(Ice Cube)

[Brother J]

“Stalkin.. walkin in my big black boots” [repeat 2X]

[Ice Cube]

God damn, another fuckin payback with a twist

Them motherfuckers shot but the punks missed

Ice Cube is out-gunned, what is the outcome?

Will they do me like Malcolm?

Cause I bust styles, new styles, standin – strong!

While, others Run a Hundred Miles

But I never run, never will

Deal with the devil with my motherfuckin steel – BOOM!

Media try to do me

But I was a BoyN the Hood before the movie

Call me nigga, bigger than a spook,

But you the one that voted for Duke,

motherfucker.

White man, is somethin I tried to study

But I got my hands bloody.

They said I could sing like a Jaybird

But nigga, don’t say the J-word

I thought they was buggin

cause to us Uncle Sam is Hitler without an oven

Burnin our black skin

Buy my neighborhood – then push the crack in

Doin us wrong from the first day

And don’t understand why a nigga got an AK

Callin me an African-American

like everything is fair again,

shit.

Devil, you got to get the shit right I’m black

Blacker than a trillion midnights

Don’t Believe the Hype was said in ’88

by the great Chuck D, now they’re tryin to fuck me

“.. with No Vaseline

Just a match and a little bit of gasoline..” – HUH!

It’s a great day for genocide (What’s that?)

That’s the day all the niggaz died

They killed JFK in ’63

So what the fuck you think they’ll do to me?

But I’m the O.G. and I bust back (boom boom)

Bust back (Boom boom!) peel a cap (BOOM BOOM!)

Gimme room in the fire of the sun

Here the mack come, here the black come,

watch Jack run!

Motherfuckers can’t gank me

Fuck a devil, fuck a rebel, and a yankee

Overrun and put the Presidency

After needin that, I’m down wit O.P.P.

I met Farrakhan and had dinner

And you ask if I’m a five-percenter, well…

No, but I go where the brothers go

Down with Compton Mosque # 54

Made a little dough, still got a sister on my elbow.

Did Ice Cube sell out? You say, “Hell no!”

A black woman is my manager, not in the kitchen

So could you please stop bitchin?

[Brother J]

“Stalkin.. walkin in my big black boots”

[Cube]

Yeah, yeah..

“But when will they shoot?”

[Brother J]

“Stalkin.. walkin in my big black boots”

[Cube] Yeah, yeah..

“But when will they shoot?”

[automatic gunfire]

You missed, and didn’t hit Da Lench Mob either

“Guerillas in the Mist..” without Jungle Fever

But I got the fever for the flava of a cracker

Not a Pringle, bust the single, here’s my new jingle

“Stalkin.. walkin in my big black boots”

The KKK has got three-piece suits

Using niggaz like turkey shoots

My motto is Treat ‘Em Like a Prostitute

Now if I say no violence, devil, you won’t respect mine

Fuck the dumb shit – and get my Tec-9

And if they approach us

A-ight, a-ight – I bury those cockroaches

And if you can’t deal with my Kill at Will

Here’s a new gift to get – try my Death Certificate

Amerikkka’s Most, Amerikkka’s burnt – it’s like toast

Like Jordan, I’m goin coast to coast

Dribblin the funk here comes the nigga

with the motherfuckin monster dunk, get off me punk!

“Jordan.. watch Jordan,

aiyyo yo watch Jordan .. YES!”

[M.J.]

“You better eat your Wheaties”

[Brother J]

“Stalkin.. walkin in my big black boots”

[Cube] Yeah, yeah..

“But when will they shoot?”

Darryl Gates got the studio surrounded

Cause he don’t like the niggaz that I’m down with

Motherfucker wanna do us

Cause I like Nat, Huey, Malcolm, and Louis

Most got done by a black man’s bullet

Give a trigger to a nigga and watch him pull it

Negro assass-in

I’ma dig a ditch, bitch, and throw yo’ ass in

When they shoot, no, it won’t be a cracker

They use somebody much blacker

What I do? I called up the Geto Boys crew

Cause My Mind’s Playing Tricks On Me too

Never died, surround my crib

and F.O.I. makin sure nobody creep when I sleep

Keep a 9 millimeter in my Jeep – PEEP!

