a swinging party the other night and sometimes its fun just to watch the guys hit on karisa. ive never seen anyone do all that well except this one guy who whispered a poem in her ear.

its one am. i should be asleep. i only got three hours sleep last night. cuz im a dumbass.

boss wasnt at work today. didnt matter. still had tons of work to do.

this one girl emailed the whole agency saying she wanted to hang out. it was actually super sweet, all in different colors, telling everyone where she liked to drink and dance. its funny cuz earlier that day i wanted to tell her that i really liked her style.

she always has some interesting get up going on.

anyways, she’ll probably get canned for abusing the precious company email.

too bad i dont like to dance.

im up late because the white stripes are on conan all week this week starting with tonight and i wouldnt mind seeing them before i sleep. i must have talked to 45 people on the phone tonight. my lawyer, chris, dude from work, karisa, mary, my cell phone company, ashley, and even raymi, who said shed call me back in twenty minutes and then never did. she was calling me from the kmart.

blonty, where are you?

she had dropped the phone.

im here im here. i yelled in the phone.

keep yelling, im finding you, she said.

help me, ive fallen!

blonty, ive found you.

raymi calls me blonty because my name is tony like tony blair, thus the bl and then onty because thats t-o-n-y all tangled up.

raymi can call me anything she wants.

since everyone is going to coachella, looks like there wont be any raymi party, so i guess we’ll just have to wait till next year.

the cubs are in first place.

i made the best chicken today.

thanks to everyone who added a comment on the thing. experiment complete. it really worries me that it took three days, four days just to get 71 peeople to say something, anything, on a blog comment. it worries me that it might take ten years to get this car.

its ok, ive got ten years.

49. Georgy

j mascis wants to know where you been. ive missed you and i aint never kissed you. tell me all about yourself. where do you live. are you a neighbor, are you a faker, are you a player, are you a hater.

i walk down the street with one hand in my pocket and one holding a cigarette squinting cuz i always forget my cheap sunglasses and i see girls with parisols and girls with high tops and girls with dreadlocks and i wonder is that her, and two of them will push their noses up against the window of a shop and i pass by whispering alabama but they never turn around.

alabama. what sort of name is that? italian?

i still cant get that white stripes bass line out of my head and i guess thats a good thing. life is beautiful when theres a good song being played on the radio. i remember the first time i heard with or without you. the first time. you too hadnt had a new record in a long time and in the middle of the night going south on the 405 just past the 10 the dj put on the familiar bass line of with or without you and it was like someone slowly opening up a christmas present for me in the middle of the night like a magician with white gloves while a rabbit emerged from the hat and it wasnt a rabbit at all. it was bono and he wanted to howl.

where did you sleep last night. was it beneath twinkly stars. are there fireflies where you live. was the window open. alabama, whos the manna.

do you like the beastie boys ms whoorley. i dont want to be here today. i want to be anywhere. i fly over these houses and theres all these swimming pools and movie stars and nobody is ever using their pools and it makes me sad. it makes me want to land chopper one and dive in. it makes me want to oh theres someone swimming. lots of people dont wear clothes when they swim in their pools. i think i would. im sorta shy about that stuff.

last night this girl found my s/n and started asking me all these question. personal questions. sexual questions. i was in a trusting mood so i told her. im sure it will end up in some british tabloid but i’ll just deny it. but i’ll tell you cuz youve never done me wrong. youve always been so cool to me. ive never done anything for you and there you went and made a blog with my name all over it. she asked me about oral and i told her and she told me that i was insecure. i told her that i am insecure but not in those moments. i told her that the best cure for an insecure boy is a naked girl getting nakeder. not saying a word. no music playing. no nothing playing.

just the crickets in the tall grass, just the thin curtains rubbing against the blinds. just the breathing. just the eyes closed. just the mouth opening, then the mouth closing. rubbing their legs together. making little sounds together.

i dont want to be anywhere near here today but since i have to i will do what my good pal told me to do and ask that girl from the third floor to lunch. i have my evil kenievel leather pants on and my super tight tsar tshirt, black. my belly is shrinking but not by much. my hair is so bad. hows a guy gonna get any with this hair. i want to keep my helmet on. i want to keep my cowboy boots on. i want to keep my spurs on but the marines think im going loco. im not going loco alabama.

