when blah blah blah from viacom said that they wanted my help saving vh-1.

i told them that i wasn’t interested in saving vh-1.

they opened up a briefcase of money. i said give to caesar what’s caeasar’s.

they said ok and forget about the stones at staples on halloween, what about a pair for their wiltern gig?

i paused.

then kept moving. fuck vh-1.

they said we can get you a date with mariah.

i said i cant do a divorced woman.

they said we can make christina aguilera fall in love with you.

i said vh-1 needs to hire courtney love.

let her be on the air as much as she wants.

i want to see cooking with courtney, caulking with courtney, child rearing with courtney, chatting with courtney, and coughing with courtney.

not only is she a fine musician her self, sexists, but she’s rock royalty, and if she’s not her little girl is, so god save the queen.

i let them in my house! and said, what you did with her on mtv2 giving her 24 hours was brilliant, but “behind the music” is filler when theres nothing to watch on saturdays. courtney is such an attention whore she’d do it for peanuts. and don’t let her fool you, shes as much into fleetwood mac as she is in fugazi. “malibu” is VH-1 101. not even boomers want to feel old and in order to stay away from celine you need courtney.

it doesn’t need to be live. her friends are michael stipe (whose music you should be playing more of) and billy corgan and probably quite a few other interesting people who would give your channel the cool factor that has always resisted your eager grasp.

and secondly, you should bring back Rock N Roll Jeopardy.

That guy from “Survivor” was a good host, but i think you need to hire David Lee Roth for a week.

The week after that let Bob Costas do it. I can’t stand Costas, but he’d be perfect.

The week after that have David Byrne, and then Quincy Jones, and then Kurt Loder, and then Moby.

they said those are brilliant ideas.

i said thank you.

they said, you far exceeded your reward, what else can we do for you?

i said, please fire john norris. i have no clue why i always have to see that guy on my mtv. who does he have photos of? mtv is notorious for letting people go sooner than later. from johnny knoxville, to jenny mccarthy, kennedy to tom green to tabitha soren to remote control to puck, you have no problem letting perfectly good interesting people leave right when they are about to explode.

why are you hanging onto john norris like he’s your raggedy ole rabbit’s foot?

he’s entirely forgettable in every way.

i have nothing against the man, he’s not annoying, but his presence is.

why not let that fat skinhead kid on m2 get a little face time?

that kid’s unbelievable.

he’s got tattoos and the lingo and the poise and the double chin.

america is ready for whatever his name is.

and that’s who you need to hook up with christina, not me.

i’d totally corrupt that little girl.

other than finding out that i still have a wicked bad crush on Christina Aguilera there are these items:

Meesh is making it very difficult for me to stand up, here in my lonely cubicle. But I’m glad to see that she’s giving Raymi her due props. :cough::tonysandwich::cough:

Although a picture may say 1,000 words, i like Sara’s words a lot more than pictures of britney spears and cher sporting a george washington mask (yes, the pumpkin patches are popping up on the abandoned lots of america, but take the mask off honey) and sara, get back to writing or i’ll post more billy joel lyrics. whatever you do, dont let grad school get in the way of your blog!

reverse cowgirl takes the sort of pictures of hollywood that i wish i could, if best buy would only give me back my camera. fuckholes. anyway, today she announces that she will be featured in an upcoming edition of Playboy. now arent you glad you subscribe like me?

it’s less than three hours before Game Two and Welch types the word “shitty” and yet isnt talking about the tough defeat of his beloved Angels to the dreaded Yankees last night in one of the best playoff games you’ll ever see. maybe he thinks the never-say-die Halos will still pull that one out. shrug it off, pal, your boy Glaus sent a few messages that the SoCal homies are going to continue their mysterious who’s-your-daddy on the bronx bombers. if you missed it the Angels rocked the rocket and mauled mario in game one at the house that ruth built. the cocky mothers nearly got away with loading the bases for Giambi and stealing game one away from the home team. but the angels will soar tonight, my pretties. and welch will rejoin the bandwagon that he is secretly driving himself.

laura crane would give two thumbs up on the Atkins diet if she could lift her left arm. i kid. my mom and sister are on it and they swear by it too. who knew cutting food out of your diet would help you lose weight?

kate sullivan lost her job, LA lost a really good newspaper, the doors of opportunity swing even wider. if i could only find that friggin iguana, i would ask for my fourth wish to be for there to be a real newspaper for me and all my amigos to work at and live happilly ever after. but alas, the LA Times is just far too mighty and good and powerful and well written and well edited and informative and sexy and colorful and smart and innovative and diverse and accurate and free thinking and superior for anything like that to happen in my lifetime, or yours.

Dawn called me a God today, which does wonders for my esteem, which is about to floweth over.

And then Uppity Negro done linked me less than 24 hours after i whined, and alas, the esteem has reached its peak, and then some. excuse me while i kiss the sky.