When I roll, I gots to roll deep

Ain’t goin out cheap

Met the MADD Circle on Cypress Hill cause it’s so steep

They’ll never get me, they’ll never hit me

Motherfuck that shit JD

Now I’m relaxed

Grab the St. Ide’s brew so I can max

Sittin by the window cause it’s so fuckin hot

and then I heard a shot

boom.

kool keith

it’s at the intersection of wilshire and vermont. by the way, i love each of you and i hope youre having a pleasant day.

if you are taking a train south and you want to go west you get off at wilshire and go down the stairs and within a few minutes, if the timing is as it should be, the train going west will arrive.

sometimes the train gets there just as youre hitting the bottom stair. thats like a sweet little kiss on the cheek from the one you love.

because there is only this one transfer spot in the entire los angeles subway system (there are a few others but they dont count) if the train downstairs is a little fast and the conductor can see a whole group of people running down the stairs, he will wait, as that is not only polite, but professional and reasonable, because after two stops the westbound train takes a 10 minute break and turns around and goes east.

so waiting 1 minute for the commuters to catch their last train at 8:40am isnt much of a big deal.

unless, of course, you are the wastoid who decided to watch us decend the staircase waving our arms and pull away as we hit the platform.

hi train driver.

im gonna get you.

im gonna go to heaven and the angel on duty is going to give me a tour of the place and once we’ve completed the gauntlet of blowjobs from playmates around the galaxy, and after we sled down the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream mountain and after we soak in the hot tub of love and make out with every nfl cheerleader one at a time in their former bodies and after we’re given our superbodies and golden afros and assigned our flying skateboards and ac/dc bottle openers i know, i know someone is going to whisper in my ear, “who do you want us to fuck up, royally.”

and i will pick you, subway man.

and trust me when i tell you that i had some extra time this morning to think of what i would like to do to you. and i have a pretty good relationship with my imagination, if you havent noticed.

so as youre being given papercuts forced to watch your mother get it from the entire cook county correctional community with baking soda falling from the sky like snow, know that thats just the appitizer of this miniseries of miseries that i will oversee happening to your person.

because then your daughter will appear.

and she will walk up to you.

and she will bend down on all fours.

and the lights will dim and the spotlights will hit and then twirl around in a frenzy and the smoke machine and the confetti and the midgets and the midget clowns and the big band and the stuido audience will all be revealed from behind the curtain, and two high fashion models will make their way to a mystery curtain.

they will look at the camera and make hand gestures and the curtain will part and out will come a nice big hairy buffalo.

and from that curtain to your daughter will be a very narrow walkway.

and tied to the papercut chair will be you.

and while you watch your daughter get mounted doggystyle, thanks to the help of the beautiful fashion models who lead the willing buffalo with ease, she will look up at you with equal parts pleasure and horrfying pain.

the buffalo, reknowned for being infected with an unusually large amount of hiv, has recently aquired mad cow disease, and snorts phlem with each thrust which drips and hangs and finally lands on stringly tendrils atop your daughter’s bowtied ponytail.

then comes the rhino.

so your daughter flips over, spreads her legs, and throws her head back so you can see her eyes, covered in spit snot and buffalo drool. nipples pointed at the sky, audience cheering, baking soda falling, paper cuts slicing, rats gnawing, paranah tank lowering, trapeze girls swinging, you might let out a scream of mercy.

mercy?

your job, the thing that you get paid to do, metro operator, the thing that buys your little girl those barrettes, and those skirts, and those little socks, and her book bag, and powers the lights that wrap your christmas tree, is to pick up people in the subway and drop them off at their stop.

