what do you want for your birthday, tony?

just you, anna.

i know, but i cant be there, im sorry.

teenage runaway catholic girl skirted twins, then.

but i got you that last year.

whoops. forgot. how about world peace?

ha ha! not likely, gandhi

ok, then i would like Tsar to play, please.

hmmm. i dont know if i can get that together.

i trust you, i think you can.

people didnt even notice that i didnt play any tennis while you were on vacation with your “family.”

crazy. you’d think that people would pay more attention to things like that.

i guess they’re too caught up in their own lives.

is that why the so-called liberal media lets Bush get away with our economy plummeting, and the terrorists winning, and corporate fraud, and …

look at your comments, tony, people don’t come here to hear you be right about politics.


they come here for the song lyrics.

no they don’t.

i know. so why do you post them, then?

so you’d know what to sing to me as i fall asleep.

put some beastie boys up there then.

ok. maybe later in the week.

are you glad to be back at work?

im glad to be fighting crime again. sure. it’s nice to feel needed.

i noticed something today that i thought was funny. this is the last month that you’ll be 108 years old, and lookit, youre #108 on the blogging ecosystem.

ok, for my birthday i would like to be a little more popular than that.

thats not so easy. you’ll have to kiss a lot of asses. and write better too.

guess im shit outta luck.

look at the company you’re in with though, kausfiles is sponsored by MSN/Slate, Jarvis created Entertainment Weekly. you havent done squat compared to those guys.

adam curry is #34, anna.

thats fucked up, love.

tell me about it.

i had a nice week with you, tony.


i mean, i missed you while you were away, tony

i missed you too anna. i thought about you every day. and every single lonesome night.


Hollywood Records

“Teen Wizards”

Teen wizards on your street,

the grown ups get so high.

They chain their children�s hearts into the sky.

Let�s jam the jukebox, babe,

the fuckers will shine on�.

oh, hi.

and everybody everywhere,

is shooting off their air-to-air.

To release the silent prisoner.

Teen Wizards

of tomorrow,

Rock city

on the radio.

Everybody�s gonna follow,

When the sun is burning on and on,

For your will…

Do what you wanna do,

right now

little angels, pretty girls

on and on,

having sex

on the sun.

the air is calling you.

Super, super, Super child�.

Hey yo, superfried.

Got the juice

and don’t ever lose it,

a time to control,

your rotton soul.


Stand up and face the sun.

You ain�t the only one.

No, you ain�t the only one.


Teen Wizards of tomorrow,

Rock city

on the radio.

Everybody�s gonna follow,

then when the Earth is turning on and on,

to your will.


Teen Wizards of tomorrow,

Rock city on the radio.

Everybody�s gonna follow,

When the skin is burning in the sun,

The silence will load the gun,

the violence is the future son.

And it�s you,

I feel it�s true

When I see you,

I get shot through!

you’d think that with all this fuss

about the fact that Bush knew and the FBI knew about 9/11 before 9/11, and with enron and global crossings, and martha stewart, and allen greenspan getting knighted by the queen of england despite the fact that the economy lost several trillion dollars under his watch, that Bill O’Reilly would have bigger fish to fry than to get his panites in a bunch over hip hop artists trying to make them ends; but surprise, the rich, white conservative talk show host wants to try to put Snoop Dogg and Ludacris out of work because companies like Pepsi and the Muppets think their brands would benefit from a relationship with the rappers, than, say, with the racist behind the “Factor.”

click over to G. Beato on Soundbitten who defends the d-o double g and ludacris the way o’reilly wish he could have approached it: with intelligence, facts, history and a tad less hysteria.

o’reilly’s rant lost ludacris a gig, and im sure snoop dogg wont be getting a seasame street walk-on spot now that the nervous nellies who jump when the Factor tells them how high have been tounge-lashed, but my question is, wouldnt bill rather have these men employed? guys like him always bitch when they see a Black man getting a welfare check, or caught on “Cops” with his shirt off getting cuffed on his front porch as a pit bull barks and a baby cries. are ratings really worth the fact that perfectly good entertainers are losing gigs because o’reilly would rather walk in the predictable shoes of Pat Buchannan and bitch every time a rapper gets paid by someone other than a white suburban teen?

is it really that outrageous to think that Pepsi would want to seem a little cooler than Coke by hiring Ludacris? or is it more outrageous to think that our government knew full well that Bin Laden did have a history of fucking with planes, and had a hard-on for the world trade center, and liked to target civilian locales, and the fbi got an email from an agent months before the attack which pondered why so many young saudis were learning how to fly airplanes in america.

do the polls work yet in florida, o’reilly? are snoop dogg’s part time acting roles more important to you than the idea of americans going to the polls but not having their votes count? how do you feel about the fact that you can buy a share of stock of Sun Micro for less than $3 a share? dont you think that that is more troubling than a movie starring the muppets?

the priorities of the Factor are mighty transparent. keep the brothers down. defend the right wing no matter how Huge they fuck up. ignore the real financial, political, and cultural disasters. focus on rappers with funny names and lyrics that you’ve never really listened to other than to scan for obscenities.

The O’Reilly Factor: the #1 primetime cable news show. nice. fucking. job. america.

i was cutting my filet mignon in first class

jetting from miami to LAX thinking about how red meat doesn’t agree with me any more. thinking about how i don’t like hugh grant and i really don’t like him when he’s really good in really good movies like “about a boy.” i was doing my best to resist the luxury the rich have become used to. i was trying to keep it real.

the blonde stewardess had a bottle of red in one hand and a bottle of white in the other. i was chewing on a mouthful of spinach salad and buttering my warm sourdough roll and i nodded towards the red.

i wasn’t keeping shit real.

i did have surfer shorts on, an ac/dc tshirt, marilyn manson on the mp3 cd player that my good buddy got me off my wishlist last year. but i was laughing at a film produced by the makers of bridget jones diary and about to dive back into a novel i was totally loving from the oprah book club.

i knew things were really bad when i couldn’t keep my eyes off the clouds.

they were amazing. i wasn’t on drugs. i wasn’t in love. i wasn’t emotional in any way, i was entranced by them. they were like rockstars up there, i couldn’t keep my eyes off of them and i couldn’t believe i was so close to them. i was in the front row, i was backstage, i was on stage.

they were great flying over texas, they were great over new mexico. there weren’t any in palm springs but they were creeping that way and they covered the entire LA basin and as we made our descent they were like snow that had been skied over by thousands of vacationers. they were still. they were stoic. they had stories to tell about their creation. they were going somewhere. they were covering a news story. they were peeking at our lives.

over miami they stole the sun and sifted the rays. in la they were the sunscreen. spf 75. in aruba they simply provided sunshowers, tears from the gods who had no beachtowels.

it made me want to be a pilot. but only on cloudy days.

this is the busblog and i wouldn’t be totally honest if i didn’t reveal that when i changed trains today at wilshire and vermont i took the wrong train for the first time in over a year. i took the train that wasn’t going to take me to work, but take me back home, where the gorgeous twenty year old was snoozing in my bed, hopefully dreaming of nice things instead of allowing the demons to whisper silly lies in her dreams.

i don’t deserve any of the good that comes my way. for the record. i don’t deserve the incredibly delicious wine flavored au jus on my steak or the leather recliner or blonde stewardesses or the island girls, or the vacations, or the attentions, or the friends who pick me up at the airport, or the ones who call me upon arrival, or the raiders kicking ass, or you, or this, or that.

but i will take it and i will appreciate it.

and i will do my best not to lie so much the rest of this year.

i stole an LA Times today from a machine and i don’t feel the slightest bit guilty.