christina is trying to get my attention

christina aguilera vma 2002 by wearing the shortest skirt ever photographed on television.

shes like me, very low self esteem.

the daily pundit and this other dude were debating about why im not getting a huge sweaty pile of cash from mags or newspapers or whoever and its cuz im terrified to send anything out. christina is sitting on like three completely finished albums right now for the same reason. they’re not sellout records, they’re real ones. experimental to a point.

one of the dudes asked if it was possible for an unconventional writer to clean up the writing and still pack the same punch, and i say no, its not possible. but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t still beat the hell out of most of the stuff you read in the paper.

you could take all the drugs out of hunter s. and it will still be wild and untamed, but the question is why would you want to do that?

isn’t a newspaper or a magazine or a journal a collection of a variety of writers? are they really all supposed to sound alike?

i know when i go to the zoo i don’t want to see sharks with no teeth, bears with no claws, or giraffes with brown hair so that they’d look more like the loveable beaver family.

sure i can sellout. i don’t have to say fuck in everything i write. people who were worried that dennis miller was gonna swear on monday night football were complete idiots. most of america knows when its appropriate to say, “look at that hot piece of ass over there!” and when its appropriate to say, “good evening ms. Aguilera.”

i would imagine that most publishable writers would know who their audience is and what would be the right time to say the right things.

as for the “cleaning up” process. i am 108 years old. soon to be 109. idealism has been beaten out of me. at this stage of my life i am happy to even be able to write things down and have people read them. if someone wants to edit my stuff, fine.

by the time most writers have gone through their fourth draft of their 50 inch pile of dreck, i have finished my 5th mini column and have already completely solved like 8 serious issues and taken at least three killer pictures. let the editors who are hung up on capitalization, run on sentences, comma splicing, and justin timberlake’s ass tidy up my prose. we all have work to do. we all have a role. my job is to gather the info, write it down and move on. if they want to sand the edges, fine.

odds are i forgot about what i wrote half way through writing it.

im not making huge sums of cash because im scared. i don’t want some jackhole telling me thanks but no thanks. ive dealt with rejection my whole life, as has most people, but rejection when it comes to writing is something that i don’t like. and selling out is something that is very hard for me to do too.

i know that if someone hired me i would have to write the way that they want and i think that would be tough, for as lucky as i get sometimes, its hard to walk the straight and narrow when you’re interested in all the other sidestreets.

to me, writing can be a dynamically enjoyable creative process that can flirt at being art.

let the boring hacks who cant write anything else besides AP style write AP style, but please don’t try to lump the rest of us into that box because you know what, if that was really the only thing that people wanted to read, then why is it that the blogosphere is so big and my hits only go up each and every month?

i know theres a place for me somewhere, and i don’t think that this is the only place for me.

i do believe that in the right context i could produce a daily column for someone that wouldn’t be so tonypierce-centric that would still be edgy, informative, cocky, bizarre, and humorous that people would want to read. i think i could do a decent job of interviewing real celebs and take pictures of them, dont you? of course you do.

just like theres a place on tv for britney and nelly and justin and christina And the vines, and the strokes, and bruce springsteen.. and even tom waits.

my fear is that im the replacements.

my motivation is that i don’t ever want anyone to say, “God he could have really been something.”

tonight i went drinking with one of the coolest girls in hollywood. she too had a pretty short skirt and extensions in her hair and we drank baileys and shot pool and i wondered how long im going to be able to pull this off.

and i tried to kisser and she said no and i said, but you’re from my real hometown in illinois. ive never kissed a girl from there. she said, sure you have. i said, not in like 100 years, ive completely forgot what its like.

she said its pretty much the same.

i said, but aren’t you curious? im curious. come on, its not like im attracted to you. im just being scientific, its an experiment.

and i don’t know why i continue to use that line, it never works, but for some reason i use it like all the time because i Think it should work.

but kissing a girl at a bar isn’t about getting them to think, its about getting them to stop thinking. and thats a tough trick when you go out with smart girls.

ok its 4:19am, might be a good time to go to bed.

big shout out to Oish who keeps turning on her friends to the busblog and i totally appreciate that. thanks teresa!

two first class air tickets arrived at my door at 7am yesterday morning.

lucky for the senders i hadnt left the beachhouse yet.

the first was from Ms. Anna Kournikova who said that she didnt’ really want to go to the MTV Video Awards with Enrique but sorta “had to” but wanted to party with me afterwards.

i gave that ticket to a hobo digging through my dumpster with a hanger.

the other was from the Players Association of Major League Baseball.

they wanted me to settle this strike.

