and xbi training teaches us to look at the details if we ever get bored.

they do this by making us look at a tree for 8 hours. after a while you see the tree differently. after awhile you see patterns. after a while you can see how things really are in the tree. after a while you start talking to the tree. after awhile the tree starts talking back.

thats when they tell you to just focus on a leaf on the tree.

after awhile the leaf moves.

youd think riding the same bus down the same street day after day for two years would be boring to an air sign. but then the training kicks in and one of the tricks that the marines from the agency teach you is how to properly hate. i can hear them in my head as i ride the bus as i did today.

god i hate men in suits. look how they stand. they stand so dumb. and look at that trendy bag. fuck men in suits on the bus. who are you trying to kid. whats a suit mean, that youre doing well. how well can you be doing if youre standing up on a bus in la in a fucking suit.

ah look at this, three guys in golf shirts. one in shorts. two in pants. standing, blocking the back door. fuck you men in golf shirts.

but im no good at hating. im not a complainer. im a liker. i like the women who still got it even though its barely there. but they work it. theyre old but they havent thrown in the towel. theyre flabby and gray and resigned but havent quit. go babies. go.

i like the man in the crazy used car salesman blazer snoozing away missing his stop. my what a big nose you have there. my what long nose hair you have. my dont you seem peaceful sleeping there as the gentle movement of the subway car rocks the widdle baby to sleep.

i like how my sunburn is starting to hurt now. how it wants my attention like an old girlfriend. i like how my pants fit and how my heart feels and how my computers fucked and how my life isnt mine. oh to be included in my own destiny.

but its just easier to get into chopper one, turn on the a/c, fire up the laptop and write to you as the blades warm up and protect me from this arid heat.

hi blog that i love.

hi tony, sorry about your home pc.

its cool.

why dont you ask your buddy jeff to get you a new motherboard and processor?

cuz jeffs a busy man. and its sorta funny that we can never get it together.

then why dont you go and do it yourself?

cuz im dumb deep down. super dumb the deeper you get.

and the ladies walk past showing their bellies as if their legs are nice to look at or their hair or their faces or their pretty smiles or their heavilly mascaraed eyes or their gravity defying hey look at that its the in-n-out truck

and theres a palm tree.

and theres a leaf.

and theres me.

splink + tracy + ernie the attorney

i see you there. youre at my front door. youre at my back door. youre at my front window. youre in my heart.

i see you in the moon. i see you in the dark. i see your shadow move across the lawn thats wet from dew and yellow from dogpiss.

and dark from the gnarled tree blocking the moonlight.

youre in my computer and youre eating away at it. youre checking out chris’s pictures and jeanines and karisas. youve got moxies and clipper girls and annas folders and youre invading them, you want to fuck it all up and maybe you will but i see you and youre nothing.

anyone can be a destroyer but so few can create.

create mayhem if you want but thats easy.

even the dumbest rock can fall off the dumbest cliff and make a series of beautiful ripples on a peaceful lake

but guess what bad luck

that lake goes back to being cool in no time

and youre just a dumb rock again

this time forgotten in the watery depths

never to see the setting sun again

never to get sat on for a pizza picnic

never to get initials scratched on it.

never to have a joint rolled on it.

bad luck youre fleeting and you do your best on me and mine, youre in my computer so bad i cant even Copy or Paste.

four hundred megahurts, 128 mb of ram, and ive put out better things on this old box than all the bad luck on this bad block and i know youre after me cuz i can taste the dish soap on my baja fresh plastic cup

i can hear you when youre fucking shit up.

maybe twice in the history of the modern day busblog there hasnt been a picture

so take a picture cuz this wont last long.

kimbalina

strangely it’s usually only the republicans who ask me to stop writing about how bad our president is, and how worthless our GOP-lead congress has been, and how i rarely agree with our conservative supreme court.

it fascinates me because their only reasoning is usually, “youre a great writer, but you dont know shit about politics, so knock it off.”

but then they give no examples.

it makes me wonder what debate team they were on.

heres the deal with this blog. it’s mine. i call bullshit on bullshit and i tell you why im doing it.

if you want to call bullshit on me, tell me why im full of shit.

start with telling me why you’re not holding our president responsible for anything. tell me why the national economy isnt his fault, and yet the california economy is gray davis’s fault.

tell me why its ok for bush to send us into war over claims of weapons of mass destruction and nukes in africa even though there was no proof about either.

tell me why you support a man who bombed afghanistan and iraq but not the saudi arabia over 9/11 even though bin ladin is saudi as were most of the terrorists.