simplest job in america and you get paid at least $60k and work just 4 days a week.

and your daughter will help the rhino in. theres no lube in hell. and she will say

wow this one is hairier than the last one.

and a light will shine from behind the curtain and you will see every animal from noahs ark

two by two

patiently waiting their turn.

full of hate

oprah?

tony, mariah and i are concerned about you.

save your concern.

seriously, you seem very angry lately. would you like to talk about it?

i wouldnt know what to say. im not angry right now, if that makes you feel better.

that makes me pleased. yes, but tony, please start thinking about your future. you want to be successful right?

i’d rather be good.

you can be both. dont you know that?

which one of you two are both?

see, theres that anger again. why the rap lyrics?

cuz theyre good.

dont you know that you are shooting yourself in the foot with those? there are people out there who really like your writing who just will not link to your page if they know that theyre going to send their readers to a hateful, foul-mouthed, ghetto site with poor spelling and bad grammar and topics that do not befit a family audience.

oh well.

dont you want your friend the instapundit to link to you?

instapundit linked to an article defining sodomy yesterday, are you saying the geto boys is worse than sodomy?

the geto boys is worse than everything. im guessing that thats exactly why you put them on your page.

i put them on there because that song is fabulous. ive listened to it nearly every day since it first came out. pat whalen, jeff’s brother, got it at the nexus way back when and one night we stayed up all night listening to it laughing and being blown away. and yes its worse than everything, but its also better too. do your homework. and it is successful. i just saw scarface on mtv cribs last weekend.

ok, well, tony, youre not going to get on cribs putting the geto boys on your page.

life is full of tiny little suprises, hundred millionaire fat black woman. i bet that you never thought that just from being the host of a talk show you could earn so much money either.

thats true, so you should learn from my example.

but i am. you did it by keeping true to who you are. you throw in some ebonics when you want to, i bust with the gangsta rap. it keeps us real.

no, it keeps you down.

i talk to myself on a blog on the web. there is no further depth that i could sink, oprah.

yes there is, you could have no hits a day.

van gogh didnt worry about his hits, i wont either.

dont you want this, tony?

want what? a fake talk show devoid of any soul. fake spirituality? Dr. Phil, a rip off Advanced Course trainer gone wild? soft lighting, a penthouse on lsd – lake shore drive, a lover who wont marry me, hangups about my body, zillions of dollars and very little to show from it? i’d rather pump gas and have women let me look up their skirt when im cleaning their windows, thanks.

dont you want to meet people like mariah?

yes.

shes not going to want to meet you if youre just a dumb blogger.

i guess im stuck with the teens and the college girls then. oh well.

fine, tony. live in your little fantasy world, make no money, keep yourself confined in the second-teir of amateur authorship. you have a talent that youre just pissing away, day after day. the lord will look at you and judge you on the final day and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.

wrong, oprah, the lord is going to look at me and say, theres a guy who wrote what was true for him and didnt get distracted by flesh, money, power, fame. his treasure was in the kingdom of heaven, not in a bank on michigan avenue. we get judged by our hearts, thankfully. and mine might not be completely pure, but it hasnt sold out fifty times over.

youre so dilluded.

hip hop is american music from our people, oprah. it’s as popular as “the sopranos” and makes more money than all “the godfathers” put together. not only would i be a gigantic sell out not to bring light to this music, but i would be a big fat liar because i love it and it kicks my ass. instapundit will link me when he sees something that fits with what he’s talking about. hes not afraid of what his readers will think, he’s got so many readers and sends people in so many directions and they keep coming back. they come back not because they love where they go, but because they trust him.

so?

so my readers trust me because they know that i might bs with this fact or that fact but when it comes to music, they know theres no fucking around with what i put up there. im going to eat a ding dong now, oprah. give mariah a kiss for me.

oish has a new layout that is unbelievably good

(Springsteen)

