but today i was woken up by a phone call from my favorite magazine, Black Webmaster.

the woman on the other end said that i was being nominated as best black blogger and she wanted to set up an interview with me.

we ended up doing the interview right there, why not.

she asked me if i had ever been in any rock bands. i said yes. i told her about this band i was in called the burglars.

we’d book a band called something dumb like White Ivory and we’d have four of our friends dress all emo and start playing the first few seconds of their first song, then we’d run onstage with some burly dudes who’d knock White Ivory down on the ground, put their hands behind their backs and pull them off stage where we, the Burglars, would run onstage in black turtlenecks and ski masks and play 15 two-minute punk songs in 20 minutes and then run off while stealing the equipment.

then she asked me about why i lie so much in my blog.

i told her that there is a natural defense to keep ones private affairs private, and if you’re doing something as ridiculous as

and then i couldn’t go on any more.

im no good at interviews. i don’t want to sound dumber than usual i told her.

she invited me to relax. classy chick.

then she asked me what i would like on the cover if i won.

i said that i would just want a picture of my butt on the cover, nude.

that way i could make a tshirt of the magazine cover and it would say kiss my black ass, im on the cover of my favorite magazine.

she asked me what camera i use.

i said, canon powershot s45, but don’t blame them, im still learning how to use it.

she asked what computer i have.

i said a piece of shit 400 mhz p2, win 2k, but im upgrading soon.

she asked me what i would be doing if i wasn’t a black webmaster.

i told her that i would be growing medical marijuana for the sick, wherever it is that they do that. rarely do you get to do something that so literally helps people during their worst suffering and probable death.

she asked me if i had a green thumb.

i took a picture of my little houseplants that were doing very well.

she asked me if i had ever tried to grow pot, i told her no, that i saw friends get busted for that in college and it was pretty harrowing because i was ironically having a bad trip on acid at the time.

she asked me again how much on my blog was true.

i told her nothing.

she asked if it was true that three of my ex girlfriends were at the tsar show last week?

i said yeah jeanine aj and chris, i should of taken a picture.

she asked why i thought i still have good relationships with my ex’s

i told her that its my belief that they keep me around as a low water mark. if they think some guy they’re doing is a loser, they’ll compare him to me and feel better about things if he’s not worse.

she asked if it was true that i had given jeanine a good long kiss in the middle of spaceland that night.

i said yes, but its a rare thing. once every lunar eclipse. but our love is very strong.

she asked if i had been to jeanines new beachside apartment yet.

i said no.

she said why not.

i reminded her that i don’t have a car.

she said, the winner of black webmaster this year gets free gas for a year.

blue cad + perfect + woof + <33 kate <33

im sorry to hear that you want to quit making movies.

i heard the french said that your new movie was the worst one at cannes.

let me make you a tshirt that says fuck cannes.

what the fuck did cannes ever do for anyone anyway? bunch of stuck up foreigners trying to be all classy when they aint so damn classy, and what do they know about art?

buffalo ’66 is one of my all time favorite movies. top 25 definately.

you, fucker, you.

i saw buffalo ’66 on a sunny day in west la in the summertime after seeing a bunch of hollywood blockbusters that had all the money talent hype teamwork and hotchicks and still they werent shit.

you had christina ricci at her plumpest looking better than ever. angelica houstons best role ever. ever.

fuck cannes and their toplessness and their booing.

why arent they booing ben affleck like every ten minutes?

you know what cannes likes? woody allen’s worst movies.

in a hundred years you’ll be making bad 90s woody allen movies maybe, if you dont retire cuz of a bunch of snail eating boychasers, but now is the time to get back at them, not quit.

rename that shit “worst film at cannes” and everyone will go. and they’ll buy that tshirt im making you.

let em boo. motherfuckers. boo boo boo.

everyone who’s ever done anything has gotten booed, why not you rich boy.

remember when prince opened for the stones at the la collesium and got booed. did he quit or did he slide on a pair of high heeled boots and make a little movie called purple rain?

the devil wants you to quit.

people who call soccer football.

remember Gummo, top 25 too. remember julian donkeyboy? bottom 25. so what. who cares. you dont think harmony has another Gummo in him? odds say he doesnt but odds said he didnt have a Gummo in him either, so fuck the odds, fuck cannes fuck the haters and fuck you if you quit, quitter.

