its certainly about time that a black man won american idol.


and a big fat one at that.

i guess the philosophy that simon enlightened us with about image meaning something as he would dismiss boys and girls of various shapes and sizes in the first two (and only watchable) episodes is worthless crap.

i guess americans dont really care so much what you look like, just as long as you can sing a notch above average.

ask phil collins.

so if image isnt a factor, i guess all the brothas who can truly sing will be allowed to make the cut next time.

fuck american idol if they dont.

no way can they be telling me that in this entire country, the two best unsigned singers of steve wonder songs is clay and reuben.

is this why radio sucks?

saw a dead pigeon on the side of the road. people say la isnt a real city cuz its so spread out. i say if theres pigeons, its a city.

when pigeons die all the other pigeons eat them up.

pecking and pecking

as if they were starving.

pigeons can eat anything. food all over and still they eat their buddies.

all they ate out of this one was his body. perfectly good wings and what looked like chicken bones poking out of the grand grey feathers.

i guess at least pigeons wait till their buddy has died until they start being little peckers.

american idol has always been little peckers so i guess reuben and clay are about as good as we’re going to get from them.

big fat black girl shoulda won anyways.

i like i like pretty things + indefinitely + autumn leaves + joy

yeah so karisa the worsta came over with her pink glittery bowling ball

and where do you think she wanted to take me?

theres a new bowling “lounge” in hollywood called Lucky Strike. nice name, fuckheads. like kids need more influence from big tobacco. they call it a lounge because theres only a handful of lanes, but plenty of room at the bar to get loaded.

as los lobos said, last night, i got loaded.

i truly do love karisa because shes like the next door neighbor that i never had. we ordered coronas for the first game. i think i bowled like a 175. not bad for the first time bowling in 8 months. and i did it with an 8 pound ball. and i did it left handed.

and blindfolded.

so then we went to the lounge and the barkeep poured us two kamikazes. big ones. karisa made a squooshy face. she didn’t like the ratio of vodka to glass. to her defense it was almost entirely vodka, very little whatever the hell else they put in kamikazes these days. we toasted to the finest ass in the house which could have been directed to either of us and we drank the first half, she complained, we took a deep breath, and finished that shit and slammed the glass down.

second game i started off with three strikes in a row. right handed but on the left hand side. the betting side.

any motherfucker wants to bowl against me from the left side, lets go.

karisa then started trying to get in my head. when she bowls she slides so far over the line shes practically breathing on the pins., then she bends to the side as her ball curves from one side to the other. its quite a scene. i caught some of it on video but i need to talk to rights and clearances.

spared the fourth and the fifth and had something like 118 going into the sixth. not a bad start. but i always bowl good buzzed.

with an eight pound alley ball.


so then karisa says that she has something in her eye but she doesn’t want to pick at it cuz her fingers have been in the bowling ball holes and leans close to me so i can look into her eye for the troublesome eyelash.

which is mesmerizing. which of course throws me completely off cuz i do not under any circumstance look at karisa and definately not into her eyes. eyes that had glitter and eyeshadow and eyeliner and voodoo all around it just to trap the souls of black folks, etc.

gutterballed the next one.

picked up the spare.

finished the game with a 187 on an undercover cock.

went to the lounge for another round of coronas.

she shook her ass for two more games and beat me on the fourth.

we drove back to my place. she said she wanted absinthe. we challenge each other. so she did a shot, a big shot and looked at me and called me a pussyboy, so i had to do a shot, which i did, so i called her a pussygirl. so she did a shot and called me a name which i cannot type here because kids might be reading.

so then i did a shot and the walls melted.

then she did a shot and she melted and started to slur.

then we held hands cuz the world had turned upside down and we didn’t want to fall off.

then she asked me if i really truly loved her. and i said of course. then she said take off your top. so i took off her top. i mean i took off my top. then she told me told me to put my wallet and my keys on the table. so i did.

then i went into the bathroom. then i hurled. forgot i had had vegetable curry rice for dinner. brown rice. then i hurled some more.

then i went back out to the drawing room and saw that there was no karisa, no bottle of absinthe, no keys to the flying car! and no good night handshake.

still drunk made a goofy sloppy phonecall to an exgirlfriend whereby i told her that i missed her and loved her

then ate aspirin and fell asleep.

woke up and didn’t hear about a ufo taking a chunk out of a mountain or a building or a street so i figured that my bowling partner had figured out how to work the autopilot.

but that doesn’t mean that i don’t still hate her.

but it does mean that i wont be going to hollywood park this weekend to see the ponies followed by the ohio players… with her.

and one last bit of warning old chum if the fbi finds you with that vehicle which i stole from them they will be much harder on you than i will be so fly that shit back where you stole it from!

on second thought, no keep it. yeah keep it. i dare you. wherever you have it parked, just leave it there. yeah.

just like yes said, leave it.

anti + raymi + jaime