The rangers had a homecoming in Harlem late last night

And the Magic Rat drove his sleek machine over the Jersey state line

Barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge

Drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain

The Rat pulls into town rolls up his pants

Together they take a stab at romance

and disappear down Flamingo Lane

Well the Maximum Lawman run down Flamingo chasing the Rat

and the barefoot girl

And the kids round here look just like shadows

always quiet, holding hands

From the churches to the jails tonight all is silence in the world

As we take our stand

down in Jungleland

The midnight gang’s assembled and picked a rendezvous for the night

They’ll meet `neath that giant Exxon sign that brings this fair city light

Man there’s an opera out on the Turnpike

There’s a ballet being fought out in the alley

Until the local cops, Cherry Tops, rips this holy night

The street’s alive as secret debts are paid

Contacts made, they vanished unseen

Kids flash guitars just like switch-blades hustling for the record machine

The hungry and the hunted explode into rock’n’roll bands

That face off against each other out in the street

down in Jungleland

In the parking lot the visionaries dress in the latest rage

Inside the backstreet girls are dancing to the records that the dj plays

Lonely-hearted lovers struggle in dark corners

Desperate as the night moves on,

just a look

and a whisper,

and they’re gone

Beneath the city two hearts beat

Soul engines running through a night so tender in a bedroom locked

In whispers of soft refusal and then surrender in the tunnels uptown

The Rat’s own dream guns him down as shots echo

down them hallways in the night

No one watches when the ambulance pulls away

Or as the girl shuts out the bedroom light

Outside the street’s on fire in a real death waltz

Between flesh and what’s fantasy

and the poets down here don’t write nothing at all,

they just stand back and let it all be

And in the quick of the night they reach for their moment

And try to make an honest stand

but they wind up wounded,

not even dead

Tonight

in

Jungleland

ken layne

school? it was one a.m.

sure enough it was school. isla vista university.

tony we want to publish your book.

God bless you.

how soon can you be here?

twenty minutes.

how are you going to do that?

i have a flying car. i’ll land on one of the copter pads on the cliffs by the lagoon.

please dont bring any of those xbi things up here. come alone. show a little class.

knocked on my neighbor’s door. the old lady. she said i could borrow her 1980 dodge van.

so it was three on the tree in the middle of the night.

made it to IV in an hour and a half. knelt at the alter of the college of creative studies and didnt dare look up.

go to campus point, build a fire, bring your manuscript, and a cup.

skateboarded through campus turned left at the thunder dome, then took the hill down to the lagoon past the faculty club. found a red wheelbarrow beside some white chickens, gathered wood on my way to the beach, started a fire, a shadowy figure was approaching me with something on his shoulder.

as it got closer i saw that it wasnt a man, it was a woman, and she had what appeared to be a full keg of beer on her shoulder.

mind over matter, tp. good to see you.

it was my creative studies advisor. the reason for everything.

dont use my name on your blog if you write about this, she said. and tapped the keg and filled up my cup.

she sat crosslegged at the fire and accepted my manuscript and read it as the waves crashed and the lighthouse kept very slow time and every once in a while she would laugh and look up at me, proudly, and that meant everything in the world to me.

before we drank very much she was done.

it starts off slow, but i like that. it shows progress. it shows growth. people might read this and see that with practice you get better as you write and you end up with some very good stories along the way.

thank you.

and it has an ending. a real one. and a real begining.

im so glad you think that.

you need to take the poems out though.

but…

this is a book of short stories. some very short stories. you dont need to apologize for it with your poems.

bukowski put poems and stories together.

who?

i promised people there would be poems.

give them their money back if they dont like it.

did you like the photo essay?

yes, but it needs to be cut out too.

you dont understand, people Love the photo essays.

too bad. this is a book of short stories. dont fuck it up.

i learned early on that she was right about everything, so we clinked plastic cups that said mgd on it and drank.

your grammar is bad and there are lots of spelling mistakes.

sorry.

no, it’s cute. for some reason when you do it it’s ok. but whats up with the ee cummings all lowercase who-ha?