Glass Houses Columbia Records

“Close To The Borderline”

Blackout, heatwave, .44 caliber homicide

The bums drop dead and dogs go mad

In packs on the West Side

Young girl standing on a ledge looks like another suicide

She wants to hit those bricks

‘Cause the news at six gotta stick to a deadline

While the millionaires hide in Beekman Place

The bag ladies throw their bones in my face

I get attacked by a kid with stereo sound

I don’t want to hear it but he won’t turn it down

Life is tough but it’s just enough

To hold back the tears until it’s closing time

I survived, I’m still alive

But I’m getting close to the borderline

Close to the borderline

A buck three eighty

Won’t buy you much lately on the street these days

And when you can get gas

You know you can’t drive fast anymore on the parkways

Rich man, poor man, either way American

Shoved into the lost and found

The no nuke yell we’re gonna all go to hell

With the next big meltdown

I got remote control and a color T.V.

I don’t change channels so they must change me

I got real close friends that will get me high

They don’t know how to talk and they ain’t gonna try

I shouldn’t bitch, I shouldn’t cry

I’d start a revolution but I don’t have time

I don’t know why I’m still a nice guy

But I’m getting close to the borderline

Close to the borderline

I thought I’d sacrifice so many things

I thought I’d throw them all away

I didn’t think I needed anything

But you can’t afford to squander what you’re not prepared to pay

I need a doctor for my pressure pills

I need a lawyer for my medical bills

I need a banker to finance my home

I need security to back my loan

It isn’t new what I’m going through

But everybody knows you got to break sometime

Another night I fought the good fight

But I’m getting closer to the borderline

Close to the borderline.

sadly, this is one of only a handful of songs that i have completely memorized. sadder still, it was one of the most punk rock song i had to grow up with.

she called me last night before i got to bed. it was noon in russia. she was upset that she had confused myelin’s blogging ecosphere with the truth laid bear’s blogosphere ecosphere. i told her it was cool. she said no, that she was really really sorry and wanted to make it up to me.

i told her that we all make mistakes. i told her to work on her backhand.

she said, but the NZ Bear has got NZ in it and the other guy has NZ in his url.

i said, chill, ruskie. then she started crying. then she told me it might be her pms.

i said i hope it was pms. we had a little close call with a romp that led to a condom being broken.

she said she was sure she wasnt pregnant.

i asked, how can you tell?

she said, if i had a little tony baby in me, i would know right away.

i told her that i was flipping through Redbook and i leaned all these great things about the new IUDs out there. and one you dont have to fuss with for FIVE years.

she asked me to change the subject.

so i told her that i watched the new Real World and it’s my favorite porn series ever.

then she said she loved me.

it was the first time she’d ever said that. other than when we were fighting.

i said, i love ya too.

she said, ya?

then i got a beep on my call waiting. and she said, never mind. i gotta go.

which was great cuz i was sleeeep – eeee.

history as strong as the tradewinds that cool off the tourists as they bake. once known as the alcatraz of the carribian and the home of the largest prison in south america, local legend has it that if you trap one of the adult iguanas you’ll get three wishes if you agree to let it go…

i’ll give you three wishes if you let me go.

no one is imprisoning you.

i know, but you look like a nice fellow.

no, thanks, my life is fine, i said. and went back to reading white oleander. damn good book.

anything you want. do do do. no strings attached.

move along, reptile. im on vacation. no talking to things that dont really talk right now.

i used to be a prisoner on this island. i can talk.

i want the cubs to win the world series. i want president bush to resign. i want tsar to play on my birthday.

first of all, the cubs arent even in the playoffs. secondly, i cannot influence world politics. and thirdly, tsar is in the studio making a new record for your ass. pick three new ones.

lousy lizard.

come on. most people think this is fun.

i would like some more girth in my manhood.

no you dont.

sure i do.

size doesnt matter. ask for something else.

i would like you to leave me alone.

i will after you wish for two more things.

you’re taking a wish away from me?

i’m not taking. im granting. two more now, tony

you know my name?

of course. just cuz im an iguana doesnt mean im a dumb schmoe.

for a magic talking iguana, you’re sorta boring.

come on, dont you want a new job or anything?

ok, yes, i’d like a new job. something creative. where i’m loved by millions and i dont have to carry a gun any more.

great. before christmas you’ll have a new job.

really.

yup.

wow.

yep. now ask for another.

i want a bunch of girls to tell me im a great writer and then kiss me.

what if some of them used to be men?

no, thank you.

what if some of them have little moustashes?

whatever.

what if some of them have little beards

now youre pushing it. what about some pretty girls?

okay tony. your wishes have been granted. now kiss me and they’ll come true.

and i kissed the iguana and he turned into a mermaid and jumped in the sea and swam off into the sunset.