answer these questions logically and i wont even bring up the fact that your boy stole the election with help from his brother, and the supreme court, and the klan.

maybe the klan wasnt involved, but he did steal the election and in a way thats sorta punk rock, so i’ll give you that one.

this time.

see, i am a reasonable person, and as an american i support the freedom of free speech and an enviornment of honest communication.

telling me to shut up because my beliefs are contrary to yours doesnt add to the discourse.

it sounds like something from a darker period of the human experience back in the days when the Terminator’s dad wore a swastika on his arm.

and if you dont want to tell me about why i should think differently about the president of the united states of america and his party who hasnt really done any good for the greatest country in the world lately, tell me why i should give Arnold a break.

even though he hasnt held a public office, or put out a good movie that wasnt riddled with extreme violence, and who drives a Hummer, and whose four books that he’s penned had nothing to do with public policy but instead how to trick your muscles into getting bigger.

spell it out clearly and with facts and you’ll never be bothered with politics on the busblog again.

ladies and gentlemen, that is my promise to you.

when i least expected it. and i know what you’re going to say, “isnt she crazy?” but show me one person who isnt crazy and i’ll show you someone who’s so dull that its not even worth the time.

and maybe guys like me turn girls like her crazy.

anyway, shes not crazy. shes hot. lots of people confuse the two.

at some point i drifted away into a deep dark peaceful sleep.

and at some point someone started making beautiful lust to me and it was definately a young woman and it might or might not have been ms. britney murphy. whoever she was she felt really soft and she knew what the hell she was doing.

and i dont know if guys can have multiple uh, hmmm, well, but i think i did.

109 years old, nearly 110, and new things can still happen.

very bizarre.

both of us were turned on that we did it again right after.

now its the early morning and i want to call in sick but the problem with crimefighting is that the criminals dont call in sick.

i have sunburn on my shoulders from the dodgers game yesterday.

i have scratches on my back from what might have been britney murphy or what might have been miss montreal or what might have been clipper girl’s upstairs neighbor.

i have so much work to do i dont even know where to start.

and i owe you all so many photo essays that i dont even know what to do.

but what i would like the most to do is remind you that the Sponsor Blogger Pro for the busblog auction is in full gear. it’s the only guaranteed way to get linked here for a year straight every day.

and i’d also like to remind you that life can be pretty badass sometimes.

if you let it.

98ward + mc brown’s great pictures from yesterday + trueboy

and take all my friends

it wasnt such a good idea.

it was a great idea.

i got six for saturday night and eight for sunday, today, and even though i couldnt take all of my friends i did get to go with a bunch and it was fun and its something i hope we do more often.

last night we sat in the front row in right center. me, basart, greg, molli and sean, and bonnie and charlie.

bonnie had never been to a game before in her life.

sean had been to four, and he’s only a few months old.

ok, hes a year old.

first inning i was pretending to be a gay european girl and robin ventura smacked a ball that went back back back right into what should have been my glove, but the camera that takes all the good pics on the busblog was in that glove and my gay diet pepsi was in my other hand.

if you saw the replay or tivoed saturday nights game youd see me backing away and basart backing away and everyone backing away except for one year old sean who reached out and said ba

and probably woulda made the catch.

and the announcers woulda said, someone sign that baby up.

but he was snuggled into his snuggly of his dad, my buddy greg, and the ball bounced back onto the field as robin ventura rounded the bases.

the rest of the game we watched intently as we hoped for lightening to strike twice but in life just like in homerun balls, you rarely even get one good chance to make the sweet ass play

never two.

and when i saw it on instant replay i agreed with bi vicky, im not all that i once was.

im a mere shadow of the blogger i used to be.

fortunately my friends havent noticed. yet.

it’s sorta fucked up especially since the republicans have the white house and the congress and the supreme court and they’ve pretty much driven the country into the ground.

when it became obvious that california was in trouble gray davis asked the republican federal government for help and didn’t get any. then he made some bad deals with texas republican energy companies – one of whom was affiliated with vice president Cheney.

as a result of those bad decisions we now find ourselves caught up in a “recall” election on his ass.

its not like he lied about weapons of mass destruction.

its not like he lied about nukes in africa in his state of the union.

its not like he gave kick backs i mean tax breaks to the rich and bribes i mean refunds to the populace as the economy hits record lows.

id like to say that i cant believe what’s going on in american politics today but i can believe it because ive seen hungry dogs eat before and it looks like the modern day grand old party.