im not going anywhere.

ms. whoorley

she pretends that she cant write but she can. she makes up the best stories like the one about her being the drug dealer escalade driving hottie knowing full well im the undercover five oh in the mothafuckin hizzy. which one is the red light witch one is the blue light. she is the perfect example of what this auction is all about, but not really. im happy that hers is the link where the winner will be for may, cuz her shit is tight, even if shes not that italian girl in the window.

i want to write as well as raymi with her canadian crypticism. always one step ahead of you. always making more than you. while singing. while dancing. while getting studied. by the xbi. on the beach. on literal lockdown here in the land of the free and home of the brave. poked and probed and examined with electolight and blue uv rays from across the street when she wasnt looking.

i want to be able to tell sex stories like the adultress, but i have this crazy idea that the right people might read this thing on the wrong day and not get me out of this tower, repunzel, and i need them. i need them more than i need to write about the carnal side of this rubiks cube. twist and turn and pull the lever and one day you’ll have cherry cherry plum. spin it again, jackpot cherry cherry. ’round like a record baby. i dont spin enough thats my problem and when i do it isnt the max bet.

the problem with writing on here looking for a luster who wont drive me crazy is old school journalism new school journalism any school journalism just wants the same old bob greene bullshit and they couldnt care less that even though i date the teens he dated the fucking pre teens while being married for like twenty five years and thats who oprah has as an expert on her show. but no, because i push the envelope like every linebreak i get punished. and in a perfect world i would be so honest. and i could pull it off. lord knows i could pull it off.

i saw joyce carol oats at a reading and you think she tells the truth. she doesnt tell any damn truth. kids arent linking her ass on the web. the kids barely link my ass but theyre starting too. and whats fucked up about everything is i have eighteen to thirty four locked in bitches thats whats fucked up. nobody busts with the slow jams the freestyles the freaky deakey around the back through the legs take off from the charity stripe

switch hands slam on my man like your boy. nobody.

which one of those cleancut sellouts change their shit up once a week, invent new rules, turn you on to new girls, brave the new world.

all on a bus.

cut with a cuss.

new york times couldnt pay me enough.

i want to write like bukowski who never knew doubt.

his fingers are the fingers that fingers dream about.

reverse xeni + frankenstein + kevynn + raspil iverson

on easter sunday because theyre born again like me and wanted someone to fellowship with.

first lets talk about anti because when you have two big personality types like dumbass (moi) and raymi, theres not a lot of space to get a word in edgewise. fortunately anti isnt the type of guy who seems to worry very much about getting a word in edgewise. he seems perfectly content to sit on the couch with his feet up looking way too much like ad rock, being far too mellow while drinking his beer, and at the same time very attentive to raymi’s needs. i think he has a little crush on her.

who wouldnt?

my girl raymi has it all. shes young, fun, and full of canadian trivia.

like nearly everyone that ive met in real life who i originally was made aware of through this blogger thing, raymi is far prettier in the flesh. and, sadly, less nude.

raymi has a blog called i think manic. she doesnt think manic. she thinks and she says it and i like it. she touches her nose for emphasis and i think it means something.

because it was easter raymi got dressed up. extra dressed up since we had never met. she wore a black striped jacket and a tshirt. her jeans were fashioably ripped at the knee, freshly, it looked like, and accidentally since i think i spied a cut on her bare knee. she had things written on her jeans, but i dont stare.

she did have a button on her lapel that simply said fuck in all caps.

her hair was reddish orange. it was up. then she shook it out and it was down. then she stole anti’s hat. then she took off antis hat and put my pick in her hair.

then she started talking and she didnt stop.

if you tried to get a word in edgewise she would tell you timeout and keep going.

anti would jump in and tell her that she should be careful with a certain train of thought because it might actually drive her manic, and she would listen.

made me think she had a little crush on him.

they seemed to work great together.

raymi is constant motion. a tornado of ideas and theories and swirling commentary. shes childlike with the wisdom of a poet on acid. she likes to smoke. she smoked a bunch with anti and they put out their butts in the little container of ranch dressing. after i warmed up some pizza slices she poured garlic powder on it and looked at the ranch dressing ash tray and wished she hadnt ashed in it cuz now she wanted to dip her pizza in there.