“’bout time, jagoffs.” i said into the phone after i dialed the number on the manila envelope and counted the hundred dollar bills.

since all of the negotiations are confidential, i cant go into much detail, but needless to say my presentation which included a hand axe and a cutting board, and the fact that none of the participants were willing to place their hand on cutting board, was predictably effective.

“if you’re unwilling to put your hand there, what’s going to happen when i ask for the volunteer to place their manhood there? cuz thats what we’re talking about, isnt it gentlemen?

“pride? machismo? a game of chicken between a brinks truck and a mercedes full of money bags and debutantes?

“well, here’s a macho game of who wants to put their cock on the block. winner takes all.”

sometimes you have to dumb down your presentations to the lowest common denomenator and sometimes you have to go even lower. but if you look through the web today you will see that the baseball world have decided to sober up and accept the bags full of cash and the glory and the women and the fame and keep their pride.. and other things that they suddenly find valuable.

and baseball fans get to keep the things that theyve always found valuable.

and anna, poor anna, gets to have her side grabbed by a filthy foreigner.

keep pretending you like it, comrade.

special thanks to Thomas who flowed the busblog $31.67, a lovely number, muchas gracias!

and also thanks to Joachim who flowed the blog a nice round $25 in hopes that i would change the link of “I’m Not a Cowboy” to point to

thank you Joachim, i’ll get the interns right on it.

my man

robert has a few good questions that need to be answered ASAP.

the first being would you lay out a few hundred bucks to see the Rolling Stones play?

the answer depends on if you’ve seen them already.

i have had the great fortune of seeing the living legends a few times. the first being at the LA Collesium when Living Color and Guns and Roses opened up for them.

“Appetite for Destruction” had been out a year and was everyone’s favorite album and we walked through south central LA thinking “the Stones are going to get their ass beat.”

as i get older, i start to realize that experience has a few things going for it.

the Guns and Roses were infighting, unfocused, at the mercy of heroin, scattered, doubting, tangled up with girls, drunk with success, living up to their album title.

they went limp about ten minutes into the show. total disaster.

The LA Collesium is like a big angry ugly hole when it comes to music. It owns you. The front row is miles away and cute little smirks dont cut it. You need a machette the size of montana to cut through the emptiness. you need a road map to reach the hearts of the kids. This was a place that was built best for monster truck races, and for having the Pope speak. not for music. the echos themselves are something to contend with, never mind your wasted lead guitar player.

The Stones, meanwhile had spent their whole lives playing impossible venues like this. Last time they were there a guy named Prince opened for them and had bottles thrown at him and got booed off the stage.

As a unit the Rolling Stones took the stage that summer of 1988 like five sailors back from a long journey entering a whore house with a bag of condoms in one hand and a bucket of $20s in the other. They sized up the situation in about two minutes, spread out, and rocked the living shit out of anything that moved.

they were sticky they were sweet they were even psychedelic to remind us that they didnt just come from another country, but from another time entirely, a better time where you either master your surroundings or be a victim to them.

they rocked for two hours, took a polite break and got the rest of their ya yas out.

ok, that was then.

now, theyre one old guy on drums, a wastoid on guitar, and a complete mad man on the mic. they still rock better than 95% of the shows that you’ll go to this year, and you’ll know a majority of the songs and its super good to hear those played live. but there is little chance of magic.

so i say if you have never seen them before, go. do go. spend the money. they deserve it.

if you have seen them play, do like i am doing, hold out to see if someone has an extra ticket and will buy you a beer if you go with them.

$200 buys a bunch of lapdances.

as for your other questions, nothing in here is being written by me right now. i have the summer interns here for three more weeks then i have to do this shit myself.

i just draw the outlines and they fill in the blanks.

see you at subway!

peace out to my man Ric at Bitchen for the $3. and TPB at unbillable hours who busted with the Fiver. thats a beer! and thats all i ask. rock on, bros.

Oish fans,

is there any end to you?

im amazed.

the cam girl popularity is just really tremendous. wanna see what she has done to my front page? check out my stats, these are live.