give me a fucking purple rain, whiney weinstein.

this is a world filled with bullshit that gets rewarded left and right: justin timberlake, bob costas, george bush, david schwimmer, ticketmaster, drug czars, jay leno, kroq, rick dees, the catholic church, nike, the fcc, the mpaa, tobacco execs, alan greenspan, osama bin laden, and chip carey.

roman polanski fucked a 14 yr old girl in the ass. in the ass, bro, and what does he get, he gets to live in france and win the academy award because time passed and he pandered and made a holocaust flick. wtf is that?

wake me when roman makes a film about fucking kids in the ass and getting away with it, cuz anyone can make a holocaust movie.

keep making movies.

guys named vincent never did well in france anyhow, so fuck em.

your pal,

tony

dc ’66

enjoy the codeine + zada + fat nathan

if your fingers smell of nineteen yr old danish pussy?

our girl, just like many have, asked me for the millionth time how old i am today and today i told her and today she put her skirt back on, found her bra and blouse, put them back on, and left my apartment probably never to return again.

i knew that if i told her the truth it would be over.

murphys law.

probably because i really liked her.

sux cuz this morning i was giddy from last night, thankful that i didnt have to work, and totally excited to see the foreign cheerleader coach who was still in town indefinately due to one of her students being incarcerated for shoplifting at target.

everything in this is true.

i dont know what to think of this girl.

so cute. doesnt really talk to me, but some of the things she says are great.

seemed to like to make out but

anyhow, there we were naked and suddenly she wants to stop because its killing her that she doesnt know my age.

it’s just a number.

56. broome

i tell that to the people at work who freak at the aged girls i go out with, sometimes. agists i scream.

is it the girl’s fault that she’s legal?

is it my fault that i was born in the seventeenth century?

i dont hold it against karisa that she has a funny accent and webbed toes, i dont hold it against chris that shes got huge bazooms and only seven channels on her tv, i dont hold it against anna that she hasnt won a tournament, and they dont hold it against me that im so damn good looking.

you win some and lose some. this spring ive lost more than normal, but ive also won more than normal too, i suppose.

who knows.

chris came over to cheer me up. she kissed me on the lips and told me i was handsome.

she said my hair looks cute.

then she drove us to kfc, then went on a date.

laurita cheered me up too and withstood all the pictures i showed her, then she went out on the town.

i think im getting hbo free.

i think i’ll watch it.

laurita + beyond writing + i heart bunnie

why would you invite me to a glamourous wrap party of my second favorite tv show at a swanky hotel private lounge party room with free champagne gorgeous women everywhere and at least one being turned away from the velvet ropes and not have any of the stars of the show attend?

i shouldnt complain.

i had a great time.

today i have the day off from the xbi.

i also have a brunch date.

caio!

whaddup money.

who you calling money? i heard you just got a deal with Nike.

heard right, g.

how much are they giving you?

$90 mil.

$90 million?

$90 million.

how many nba games have you played?

none.

how much are they paying you again?

who?

Nike.

$90 mil, bro.

for what?

cuz kids are going to buy my shoes, blogger boy.

$90 million worth?

well, and my jersey, and my sweat pants, and my wrist pads, and my mouth guard.

why would they want your mouth gaurd, thats gross.

no, not my mouth gaurd, a never before used mouth gaurd that has my name on it and a little swoosh next to it.

i used to think i was the luckiest man in the world. but once again im mistaken.

to be honest, im not going to be getting all of that in one lump sum.

what are they going to spread it out over 90 million years or some shit?

wow, i dont know. i better ask.

how much will your shoes sell for?

i dont know, probably $150.

$150 million?

no, just $150.

do you think a million people will buy your shoes?

no, but maybe a half million kids will buy my shoes.

but that doesnt add up to $90 million.

thats where the toof gaurd comes in. and the sweat pants. and the cologne and shit. basketballs. active wear. sweatbands. shit, i dont know.

lebron, dont you think it’s weird that the people who will be making your $150 shoes wont even make $150 the entire week of making your shoes, and you’ll be making $150 a dribble?

i think everythings weird, g. it’s not my place to think. it’s my place to put the rock in the hole.

thats a pretty good answer for a highschooler.

im not a highschooler any more. im an industry. get used to it.

it might be hard for me to get used to it.

just do it.

kieran + flingus + aint no bad dude

shit.

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

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.

bitches.

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