field, Charlie and Bonnie, Jeanine, Karisa, Morgan, Coulter. all these people have great stories to tell and i think it would be cool to read them every freaking day.

You are a bachelor, what web girl would you like to have on your date?

I wouldn’t call her a web girl, but i think Moxie lives up to her name.

Have you approached her?

No, I don’t think i’m jewish enough and i dont think i drive the right car.

You’re Jewish?

Hi, Holland, my name is Tony, i’m a young Christian minister.

What type of car do you drive?

Depends on what i rent that weekend. Last weekend it was a Saturn.

You seem to have a crush on Anna Kournikova, why?

Even though I write about her, i really have very little interest in her. It’s all a joke. I do it because the readers seem to like her.

How much of your blog is fiction?

all of it.

Really?

no.

How much is true?

none of it. only very handsome rich white men could live the life that i portray on my blog. i’m none of those.

Why isn’t Ashley your girlfriend?

She’s too young. But I will tell you this. Of all the girls who ive dated in the last year, she understands me the most, she is into me the most, she understands our relationship the best, and she wants to be with me the most. i was with her on the 4th and when i dropped her off and she walked to her apartment i looked at her, her long blonde hair, her belly shirt, her new butterfly tattoo peaking out from her hip hugger jeans, i thought, what the hell are you doing man? dont let that girl walk away. but i did.

Why did you?

cuz im not selfish. she should be with boys her own age.

Do you smoke pot?

only when im in Amsterdam.

Have you ever been to Holland?

several times, i love it there.

Really?

Sure, what’s not to love? It’s more American than America.

Why do you write about sex so much on your web site?

I don’t think i write about it enough. i censor myself all the time. most of the biggest blogs around mostly talk about sad, terrible, horrible miserable news regarding liars, murderers, and less than appealing people. i would like to see more blogs that write about happy things and the pursuit of fun. then i would like to see them actually talk about the good times they had.

Why don’t people write about those “happy” things?

well it’s not easy, first of all. it’s so much easier to say, “oh, that george bush, what an ass, can you believe…” than, “this girl came over the other night and we banged so hard it was like two Mack trucks playing chicken.”

But you write those things and you’re quite popular.

Ah ha, i don’t write about those things. I hint a lot but i dont really write about it. And it’s sad because people shouldn’t feel ashamed to talk about the good times they have.

I’m sure you get a lot of hits when you write risque material?

No, i get mean letters, and people call me terrible names. These are the same women who watch Sex & the City, and put hundreds of pictures of themselves in sexy poses, but when a guy talks about dating in a frank manner and actually gets lucky now and then, suddenly he’s a manwhore who degrades women. it’s pathetic.

But i know people who have written you pleasant emails.

yes, i get them, but not because of one particular topic or entry. i totally love the nice emails, when people write them it’s to say that they are regular readers and they’re appreciative. they’re the reason i do this every day.

Don’t you do it for the attention?

not at all. i wish i hadn’t done all of this on tonypierce.com, i wish i would have had the foresight to call it sonnyilavista.com. i prefer anonymity. the main theme about my blog is that i am a normal person who doesn’t have a lot of physical or material things, im not terribly handsome or bright and all this good shit happens to me because im nice and i was blessed with great friendships.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

I doubt that i’ll ever grow up, but i would like to have a cable access talk show called “Bloggers.”

checking out: kitty bukakke’s unmentionables

she tries to make me jealous and i dont fall for it. why should i?

this morning she sent me an email of a story one of the British tabloids wrote about she and Enrique messing around in a hotel:

Quiet please!: ENRIQUE IGLESIAS and ANNA KOURNIKOVA�s romps kept hotel guests up all night.

The reception of the plush Four Seasons in London was bombarded with complaints about screams and moans which went on until 4am on Saturday. The tennis beauty and her Latin heart-throb lover made the racket in his hotel room after canoodling at the Mayfair Club in the West End.

One hotel insider told me: �They were so noisy. I could hear Anna screaming and it sounded like cries of pleasure.

�Another guest several doors down the corridor complained twice about the noise and there were complaints by people in the next room and also from the room below. People were calling the reception until past four in the morning.