Oish is an 18 yr old girl named Teresa who does not get naked, who does not talk dirty, who says hehe after each sentence. not p0rn, not dirty, if anything, cute. cute as a button. and im not saying i know who her fans are, but shes got lots of them, and they all want to see bigger versions of her pictures.

and im sure they dont wanna see me.

who knows, maybe they do.


oish does like the taste of her fingers, i have noticed that. maybe shes just touching an owie.

what else is fascinating is that Chuck from LA flowed me thirty three cents via paypal. sad thing is is that paypal takes thirty one cents out of the first dollar, which means i got a total of two cents from chuch. which might be all he really wanted to send my way anyhow.

regardless, i appreciate the flowage, chuck. thanks for getting that spare change off the floorboard of your truck.

also much thanks to Dan who busted with the five bones. danka!

looks like im being suckered into going to the Dodger game tonight, which im resisting since theyre just gonna strike in two days. but its with good friends, and i told you yesterday that i dont want to blow them off much any more.

so basart, drop two tickets in my mail box, or prepare to pick me plus one up at my house at 6:45.

communicating through a blog.

wasnt that the point of all this?

will i be escorting Oish?

tune in tomorrow and find out.

she was twenty six

life is like riding a bicycleeducated, funny, well spoken, perfect body, perfect lips, very little makeup, just a hint of perfume,

couldn’t figure out what brand.

hottest cab driver i had ever had the pleasure

thought for a moment that it might be a set up.

after a minute didn’t care if it was.

“what do you like in a woman?” she asked after i gave her my address and she raised an eyebrow. the bars had closed hours ago, even the rats had called it a night. street cleaners were waking the bums.

false dawn brought out premature chirps from the sparrows in the palm trees and the traffic lights just flashed red black red black



the streets were wet and shiny like a movie directed by that guy who did top gun. so many people take the freeways in la at all hours, why wasn’t anyone on vermont i thought and then couldn’t think, the whole thing was spinning, and not in a good way.

i could feel every bump and there were bunch.

popped some tylenol. didn’t have anything to wash it down with, didn’t matter, the saliva was filling my throat.

the wet carpet was being rolled out for the puke, but i just had some mighty good steaks that i wasn’t about to revisit so i thought of better things.

ice cream.

one summer i was an icecream man in the suburbs of chicago.

i was in love with a girl named tracy degrazia.

her boyfriend was named george.

i realized i wasn’t thinking these thoughts but i was telling the beautiful cab driver.

i must be drunk, i don’t tell people the truth.

“what made you love her?”

it was love at first sight. first time that ever happened to me. we were on a bus going to iowa to visit a school out there where they only make you take one class a month. really small school. really long bus ride. really terrific girl.

smelled like baby powder.

mcdonalds drive thru claiming to be open twenty four hours made me curious. perhaps one of those new fancy shakes would help.

can i get you a cup of coffee, or a shake, i asked my cab driver.

i would love a cup of coffee.

do you really live where im taking you?

strangely the drive through was indeed open. the tylenol was kicking in. bless you tylenol three.

the lady spoke spanish. the cab driver goddess spoke spanish right back.

where did you learn that? i asked.


sometimes everything makes sense and then it all falls apart again like those bridges you make with folded notebook paper in sixth grade science class or how you can lift people by just using your fingers in a seance, or how a 757 can take off from a runway and fly through the friendly skies

and before i knew it i was barfing all over the bullhorn squawk box of the drive through laughing and messing up my green suede low top pumas whose swoosh had been made from the remnants of a leather gucci purse. guess you’d have to see it.

was handed a paper towel, wiped off, fell back in the cab.

laughed, god did i laugh.

pulled forward to the second window.

received my mcflurry.

somehow made it home, once again,


today this busblog will get more hits than ever before

this is because i have links from the most popular cam girl in the west, Oish, the king of the blog world, Instapundit, and the tag team of love Ken and Matt.

my question isn’t which group will flow the most fundage to the busblog, for i fear none of them will.

far too educated, learned and jaded, they’re so not interested in the frivolity of the cheap thrill.

these are people who just click whatever links these great writers html out for them, they’ll read the little peice and then go on with their lives of changing the world in beautiful little ways, failing to see that if each of them stoked the blog a mere $2, the lives of an afroed young man would change oh so much.

i have a goal, dear visitors. a silly one. but it’s mine. its a goal to get $1,000 from strangers via my blog.

a handout? no. an art project gone terribly wrong? perhaps. socialism in motion? socialism has never been in motion, dont flatter yourselves.

panhandling? please.

being 108 years old most of my goals have been reached and were attained a long long time ago.

caught a foul ball at a major league baseball game when i was 18, had the best sex of my life when i was 35, made out with three girls at once when i was 25, truly satisfied a woman when i was 55.

have i lived a good life? one that i could rationalize writing about in a daily way? i guess. but probably not.

ive watched too much tv. i smoked too much, drank too much soda, chased the wrong women, voted for the wrong men. fought the wrong fights, gave up driving cars entirely too late. i stayed on too long at jobs that didnt want me, didnt spend enough time with my real friends, only read the bible a dozen times, didnt floss enough, didnt rent enough porn. only wrote a thousand poems.

but one thing i feel good about is that i always asked for the sale.

if there was a pretty girl who was kissable and should have been kissed and could have been kissed, i went for it.

