and they beached the fucker the other day and tried to lie about it, but one of my buddies was vacationing in marsailles and sent me this picture and said isnt that The Ilka II?

and yes it was her, all tilted and bouncing in the surf, so i called up the frenchies and i said wtf bitches? and they snivelled and said that there was a terrible storm and i said too bad, take care of the shit, you break it you own it and they started yelling at me in french and i said i will come over there and i will fuck your shit up and they were all, come on out here and you know what i did, i flew chopper one out there after work yesterday and i landed it in their backyard in the middle of the night and i kicked down their front door and i said daddys home motherfuckers.

and right away they surrendered like cheap trick.

they wrote me a check for like a million euros and i flew back home, so forgive me if i dont write a lot today, im tired.

chopper one has a really good auto pilot mode but youre not supposed to flick it on and fall asleep cuz its what the manual calls “unsafe.”

but i have had the best girlfriend that im ever going to have, ive had the best sex that im ever going to have, ive had the best head im ever going to get, and ive even had the best teen girlfriend im ever going to get.

the only reason for me to go on each day is to try to stay alive long enough to watch the cubs win the world series.

and as long as the Tribune Corp owns my team im screwed.

so i flicked on the autopilot, told the cd player that i wanted to hear my Air mix tape, and i snoozed my way across the atlantic.

like a pimped out superhero’s supposed to, chienne.

some people dont sleep well as their black helicopter is hurdled through the pre-dawn darkness on autopilot invisible to radar and jets and etc., but i sleep very well.

and oddly its the only time that i dream consistantly.

last night i drempt that i was back on this stakeout that we’d been on last week.

it was outside of a construction site. i was noticing how all the construction workers were actually giving all the women a really fair assessment.

it didnt matter what the woman looked like, the fellas would give them a good look-see and after they passed by they would say to their associates good things about one part of the body or the other.

as piggish as it was, it was actually open-minded and forgiving.

then i woke up.

jack + dougie + dean + katie’s hot new do

this is supposed to be the year.

they keep on getting these scrubs like kenny lofton and tony womack who arent bad and its not like theyre not trying, they are trying.

and randall simon was the hardest guy to strike out last year and im glad they got him too.

but we need a-rod.

why should the yankees get everyone?

i just finished Moneyball, and i dont finish many books, but i took my time with that one and i loved it.

it taught me to look at life differently.

Moneyball shows us that the best way to follow baseball is to not watch it too closely, so when i was at the ball game the other day i took pictures of pretty much everything other than the game.

im not quite sure thats what the book was talking about, but it was a great book.

i’d like the author to follow the Cubs next year and explain to us why its going to be another hundred years before they win the world series.

im hungry. im thirsty. i think i have a bowling date with karisa tonight but she’ll probably wuss out because she fears my mighty bowling prowess.

the last time we went she got me hammered and beat my ass and she keeps reminding me that she beat my ass and wont let me forget it.

i dont even remember the game i was so drunk.

moneyball was written so clearly that it made the narrator seem invisible. it just told the story. yes it was slanted towards one side but its an amazing story: how you can spend a fraction of what everyone else is spending on players and beat their ass repeatedly.

now i know why theyre not going to re-sign miguel tejada.

if i go bowling with karisa tonight im going to beat her by 100 pins. and then i’ll drink.

i know i always say that and i know she always ends up getting me drunk but i have will power.

i dont but lets pretend i do.

i like it when people say that i have the coolest blog going.

if i dont go bowling tonight i will update the front page, and i will look for a new stat program.

the one i have doesnt do averages very well.

the last two days the blog has gotten on average of about 3,500 hits. one day it got 5,000 hits.

the average day in the busblog i get about 1,000.

but those two days out of 200 shouldnt bump the average to close to 2,000. the average is like 1,250.

i like site meter, ive had them forever, but their numbers cant be trusted. im not as popular as the average says i am and i know i get more hits than the daily stats say.

and karisa, if youre reading this, im going to beat you by 100 pins with an 8 pound ball.

virginia + flagrant + how i didnt catch a home run ball

hi.

do you know i love you?

its true.

anti knows, so it’s cool.

and it’s not dirty love anyway, it’s sweet bloggy love. partially dirty. i cant lie. but not really cuz im olde.

i envy you rameee you and your man. you two can do anything

and everything you type is funny and cool and not as canadian as i thought it would be, except the weed.

in so many ways you are the epitome of canada.

you get away with murder. you parlez francios when you think we’re listening. you smoke. how youre not the biggest thing in rock is beyond me. you take off your clothes and write better than most of them and still theyre all oh shit my boss might see and they go back to being stupid.

when can we have our tv talk show?

when will you blog again?

when will canada forgive us?

what school will we send our kids to?

its people like you raymi, and anti, that make me want to go back to the suburbs.

i want you two to live next door and our kids to get in fights with each other and then make up as they build a halfpipe with wood they stole by the lake.

i want to tell my kids not to eat your brownies.

i want to enter a dozen failed businesses with anti

funded by our one real success

the strip club

laundramat

discoteque

magic store.

even after david blane and david copperfield got those hot chicks the kids still didnt learn their magic tricks

until the magic store showed up.

oh raymi.

this time last year you had four five blogs rolling.

is that a wedding band?

i hope so.

i miss you.

thanks for not bringing sars to hollywood but why am i coughing so much?

yours in Christ,

blunty

ray me + az anti + which rhymes with jay me

karisa, though, is one of the craziest girls i ever met.