�It was obvious what Anna and Enrique were up to. There was a lot of laughing, it went quiet for a while then it started off again. The two of them were giggling for hours.”

i didnt write her back for a while. she got on AOL chat and asked me, “so what do you think?”

i said, i dont think too much of it. sounds like two kids having fun the night before you lost a big match.

she said, youre not jealous?

i said, why should i? i want you to have fun.

she said, oh, i had fun alright, can i tell you what i did?

i said, fire away.

she said, “first we drank this vodka my aunt sent me from moscow. not the bullshit vodka that you get here in the states, but the real deal. we drank a little and enrique’s back has been hurting him a little bit – guess why – hehehe – and so we spilt a vicodin.

that mixed real nice with the BODY SHOTS he was taking off me. all over me, tony, my belly, my neck, my back, my bum, my hehehehehe. we were toasted, but not too much. just right.

uh huh, i said. bored. i taught her this shit like years ago.

then we went into the anteroom, enrique doesnt like to do it in the bed that we sleep in because he’s a neat freak and likes to sleep on clean sheets.

i coughed.

she said what was that?

i coughed haggot cough.

shuttup, then he lit the candles, he had all sorts of candles and they smelled nice. i dont know what it is about candle light but its a lot better than those cheap christmas lights in your house.

when i sell a million records off my daddy’s name i’ll be sure to get you some candles, hun.

i dont know what it was about that night but we were super aggressive, he ripped my clothes off and threw me on the carpet. my skirt was around my ankles, i tried to kick them off but they were tangled. he held them down with his foot. and sunk his head where it BELONGED, american boy. and the combination of being restrained and not wanting to move got me so crazy that i started screaming and unlike you, he let me.

i bet he lets you do lots of stuff i dont.

the phone was ringing, people were knocking at the door as lamps broke and the music boomed but you know what tony, we didnt give a shit, somehow we made it to the bed and i got on top of him, twisted his neck to the side and gave him the biggest hickey he ever got.

sure you didnt rip off a mole?

no! i sucked that thing hard and he wasnt afraid to let me know that he liked it.

sing a little song, did he?

no, he flipped me over and tried to… but i flipped him back, he nearly bashed my head on the bedpost and you know what, i wouldnta felt it if he had. nor would i have cared.

nor?

and in one movement he took the condom out of the drawer, out of the wrapper, put it on and omg OMG right away it felt great. i pushed him close to me with my feet and he kept working on my neck but i wanted to kiss him and he was doing me so good, no offense, but so good. hes a dancer, he can move.

moved right to america from honduras didnt he.

but i wanted to see him so i flipped him over and got on top and i pounded him. i got up on my toes and slammed down. got up and SLAMMED down. it was like we were trying to kill each other.

dont you mean “bore”?

it was exciting, not boring.

pun, baby, pun.

but the vicodin was doing its magic and i could do anything i wanted to him and i wanted to feel it harder and deeper.

so you called in the black man from down the hall?

no, i was backwards, head on the floor almost, ass on the corner of the bed, and tony, he was using gravity to help him get at me harder. shit it was awesome. i just wrapped my arms around the back of his head and thrust my hips and met him with each bash.

what was on the cd player?

CD PLAYER? who the fuck cares. i came like six times.

you lie.

i swear to you.

then…

then?

then we got in the doggy style.

oh shit, anna.

but i wanted to get close so i backed into him and he got close. first my hands were where the pillows would be, but as we got going he got closer and i was running out of bed and i put my hands on the headboard and crept up until my hands were on top of the headboard and he didnt care he kept at it, i dug my fingernails into the wall, i grabbed whatever i could. i grabbed the painting that was over the bed and he had his hands on my hips whaling away and it was perfect and i was coming again when i heard a horrible crash.

what, you woke up?

no! i had pulled down the painting and the glass frame had broke.

bummer.

he didnt care. he flipped me over his shoulder and we did it in the front room right on the couch. me sitting on his lap. him looking at me, then him leaning back a little and me leaning back a little.

how do you remember all of this, anna?

because, tony, he fucked it into my memory forever. i could never forget something like that even if he hadn’t.

guess so. so is that why you lost your match the next day?

no, it’s why i love him. and why i dont want to be with anyone else. ever.

oh, so its like that? mexican fratboy gets lucky with booze and pills and thats it for the rest of the boys of the world just like that?

just like that.

i say youre back in a month.

i say you better not put this on your site.

i say you better work on your serve.

only the fool is king. ask puffy, ask korn, ask flava flav. the wind might howl, kicking up plastic grocery bags that once served mankind, but now only dance with the forgotten sports page in front of an east hollywood titty bar advertised to neighbors as Cherry’s but known to the undercover miscreant as home.