shes skinnier than youd think. she gets tall and gets short within minutes. i saw her levitate. but just for a second.

if i had something bad on tv she would ask me to pause it or turn it down three or four. if something was good she would ask me to turn it up four or five. she wasnt afraid to ask for what she wanted. mostly she wanted things to smoke drink eat watch or listen to. often times all in the same moment.

on one hand i was happy to to oblige. these were great people whose blogs i greatly admired. on the other hand it did get to be a little part time job all its own, but i didnt mind. raymi’s rad as hell and if i ever have a talk show she will be my ed mcmahon. i asked her if she would and she said yes.

raymi, 20, is from canada. we know this because she says aboot. we also know this because she says things like, they paid me 500 american. she talks a lot about alex trabeck too. lots of things not canadian are canadian to her. its cute. if you call her on it she’ll just get going on something else. she has it bad for douglas copeland and bill gates, in that order.

i took lots of pictures but none of them turned out very well cuz i suck.

i want to have a party this weekend at someones house so that we can celebrate this canadian celebrity.

she wants to be a star, but she already is one.

anti + raymi + how to be a small town slut

unless you leave the post up on top for at least a day. i say fuck that.

i say my readers will comment their ass off, and they’ll get as many as my hot blonde blogger friend.

me and karisa are about to go see zwan, if she ever gets over here.

the girl parties all night every night, but the only time she works out is right before she hangs out with me.

every time.

like every girl in america, she gets on the scale and screams and asks for a second opinoin.

so since she only runs through the canyons before she goes out with me, maybe she should hang out with me more.

i saw zwan a few years ago at the roxy. was it with her?

all i remember was i got the lord of the rings guy’s autograph after the show for ashley.

frodo.

frodo baggins.

ashley used to be in love with him.

i want to have an auction for my upper left hand link.

a few years ago i auctioned off a link from my links page, this year i would like to auction one off on my blog page.

i want to see if Blogshares is right about the value of one of my outgoing links.

it’s a pretty unscientific test, but arent those the best kind?

when ever i get it up, bidding will start at a buck.

the link will stay up for the month of may.

the month in which so many of my good friends were born.

oh, look at this

in isla vista. the first one was a summer sublet with matty t. he had some wheels of steel that he let me screw around with and i learned right away that id never be a sweet dj.

then we moved to 6509 madrid, which is frozen in my memory because it was the tiniest apartment you’ll ever see, but it was so bursting with love it seemed huge. we lived there for a year and then moved two doors over to where greg vaine used to live. the same apartment that housed many a hootenanny, and the very one where mc brown and mc peace rapped to barbara uehling, the chancelor of our university.

one of my neighbors was a long haired rich kid who drove a mercedes and had one of the hottest women ive ever seen as his girlfriend. his name was tim and he was a great friend and perfect neighbor. i ended up buying life insurance from his father, who didnt know that even back then i was in the xbi, and actually needed a good life insurance plan

i hadnt talked to timmy since i lived in frisco with chris, so it was good to catch up a little.

right in the middle of it all i got a phone call from toronto’s own raymi the minx, so i had to tell my long lost pal that id call him back.

the details of the conversation with raymi, unfortunately, were completely off the record, but i can say this, the white sands of maui are doing wonders for our neighbour from the north.

she said aboot and i was all, a-what? and then she said it american and i was a little bummed.

one day soon i will get to meet her, im hoping, and i can ask her all about rush and triumph and michael j fox and especially pamela anderson and strange brew and celine dion and tommy chong.

and of course about her.

i do have a weird life. i guess im starting to realize that. but i dont understand why its like this because as soon as im done with work

i either go home into the hollywood hills, or out to malibu to lay in the sand.

im not out clubbing like karisa, or being rock stars like tsar, moving to reno like ken, or interviewing dirrty princesses like kate sullivan.

i watch baseball via satelite and this shit happens to me.

i am a victim i tell you, a victim.

and i did remember to call timmy back cuz he’s my bro.

piker + mondoego + chinomikan + hilton sisters