its a web thing.

dont change it. i love it. nobody has been able to tribute ee without completely making everyone think of him. youre on the right path.

what about the cover?

the cover needs to be in color. thats gonna cost you.

cost me?

you think this is going to be free? youre going to pay for everything. and it wont be cheap.

will it look like a book at least?

no, it will look like a college reader. university of isla vista press. get it?

will it have a spine with the title on it?

no.

please?

no.

people wont think that it’s a book.

dont judge a book by its spine.

when will it be ready?

friday. come back up here then with a thousand dollars and i’ll give you one hundred books.

give me ninety nine, i’d like you to have one.

this is a good thing, tony.

thank you so much, woman who should be praised.

thank me by helping me kill this keg.

17. the comedian

faster harder deeper

(Akshen/Lil J/Willie D)

(CHORUS)

“Fuck em, fu-fu-fuck fuck em all”

“I bury those cockroaches”

“What’d they ever do for us?”

“I bury those cockroaches”

“Fuck you, mang!”

[Willie D]

I gotta bone to pick cause I’m sick

Of you motherfuckers talkin shit

We pick you up, you put us down and I’m mad

Time to talk about your dog ass

[Scarface]

Jealous motherfuckers it seems wanna suck a dick

“How do you do em?” Fuck em up like a cardiac

So if your curious get a blood donor

Cause I’mma fuck you up so bad, that you’re momma won’t know ya

I pity the fool who diss the mastermind of wreckin shit

Now let me tell ya somethin bitch

Get yaself headstone and a box of pine

Cause when I catch up with ya, ya ass is mine

The line is drawn, word is bond

The motherfuckers who crossed it are dead and gone.

Punk motherfuckers gonna suck a dick

Bushwick?

[Bushwick Bill]

“Yeah money”

[Scarface]

what you think about this bullshit?

[Bushwick Bill]

Fuck those unknown motherfuckers

With a 10 foot pole that can’t touch us

Before the Geto Boys came around

You can’t front their clout, H-town was no town

Yeah we know you still skeptic

Cause we ain’t kissin no God damn ass to be accepted

And if you’re waitin on that to happen sucka

You’ll be a waitin motherfucker.

Shit outta luck, stuck and got fucked

Fo’s up to those who down with us

And to you other mothafuckas in the atmosphere

I’m sayin fuck you loud and clear

(CHORUS)

[Bushwick Bill]

Radios, newspapers, TVs

Spreadin lies across the seven seas

Many people thought we couldn’t endure

Niggaz are buyin now they ain’t so sure

“Billboard” has us check out our status

I don’t understand you hoes, whats the matter

[Willie D]

The motherfuckers are sick

Constipated, cold fulla shit

They tried to keep us off the market

Straight up hoe shit, they had to stock it

My bank don’t pat no monkeys

Cause I kick mo’ ass than a donkey

I gotta pump but I will jump

Yous a punk or a one-on-one ya run to the trunk

If you’re motherfuckin fear looks at you

I’m Willie D and I came to say, Fuck you!

Fuck you has been stated by the underground master

Show me a hacidity bitch and I’ll blast her

Fuck you is what ourselves should do

And spit on ya nasty ass when I’m through

You don’t like me, cause what ya see is a figure

I’m a for real ass nigga

I won’t iron your clothes or pay rent at your place

There ain’t a damn thing baby about my face

[Bushwick Bill]

The whole faculty’s on crack

You say I can’t wear my hat, but yo, fuck that

You call yourself teacher, but whats bein taught?

How to fuck kids and not get caught?

How can your teacher reach ya

They’re too busy in the halls tryin to fuck the other teachers.

[Ready Red]

Fuck the motherfuckin critics,

Fuck newspapers

Fuck the radio stations

And fuck your parents against rap

We buried ya fuckin cockroaches

[Willie D]

To every motherfucker who diss my crew

I’m sayin fuck you, now what you hoes wanna do?