her name was lola, she was a show girl. see thru high heels up to there and blonde streaks all through her hair.

tony sat at the bar. alone.

normally the ladies’ favorite with a joke and a laugh and a welcoming lap, this afternoon he mindlessly stirred his rum punch with the tiny plastic flamingo and stared through his happy glass and followed the trail of condensation down the dirty glass, down the curvy side, down into the puddle at the base slowly soaked up by the generic napkin that had the word “napkin” imprinted in cursive.

napkin tony thought to himself. napkin. what sort of name was that, what did it mean. where did it come from. latin?

lola lifted her g-string and released the hard earned dollar bills and counted them one by one. organizing them by denomination, lining them up neatly on the bar, folding them and rubberbanding them and placing them finally into the tiger print mini purse that hung close to her heel.

buy you a drink, stranger? she asked tony and winked at him.

he didnt even look up. just bit his bottom lip and traced his finger on the glass.

disco lights gave the illusion of motion on the ice that melted in the tumbler as kid rocks american badass blared in the nearly empty club. women’s pro beach volleyball, muted, gave color to the unwatched zenith big screens as the ceiling fans twirled lazily and rosalita slapped the first hand away from her cooch.

lola leaned over and put her heavily made up face on the xbi agent’s shoulder and tried to see the world from her hero’s perspective. what fascinating mystery was buried in the alcoholic refreshment she wondered, what was visually more interesting than a dozen latinas, four asian cuties, three barely legal blondes, and the nastiest black girl and her micromini catholic girl skirt as they all waited for the whistle to blow and for the construction to stop and for the party to get started proper.

he thought about baseball. specifically the looming strike. motely crue’s girls girls girls signaled the end of the round of two-for-one lap dances and lola spun around in her stool and scouted out the gentlemen to see who she would choose to enjoy her dancing next.

tony sipped from the skinny straw and lola whispered that she had a line of crystal meth if he wanted it and he told his napkin no thanks.

body shot?

gracias, mi bella senorita. no.

and she tapped her feet to the disco beat and the ladies of the house said ho.

ho ho.

finally the sadness was broken up when the bubbly korean teen called lei gently pulled back tony’s tshirt collar and dragged her tongue stud across his exposed collar bone up the base of his neck around his ear lobe and behind his head sending shivers and awakening the giant within.

there was an unusual silence.

and then the familiar three swats of a high hat

of ac/dc’s back in black.

and indeed he was back.

just like that.

checking out: yambiguity.com

my landlady is 178 years old. shes been living in hollywood for most of her life and i like her because she’s a racist and she isnt ashamed and she likes me and i like her.

she knows im not white and she knows that im a preacher and she hates religion and i dont blame her. we’ve only known each other for a year and yet she says that im one of the few people that shes met her whole life that she likes. i say, you say that because you dont really know me, she says i know you well enough.

she asks me what things are like for younger people and i like when she asks me those things because i feel old, not young, a lot. i say things are about the same, i suppose, as what she had to deal with when she was my age. she says what do you know about what things were like way back when, and i said, i read a lot. she says you do, i say, shhhh, dont tell anyone, but yeah. she says what do you read? i say, penthouse forum, shes all, ive never heard of it, i say, its good.

i never ask her about the olden days. shes a pessimist. she likes to worry.

she says do you have any regrets? i say, that i never learned how to shred on guitar. she says you’re still young, i say, yeah, but i still have to work on my kissing. she says i doubt that.

she says, do you have regrets about who you kissed? i say, i only regret who i didnt kiss. she says that she regrets who she kissed. she says she regrets the boy she kissed in nyc who then convinced her to move to hollywood, this damn city, she says.

her bed smells like urine, her sink is lined with rows and rows of rubbing alcohol and i wonder if she drinks it and she offers me Ensures as i leave and what can i do, i have to accept it. she says you really dont regret any of the girls you kissed? i say, no way, i think when we’re done with all of this we probably should have kissed about three times as many people than we ended up kissing. she says oh, but that ruins the specialness of it.

i say, i eat dinner every night and some dinners are special because of the people, some because of the presentation, some because of the location, some because of the circumstance some of because of the magic.

she said that she once ate french bread on a train riding through france with a man who knew no english and the bread was warm and the cheese was runny and the wine was cold and her toes tingled each time the train would bump and their feet would touch and i say tell me that if you had a train ride like that a week later it still wouldnt be just as special she said, who said i didnt have a train ride like that a week later. and i said, see.