they barked and yelped and howled at bill and hillary while trying to trap em in a tree but all they could do was piss on it and make the birds scatter and tear up the lawn.

they were not voted best in show but they ran home with the blue ribbon anyway while everyone just looked at each other and are still looking at each other like wtf and the only response is fuck if i know.

the lesson the right are giving the kids is the same one that charles barkley used to give which is i am not a role model and keep your big fat rich bald head down and your elbow out as you drive down the lane.

this is your world

this is your game

put your mouthpiece in, furrow your brow

no blood

no foul.

in a more logical world the end of the bush dynasty would mean the end of the republican party: nothing this man or this office has done was successful. none if it was honorable. the economy stupid is in the tank. morality is in the tank. you cant tell me that even one of those suits or skirts can communicate their vision.

not even fat boy rush has anything to say.

which means theres probably nothing to say.

its all just capture the flag for this generation.

i want i want i want.

not

heres what we can do.

or look at that.

or here you go.

the pendulum has swung so far that a muscleman

whose father was a nazi

whos been in america for decades and still cant speak english

is going to steal the keys to the governors office in the most important state in the union.

and people are going to cheer because they like the movies he’s made.

the ones where he kills all those people with gigantic guns.

i want to do a photo essay about all this but i would rather prepare to go to the dodger game with some friends.

cuz photo essays don’t make a difference.

or make people think.

friendships do.

this means whore + elizabeth spiers + cranky girl

dont ask why.

she knew i was busy writing my thing, but life is like that.

this is a girl who makes sure that every hair is in place at all times.

i was banging away at the typer, getting up, pacing, eating, drinking, smoking, trying to be a good host, and she was saying that i was making her nervous.

she didnt say it to me directly she said it to her reflection in the mirror as she redrew her lip line outline.

brazilian girl. tall. dark. handsome.

lots of things going on above the neck: jangly earrings, highlights, teasing, arched eybrows, fake mole, crazy blueblack mascara, insane green eyes, lip gloss, blush, sparkles, tounge pierce, perfume… exactly everything that i dont need when im trying to concentrate on baseball and writing.

once she was satisfied with her look she plopped down on the couch and flipped through tivo. then she browsed through my magazines. then back at the tivo. then she bounced up and looked at her see-through genie pants in the full length mirror.

she picked at the imaginary lint. she took a wrinkle out with a wipe. she twisted her torso to check out her ass.

its looking good from here i tell her.

she doesnt listen.

i wonder who all this primping is for if not for moi.

but its for moi.

moi is plenty happy, but would be more happy if she just sat down and chilled.

so i offered her a cigarette, which she accepted which ended up being a big mistake because then she realized that her nails were in need of a filing, and then a dab of polish, and then a star, and then one more file, topped off with a blow from her dazzling lips.

done yet tony?

it was midnight. she had a point. i was done. i shoulda been done. i was done. was i done?

just a few minutes i tell her and read it to myself seeing if i laugh at the jokes and before i could finish i see that she has taken off the genie pants and she is standing there in the door jamb bottomless except for a gstring and heels which shes tapping on my hardwood floor.

shes smoking the end of the cigarette and blowing the smoke into the air.

the smoke does what i should have been doing which was surrounding her and floating down the length of her shape and taking its time.

the glow around her looked like top gun.

she turned around to give me a different look, and thats where i saw two things that have always confused me about todays modern woman.

the g string panty is one of the finest creations introduced to this planet. my compliments to the man who not only invented it, but the sheister who convinced the ladies that it was not only comfortable, but in many cases vital.

but the one thing that baffles me is that so many women, even last night’s loveable lass, allow the tag to ruin the view in the back.

theres a triangle of wonder that barely covers the tailbone in most sitations, and maybe 3 square inches of thong material. now i can understand a tag being there at the store so the woman can know what size it is and what the material is made of, but why isnt that tag removed after purchase?

you cant tell me that women dont know how to take the scissors to their clothes as i have yet to see a tshirt on a young lady that has had its arms cut off or neck trimmed before the ink on the receipt has time to dry.

so why not the label on the g string? is it sacred? is it protected by law like those on pillows?

and whats up with bra labels sticking out?

heres a girl who’s every eyebrow hair is in place, every everyhair was either trimmed or removed, and yet miss hottie hot hot hot spins around on my dirty floor and the thing that catches my eye isnt what should be catching my eye, but two unpretty labels hanging on to the taut skin of my unknowing visitor.