not in a nasty way or uncomfortable manner or in a needy way, or as a dare. but in the way that should be done. spontaneously.

as i while away my days here in this rockingchair stolen during a midnight heist of the Goodwill, santa monica, typing my memoirs on this little gateway notebook, when i want to avoid the arthritic pain of old age, the things that bring smiles to these wrinkled cheeks are the memories of backsteats and couches, doorways and streetlights.

nothing has brought more life to these bones than a good night kiss after a good date with a good girl.

a b c always be closing, it took me a long time to learn what that was all about, but the reward justifies the effort, and the experience is the prize. sexual tension and nervousness and butterflies and racing hearts are better than any drug or alcohol or summer blockbuster movie or amusement park thrill ride and it’s all natural and primal and magical and fleeting.

it’s what dreams are made of, when its with the right woman.

and it’s what life is all about if she accepts your humble offer.

now if you would be so kind, gentle strangers, click these words right here

and make your little heart race.

people want to know whats up with me and serena

casual readers may not know that my website predates the busblog.

i have been updating my website since the summer of 2000 when i was unceremoniously fired from the dot com that i worked at, only to be ceremoniously rehired 4 hours later due to popular demand. it’s true that a week or two later i celebrated the williams sisters win at wimbledon which was the first time serena (pictured, right) made it on this server, but a week before all that i put up my first story, an AP reprint, about a girl named Anna. color me loyal.

now today was a pretty good day, financially, i made $187 from selling a pair of $65 chris isaac tickets thanks to eBay. the profits i put in the thermometer. at almost the same time my man steve w. from canada was flowing the busblog $51! which is the largest single donation to date and deserves a round of applause. merci steve! that brings our total to $625, and i know we only have a few days left in the month, but im starting to think we can reach this bizarre goal.

but then, im a cub fan. i dont do much thinkin.

it was also a good day because my buds matt and ken double teamed me with two powerful links to my lil thing about Instapundit.

and then i got bukkaked with the Oish love. and no offense to my bros, but there arent any better hits than 18 yr old southern cal cam girl hits cuz tick tock they dont stop — plus Oish (pictured, below) linked me to every single one of her new pics! nice scamola if you can get it.

around 7pm chris called me. she was bored in santa monica and wanted to take me to the movies. she picked me up, we went over to the ridiculously overpriced Arclight Theatres because theyre still showing every movie that came out this summer, theyre terribly convienent, everyone there is SOOOOO nice (order a popcorn and the guy says, “so what movie are you guys here to see tonight? Bourne Identity, yeah, that one is great.”), free parking, and because tickets are $14 each the theatres are basically empty.

our ushers came out before the previews to introduce themselves, then we were very nicely entertained by Matt Damon and Famke from Run Lola Run in Bourne Identity. dude who directed Go directed this one and it was really great.

took a leak in the new bathrooms of the Archlight and saw that some kid had tagged the stall and stuck an Obey sticker on the handle of the john. love the kids.

then chris took me food shopping at the most ghetto Foods 4 Less ever and she nearly started crying in the fresh food section when she saw how low the prices are in hollywood compared to her plush wesssssside Pavillions. crazy thing is, they’re both owned by Vons, so the same apple tree produced her $1 apple as my fifty cent apple.


chris is the best ex. we held hands in the movie. she pushed my cart at the store. even paid for a bunch of stuff. have i told you shes lost 20 pounds? looks better than ever, which, i know, sounds impossible, but its snot. sometimes i forget that she even lives just an hour away i get so caught up in the menusha of my daily life. i have to remember not to overlook her, cuz shes the best.

in honor of the Instaman’s birthday, heres a few more links for your ass:

raymi shows us a webpage of a happy couple that are so happy that it reminds me why im not looking to hard for my soulmate.

jenny went to the leeds festival in london and, oh, saw GnR, weezer, foo fighters, strokes, slipknot, white stripes, prodigy, death cab, and dozens more.

mr. know it all sends us over to joe rogan’s site where he met up with a great big fat nude elvis singing, dancing and peeing at Goldfingers last month. i need to get out more.

and lastly, send your true love some Pee Mail, they’ll either think it’s truly adorable and love you, you twisted fuck, or they’ll just scoff and say, “see? see!”



Fo’ Reel Records

8 weeks on the chart, currently #1, triple platinum

“Hot In Herre”

Hot in…..

So hot in heerre…..

So hot in…..


Wan’ a lil bit of uh uh and a lil bit of.

(Wan’ a lil bit of uh uh just a lil bit of.

Wan’ a lil bit of uh uh just a lil bit of.)