she said, you have a very special way about you. i say, you can see that with just one eye, she said i dont even need an eye to see that.

checking out: edrants.com

yeah, anna, hi.

seriously, is everything cool?

everythings great, now that you’re here.

im sorry ive been blowing you off lately, baby. Wimbledon was a bitch.

yeah but you did good. you made it to the quarter finals in doubles and mixed doubles.

yeah, but i lost in both.

come on now, comrade, you know what aerosmith says, “life’s a journey, not a destination.”

aerosmith says that?

they sure do.

and you still love me?

more than ever, thanks for the pictures you emailed me too.

i didnt want you to forget me. especially since youre always surrounded by beatiful girls.

beauty comes from within, hot chick.

then maybe i should have sent you my x-rays.

oh. hahahahahah

ah hahahahahahahaha

hey anna, what was serena saying after she and venus beat you and chandra?

oh, she was talking shit about how she could do you better than i could.

hmmmm.

what?

well, maybe she could.

well, maybe she will never get that chance.

lifes a cabaret, old chum

and i love a cabaret.

thanks for calling me, anna.

any time, tony.

just leave me alone, beyonce.

why the long face?

do you understand the meaning of the words “leave me alone”?

monday blues?

no.

do you want me to sing “Bootylicious” for you?

hell no!

come on, it always cheers you up.

what? im never depressed.

hmmm, thats true.

come on, you can be michelle and missy and i’ll be me and kelly.

i want to be kelly!

oh, tony, i dont think you’re ready for that jelly.

ok, go fly away somewhere and die, will you, please?

those are words not suited to be directed towards a diva, honey.

you’re not a diva, you’re an irritating black girl with dyed extensions. vamoose!

well i hope whatever crawled up your butt finds its way out.

for some reason i think it just wants to sit up in there and fester and make me miserable.

then whatever you do, tony, keep snapping at your friends, like me, who just want to help.

you can help me by shutting your big fat pie hole.

of my dates/times being off by about 8 hours, i bought into Blogger Pro today.

welch and layne and the others moved to moveable type recently and i was almost ready to go until i realized that Blogger is the one program i use nearly every day. and it’s been like that for nearly a day.

didn’t that mean that Ev had won the bet?

isn’t shareware a dare that says, “i bet you that my shit is so good that i can give it away and eventually you’ll pay me for it out of the goodness of your own heart.”

i think it is.

Blogger Pro has some useful features that i cant figure out, but for the most part the $35 was a nice way of me telling Ev and Pyra that i appreciate their invention and they deserve to be billionaires. fuckers started a phenomenon.

if i start a phenomenon and in the end i don’t become a billionaire, i’ll feel robbed.

in the meantime i will settle for the few millions that im sure all of you will just paypal right over.

ashley came over this weekend.

one of her friends had just had dinner with her and graciously dropped her off.

two hot girls over at my house eating strawberries and whipped cream for desert.

earlier in the day a few of the bros invited me over to hollywood park to gamble on the ponies. the last time i went there was in 86 when i lived about a mile away and i needed to turn $40 into $160 real quick. elvis costello was in town and only murray’s tickets had tickets.

first race on saturday i bet $5 on the nose of the 5 horse and i was instanly ahead.

it was free visor day.

third or fourth race i put $5 on a long shot-favorite exacta and hit that too. it was good to buy everyone drinks and coulter a popcorn.

bought the beers from a red vested black bartender with an eyepatch.

all sorts of people at the racetrack. smiled at the blackest girl i ever saw in my life. barely saw her. she had long braids and a white visor. she was there with her three uncles. nobody was talking to her. she just watched. smiled at her again a little later in the day and she smiled back real nice.

ken had me betting on a gray horse. don’t ever do that.

coulter had me betting on the devil horses. don’t do that either. lost on Lil Bit Devilish and lost big on Wicked Britches.

me and ken got into the habit of watching the horses in the paddock before the race, that worked okay, but that’s a big fakeout too. project all you want, the skittish little pony sometimes does run around the track faster than the big black mighty stallion, but a lot of times the medium sized normal brown guy wins when no ones looking.

afterwards we all ate soul food on florence avenue and drank grape soda.

im luckier than you’ll ever know.

99. all about george

100. my single mom life