Adrienne T. Samen (pictured) got married saturday night in South Windsor, Conn.

when the restaurant that she was having her reception in closed the bar, the 18 year old newly wed got beligerant and started throwing shit.

all sorts of shit.

vases, plates, glasses, even her own wedding cake.

i dont see any problem with that.

does that make me crazy?

i think that a woman on her wedding night, in her wedding dress, should be allowed to trash her reception area all she wants. especially if they cut her off from the pink champagne.

whats a cuter sight than a drunken teen in a strapless dress hurling a wedding cake across a bennigans?

two drunk teenage brides going rockstar on a reception.

weddings are so special that i would go as far as to say that if a bride wants to break everything in the place she should be allowed to, as long as the only person that she harms is herself.

everyone knows her old man is going to have to pay a bundle to get her hitched, why not keep the tab going?

and what sort of weasly establishment wouldnt want to get a few new vases and mirrors and lamps and mooseheads on account of the feisty young lady.

but more importantly, since when do you cut off the bridal party on her big night?!!?

booze should flow until the morning.

thats the america that i believe in.

adrienne, you can marry me anytime you want baby.

i want to be the name across your tattoed heart as soon as they let you out of the pokey.

love always,

marc brown

leah + seliot + oliver

have we discussed this before? i think we have.

lets just say that good things happen to me and keep happening and then some bad things happen and then a lot of good things happen to make me forget about the bad things, and then other good things happen and then the ladies knock on the back door and then they come in and then they dont leave and then there they are in the morning and then more good things happen and then they drive me to the busstop.

before the busstop i was standing there naked dripping wet from a nice morning show. its hot in la and so my showers have toggled to the colder just so as to cool off. and a ridiculously well built girl was drying her hair with my snoopy towel and i was thinking how i wanted to just stand around my house dripping wet and naked for the rest of the day.

how could i call in sick and make this happen?

ive found that i think of a lot more things than i actually do these days.

i think about all the letters i want to write people, and all the things i want to fix up around my house.

i think about all the photo essays i want to write and all the cds i want to download and burn.

i think about all the jobs i want to have and all the traveling i want to do.

i think about how differently my life would be if i could only stop time and get unshackled from the responsibilities that i have and actually go do a study on the best taco in east la or the best place to get a burger on the beach.

ive never actually hiked to the hollywood sign.

ive never been to catalina.

or the playboy mansion.

theres so many things that i need to do here in hollywood.

and yet i could have stayed in my christmas light lit room all morning today, taken a nap with that hot girl, ordered in some chinese and drank sake with her until the sunset.

but that wouldnt ever happen.

my life is good, not perfect.

gastbook + knives out + perfect gallows

no, not getting linked by the instapundit.

getting a phone call from mr. bruce springsteen.

collect.

i tried to tell him that nothing on here was true, but he knew it was true.

he knew he had lost it, hit the wall, become stale and unimportant.

when he looked at himself he didn’t see the man he wanted to be.

and he wanted to know from me if i was just a guy who kicked another guy when he was down, or did i have a solution for his lost ass.

62. o. lawless

63. shannon

and i told him that i was a guy who would kick another guy when he was down, but only to wake him up and remind him that he didn’t need to stay down, unless he wanted to stay down.

with the dust.

and yesterdays news.

i told him that if he wanted to know how to get out of it he would have to do a little something from the past and do a little something from the present.

but he would have to trust it and believe in it and just let it happen and not be afraid, but ultimately do what he has been doing since he was just a scrawny little guy from nowhere.

he would have to pretend he was elvis.

everyone thinks that young bruce springsteen was super into bob dylan, but no little kids are into dylan, bruce and his mom were super into elvis, the king.

bruce even tells a story about hopping the fence at graceland in the middle of the night and knocking on the door in hopes to meet his idol.

this was the same week in ’78 when bruce graced both time and newsweek.

elvis isn’t home, he was told, he’s in lake tahoe.

bruce needs to go to nevada too, but not tahoe, vegas.

las vegas.

and that’s where he will regain his mojo.

laugh all you want and bring up celine dion but you know what, fuck celine dion.

bruce needs to remember that what was good for sammy, dean, frank, and the king of rock and roll is definitely good enough for the boss. might even be perfect.

best thing he does is perform live. that’s taking nothing away from his songwriting. he has a gift.

there’s no doubting his onstage charisma, his instant connection to a crowd.

he stood in the middle of a baseball park last night for three and a half hours. no opening band. no hit record. 30k fans paying a total of more than $2.2 million for tickets and no one is complaining.

even though he played 9 songs off the new record

that nobody really bought.

bruce needs to go to vegas to regain his soul, to hold court and tell stories, and rock the roof off the mother every night like he still can.

and he should take his time writing his next record called nevada

and he should dress up in the second encore

in an elvis suit that lights up

and after hes done singing burning love and all shook up and viva las vegas he needs to sing cant help falling in love with you.