(Uh) I was like, good gracious ass is bodacious

Oh, flirtacious, tryin to show patience

I’m waitin’ for the right time to shoot my steez (you know)

Waitin’ for the right time to flash them keys

Then um I’m leavin, please believin (oh)

Me and the rest of my heathens

Check it, got it locked at the top of the four seasons

Penthouse, roof top, birds I feedin

No deceivin, nothin up my sleeve and, no teasin

I need you to get up up on the dance floor

Give that man what he askin for (oh)

Cuz I feel like bustin loose and I feel like touchin you (uh uh)

And can’t nobody stop the juice so baby tell me whats the use

(I said)

Its gettin hot in here (so hot)

So take off all your clothes (unh)

I am gettin so hot, I wanna take my clothes off


Why you at the bar if you ain’t poppin the bottles (come on)

What good is all the fame if you aint fuckin the models

I see you drivin, sportscar, aint hittin the throttle

And I be down, and do a hundred, top down and goggles

Get off the freeway, exit 106 and parked it

Ash tray, flip gate, time to spark it

Gucci collar for dollar, got out and walked it

I spit game cuz baby I cant talk it

Warm, sweatin its hot up in this joint

VOKAL tanktop, on at this point

Your with a winner so baby you cant lose

I got secrets cant leave Cancun

So take it off like you’re home alone

You know dance in front your mirror while your on the phone

Checkin your reflection and tellin your best friend,

like “girl I think my butt gett’n’ big” (oh)

(Repeat Hook 2x)

(Let it hang all out)

Mix a little bit a ah, ah

With a little bit a ah, ah

(Let it just fall out)

Give a little bit a ah, ah

With a little bit a ah, ah

(Let it hang all out)

With a little bit a ah, ah

And a sprinkle a that ah, ah

(Let it just fall out)

I like it when ya ah, ah

Girl, Baby make it ah, ah

Stop pacin, time wastin

I gotta friend with a pole in the basement (What?)

I’m just kiddin like Jason (Oh)

Unless you gonna do it

Extra, extra eh, spread the news (check it)

Nelly took a trip from the Loop to the Neptunes

Came back with somethin thicker than fittin in sasoons

Say she got a thing about cuttin in restrooms

(Hook 4x)

(Let it hang all out)

Mix a little bit of ah, ah

With a little bit of ah, ah

(Let it just fall out)

Give a little bit of ah, ah

With a little bit of ah, ah

(Let it hang all out)

With a little bit of ah, ah

And a sprinkle of that ah, ah

(Let it just fall out)

I like it when ya ah, ah

Girl, Baby make it ah, ah


today is the king of the bloggers’s birthday

Glenn Reynolds, the Instapundit.

More people visit his site daily than have voted in the last three presidential elections, combined.

Glenn gets more hits than sadaharu oh, hourly.

and if he links you back, his magnifying glass/sun combo literally might blow your servers. no lie.

The magical anarchy of the Internet has chosen this demi-god not because of his youthful good looks (which are far too youthful and good), or his chosen profession (law professor, Tennessee), or his hobbies (underground music), or his ability to read and write about everything on the blogosphere and boil it down to one or two paragraphs spanning a hugely diverse array of topics.

No, it’s because of his incredibly large … wait, this just in.. it is because of his youthful good looks.

I had the pleasure of meeting Glenn at Eugene Volokh’s quaint villa several months ago. Success hasn’t gone to his head: he was very nice, he knew pretty much everyone’s work, he didn’t dominate any conversations, he was eager to listen, he appeared good-natured, happy, normal. Wanted to tell me about the alt-tractorpunk movement sweeping the dustbowl.

All the things that Matt Drudge isn’t Glenn is: solely interested in the facts, not at all interested in self-promotion or keeping his number one status number one, no agenda, no axe to grind, no beef, no nonsense, well-educated, and interested in the finer things in life: family, punk rock, and writing in an intelligent manner.

The masses have successfully identified the correct lightening rod. And theres no mightier or more deserving rod than the Instapundit.

Rarely do i write about him, or link to him because i have no interest in politics, but I have much respect for him, and if anything serious went down, i would go to his site first.

and i am very grateful that he has put me on his links list cuz even though he never talks about me, understandedly, i get a steady 20-25 hits a day from him, and a few of those people hang around. I couldn’t ask for anything better.

Once the media outlets get their heads out of their asses, they will do the obvious and make Glenn a household name.

why he doesnt sell tshirts that just say “Glenn” is beyond me.

but they all will, someday, and when they do you can say that you heard about it all here, last.

happy birthday to the only thing decent about knoxville next to dollywood, the center of the blog kingdom,

And now he has Comments. Look out.