I got an arsenal in my Blazer for instance

Some shit that’ll shake the ground so keep ya distance

Parents confiscate my tapes

Sendin letters and shit talkin bout how they hate

The album controversy’s they’re rebellin

I don’t give a fuck cause the shits still sellin

So this is how the D’ll respond

I’mma cuss my ass off for your daughters and sons

And if you don’t like it, spouse,

You can suck my dick until your lips fall off

I’ve had it up to here with this bullshit

To each I preach without a pulpit

Calls I don’t do, nails I don’t chew

Whenever I fix my mouth to say, FUCK YOU

[Al Pacino]

“I bury those cockroaches”

16. liferants

marching down the marble hall. its model day at the xbi, i don’t know what we do with these girls but i see them every few months and then i don’t. im sure its for a set up here or a fakeout there.

nothing distracts criminals, who are normally men, than a beautiful woman who suddenly pays attention to them.

ive never had to use a model before and now that im in chopper one i have even less use for them, which is good. cuz it is a double edged sword, you know.

a few months back. could it be a year? wow, i guess it was nearly a year ago. one of the models spotted me when i still was working at a desk.

tony pierce?

yes?

the bus blogger?

no, im the other one.

she said, no you’re not, you’re The one. god, i really love your stuff i totally didn’t even think that you were serious about really working at the xbi but wow, here you are and stuff.

i looked around my cubicle and i said, yep. this is it.

so do you type your blog here on this computer?

no, i do it at home at night and then during my breaks i edit it.

what’s the best thing about being a blogger, tony?

the social status.

what’s the worst thing?

when people meet you and get to know you, they see the real side, and usually they don’t like it and then they blow you off and then its sad.

i would never blow you off.

i know you wouldn’t. now please. don’t tell anyone i really work here.

want to have drinks tonight?

i don’t drink.

oh come on, a shot of rum?

she was tall and lean. short hair. i like it better long. she had a suede skirt on. i remember that so well because it made me think that they do zero physical labor. here i had been on the streets where you get splinters, cuts, bruises, broken bones, shot at, all sorts of things in your shoes, in your hair, and there were people at the same office who were serious about their suede skirts.

maybe at the christmas party you can feel me up, i said, and went back to typing.

to you.

funny how the marble rolls this way then that then stops then picks up speed from an invisible hand and rolls

right off the edge.

only to be licked at by a dog who will swallow it and not choke

miraculously

for God loves dogs and he loves us even more.

15. edblogg

she doesnt like me looking at other girls so she just sends pictures of herself.

i dont mind.

the clock just spins around. every night on the train home i have visions of sugar cubes dancing in my head, but when i pour myself to bed and turn off the christmas lights i see i have accomplished very little. i am killing the carpal. it’s nearly gone.

the phone rings but its not you. it rings and it rings. i want to switch over to how the deaf have it where the lights flash instead of the ringing cuz i like blinking lights and i love to give my neighbors the impression that something very mysterious is happening in my bachelor pad, but its all very obvious.

opened the front door last night to collect my mail. i get a tremendous amount of mail for a man with no credit cards, and a fat white cat, spotless, greeted me with a meow.

totally startled me. at first i thought it was a stray but the hair was so freshly groomed, it must have been a neighbor’s cat. it meowed cuz it was hungry? it wanted to be petted? it wanted to be a dog?

if it were a dog i would have let it in, instead i said, sorry little cat, stay outside and eat the mice.

there are no mice in my little courtyard behind the white picket fence.

and i like to keep it that way.

chatted on the instant messenger a little. warmed up some chicken that i had george forman grilled sunday night. i cooked up six breasts on sunday and i will eat them each night with a baked potato and either a can of green beans or a can of peas. im so easy to please you have no idea.