lights dim.

applause applause

and then bruce springsteen emerges in the all black leather comeback special outfit

cuz it is a comeback

and he rocks us all harder and better than ever and ever.

then the curtain falls,

then he needs to take about a half hour of requests

and after about six months of that if he doesn’t have a record that kicks way more ass than fucking lucky town

then nothing in this shit is true.

shellen + sutter + the best article about the biggest u.s. blackout was written by a brit

of mr. tom waits in a comment today.

he said that the song “franks wild years” from the 1983 classic “swordfishtrombones” was sexist or… i don’t remember. i don’t want to fight today. i don’t want to argue with ernie the attorney today.

i just want to make it through this manic monday and forget the fact that im (almost) three-times older than the 35 yr old standard by which we made our completely unscientific study of yesterday.

im just stoked that i have a date tonight.

im also stoked that i didn’t go to the xgames this weekend because i would have felt like a complete loser.

those guys are flipping their motorcycles across football fields, skateboarding while on fire, riding bikes while standing on their banana seats.

it makes me wonder how one could do the same in the blog world and i see that there’s very little that we can do in creative writing that hasn’t been done before.

i can tell you about the dull work i do here flying thousands of feet above this great city, i can tell you about the lovely ladies who roll up in their mercedes, who tick tock don’t stop, arriving in all ages.

but that’s all been done. everythings been done.

the xgames showed me that pretty much nothings been done before in the world of hurling ones body around and i like that. no fear. no worry. no doubt. rock out.

my buddy steve noticed something at the busblog friday that he had never seen before.

he saw a caption this please picture that i took down after it got no comments.

that will happen.

what he didn’t mention was the fact that someone actually won the auction to sponsor the busblog for a year and that person hasn’t paid or revealed him/herself.

very interesting.

high bidder, reveal yourself and pay up.

else suffer the curse of the unpaid bidder.

mwhwhahahahahahaha

i should kid, i feel like im paying the price of something bad ive done.

i had terrible heartburn earlier today and now my legs are ridiculously sore.

how on earth can i entertain a fair damsel in this condition!

ernie the attorney

Swordfishtrombones

Island Records

“Franks Wild Years”

(Waits, 1983)

Well Frank settled down in the Valley

and hung his wild years

on a nail that he drove through

his wife’s forehead.

He sold used office furniture

out there on San Fernando Road

and assumed a $30,000 loan

at 15 1/4 % and put down payment

on a little two bedroom place.

His wife was a spent piece of used jet trash,

made good bloody marys,

kept her mouth shut most of the time.

Had a little Chihuahua named Carlos

that had some kind of skin disease

and was totally blind.

They had a thoroughly modern kitchen,

self-cleaning oven (the whole bit).

Frank drove a little sedan.

They were so happy

One night Frank was on his way home from work,

stopped at the liquor store,

picked up a couple Mickey’s Big Mouths,

drank ’em in the car on his way

to the Shell station.

He got a gallon of gas in a can,

drove home, doused everything in the house,

torched it.

Parked across the street, laughing,

watching it burn, all Halloween orange

and chimney red

then Frank put on a top forty station

got on the Hollywood Freeway,

headed north.

Never could stand that dog.

have made it through the recall impeachment photo essay which is pretty good numbers for a sunday, but considering its probably monday in stockholm maybe this is what one can expect when one is linked on Buzz.

how ever you say thank you and welcome and thanks for checking it out in Swedish here’s me saying it: _________, Swedes.

a few weeks after turning 21 i found myself in sweeden and i had a marvelous time. the people were warm hearted and generous, beautiful and friendly. most american travelers head south to Greece, i chose the northern route of Sweeden and Denmark and i think i made the better choice.

danke, amigos. je t’aime.

last night in glendale, the best band in america played a top secret undercover friends and family-only show in the quaint and empty bar called The Scene on colorado blvd.

it was a show booked earlier in the week by local faves Psoma, who apparently kept it a secret show too as maybe a dozen of the bands’ closest friends were in attendence to hear psoma rock harder than this blogger has ever heard them rock.

it was pretty impressive.

“yeah, i like to play guitar,” blue eyed front man Justin admitted, visably beaming, sweaty, and proud after his bands performance.

then tsar climbed on stage and carved rock a new a-hole blazing through a dozen new songs that made it impossible to ignore.

these are your new princeses, sweden. these are the vikings youve left behind. theyve grown up strong and mighty and have a message from another time.

the energy was so good that my old girlfriend wanted to start a fight with an armenian man who was playing pool. he looked at her like she was crazy. she is crazy. fortunately when i extended my hand she furiously took it and sat on my lap and then realized who i was, her sweetheart, and sat on my lap and told me how happy she was to be watching tsar with me, and i told her that i was happy to be watching tsar with her.

then we kissed several times.

then we stood outside with the kids as we should on a hot summer night in southern california as the stars became jealous as has become normal for them on nights when tsar plays indoors.

i didnt see my old hero springsteen last night.

and today i dont regret a damn thing.

instapundit + splink is swedish for warm fuzzy + dumb monkey