i once had a houseguest for a very short period of time. a russian girl. spectacular. she didnt know any english and i didnt know any russian. she wanted to move to new york city and needed a place to stay for a week. i had a futon mattress. i made chicken and peas and potatoes for her every night and we drank vodka because i figured she’d like that. the vodka just made her cry so we switched over to rum.

she read and we listened to jazz and at night she would suck me off and curl up on the futon.

im probably in the very low percentile of bachelors who dont think that the bj is the pinnacle of human contact. i think it’s nice. i think its a really nice gesture. i think visually it can be spectacular, and its loaded with symbolism. but unless youre driving somewhere and the girl is bored, or if youre just being naughty in a public place, i could live without it and it would be fine.

i did date a chinese girl in frisco once who told me that she just loved having it in her mouth. she said some guys just love sucking on tits and she was just a girl who always wanted that there.

i think my pale skinny russian guest was like that because the look in her eyes was much differnet than how she looked when she did the dishes after our meal.

anyway, now its hard for me to think about bbq chicken and peas and potatoes and not think of her.

today i will go to the publisher for the final time and beg and give him all the money i have and expect the lowest of quality and the absence of any customer service whatsoever. maybe thats why my blogger header isnt the cheeriest.

riley dog

kicking ass again.

can this be? can i really have nothing of any substance to write about? my fifteen minute break has just started and i look at you, blog, and i think to myself, i got nothing.

chatted with sarah last night and she asked me what my favorite color was and i said pink but i was being dirty. sweet girl didnt even fall for it.

train was fine, bus was fine. two mexican lovers held hands all the way down wilshire. the girl was gorgeous and looked up at her truest and she had beautiful hair, dyed red in parts, nice lips, nice teeth, long lashes. her man had closed shaved hair. not even an eighth of an inch of hair. he stood up in the bus as she sat. it was crowded.

white guy trying to be black got on the bus. earings in each ear. baggy pants baggy jacket and a mets cap on sideways. he tries to pay the man but theres a fat lady right there who wont move into the bus.

how am i supposed to get passed you? he says. she huffs and steps aside.

crazy thing is in twenty seconds theres gonna be another bus and twenty seconds later yet another. still people pack in because, well, if they were bright, they probably wouldnt be riding the fucking bus.

myself included.

someone tapped my shoulder as i held on while we flew down the miracle mile. i turned around. it was an angel.

she looked at me and i suddenly felt filed with guilt.

her eyes said everything she judged me she had pity on me but not as much as disgust.

havent you gotten everything?

dont you get enough attention?

i had to look down but still i could hear her.

arent you getting enough tail?

dont you get enough free porn and music from the internet?

the bus slowed down and stopped but it wasnt my stop.

i had no answers for her.

she was so right, so right.

the guy with the mets cap squeezed his way back through the packed bus towards the front to exit thru the front door and i watched to see if he would say anything to the fat woman.

when i turned back around to get judged more the angel was gone.

just like that.

No Left Turn Unstoned

they said that even though the prosecution threw out the drug charges, it doesnt matter, winona is a junkie.

and now that the judge took away her drivers license, i have finally found my dream job. i would do anything to be her driver.

please hire me, baby.

please.

im an excellent driver. i drive the speed limit. i suppose i could drive faster, but i prefer driving slower. i

would drive you anywhere you wanted winona.

would i try to get you off drugs? i dont think a driver has that sort of power. as long as i can remember i have had the tv on and a coca-cola nearby, wanna talk about addictions? theres two.

they also say that libras are not happy unless theyre in love.

is love an addiction to some?

probably everyone.

some have it worse than others. me. i have it pretty bad.

one way to ignore it is a job thats worthwhile and exciting.

i cant think of anything more exciting than being winona ryder’s personal driver.

confidentiality?

winona. i used to work in hr, ok? i had access to people’s social security numbers, ok? dont worry your pretty head about anything. you wanna go to deep? sit back and relax, we’re gonna go to deep. the forty-duce? coming right up.

no no no. i’ll wait in the car.

ive got a little writing to catch up on.

fragrant