perhaps the ladies of the world can educate me on this phenomenon. or maybe not.

i did my best to ignore it since there were other things to pay attention to,

and since soon i was the only stray pressed against her ultra soft skin.

wormhog + now is a good time to catch up with splink + shenaniganz

put a hundred monkeys in a room with typewriters…

today your hero made it to the big time. this morning i got “published” on a real web site.

and i didnt say the f word once.

my mom will be so proud.

i may be a lot of things but i have never been very confident about my writing.

ive won awards, ive gotten paid, ive even gotten the attention of the ladies from it.

when i was curious about poetry i submitted poems to about thirty places and got pubished three times, just like that.

lots of you people say nice things every day about what i write in this blog, some send money, some send pictures, some just come right over and get naked.

but yet, still, when i was given the opportunity to pinch hit for the super cool edward cossette to write one measly column about the easiest topic i could think of – baseball – all of my doubts bombarded me like a bukakke of fear.

even though i write in a public manner every day, three times a day, always to very good response, i have a huge complex. i dont think i have what it takes to do it professionally. im constantly afraid that what i would have to do is “sell out” and take the “edge” off my style and give the people a softball approach and just lob it in there.

something that my fingers just wont allow.

and i know its all crazy.

for two years i wrote for the greatest college paper in the history of great college papers.

i was surrounded by some of the finest writers of our time, and not only did i match up with them, but they assigned me more stories than anyone.

my senior year (dont ask which senior year or i’ll blush) i averaged almost two articles an issue. i had been the sports editor, a news editor, and i won best arts editor in the state. and hardly ever did i use the f word or the s word or even the c word. this is to say that not only had i been trained to write in a public, professional manner, but if you look at the stats, i did so and i succeeded.

and yet still when i graduated i went to sears to sell tv’s and i didnt even consider once that i would ever write for anyone the size of Fox Sports, even as a substitute, like what i did last night, and see what i saw this morning, which was my words, barely edited, accepted, printed, and dispersed.

shock and awe are at the top of my words-of-the-day.

and the weirdest thing is it was so easy.

sure i procrastinated like it was my taxes i was doing, but when it came down to it, i wrote it in a manner of minutes, while on the bus, being jostled down wilshire on a tuesday afternoon. i didnt finish it until the wee hours of last night, but most of it was done, as it should have been, in one sitting, with a clear mind, in the morning, as the homeless snored next to me.

now im not saying it was brilliant, or a masterpeice or anything, but i did tell the good people of Boston what they probably would like to know most this morning, and thats how their beloved Red Sox can rid themselves of the 85-year-old Curse of the Bambino – the stumbling block that has kept their baseball team from winning a world series since when men wore top hats and women weren’t allowed to vote.

and hopefully it came across as somewhat educated, and slightly funny, and sort of interesting.

but who cares, really, it got accepted, and its up, and my mom can be happy, and i can say to my demons that they’re once again wrong wrong wrong.

i would like to thank my buddy welch who was up and awake and drunk at 1:30am who proofread it and trimmed a little of the fat. not only is he a professional writer and a great editor, but he’s a huge baseball fan, and therefore perfect for the job.

commas he said he added and subtracted.

thank you.

but mostly i would like to thank my buddy edward out in beantown who maintained the ever-classy and insightful Bambino’s Curse which i was immediately impressed by when i was doing Baseball Blog 2002 for a quick minute last year.

his design was stellar and his daily updates were perfect and we linked each other and went on with our blog-lives and i didnt hear from him again until this year when he said that he was going on vacation and would like for me to write in his place on this good friday.

thanks ed, i hope maui is treating you right.

me, i’ll be in paradise all day.

fox sports new england

thats what sort of ass i am.

i cant believe i wrote the previous post on the eve of possibly getting a column on a huge website.

what if they misunderstand it?

i want to just say “whatever” but isnt that what mr. beard guy said when his wife told him, “if you take sergie to the zoo, please dont let him too close to the bears, they have claws you know.”

i just want to move back to isla vista. my home.

i want to marry a pretty girl and get a phd in something fun and then teach.

i want to wear a tweed jacket with patches on the elbows and smoke a pipe in the park and skateboard to my home and play with my kids and be an advisor to the Daily Nexus.

right now i’d call up the editor in cheif and id say, hows my paper.

im not sick anymore.

there was a miracle today as work wound down to quitting time.

suddenly the gross feeling in my gnose and throat dissappeared.

then one thing lead to another.

then all these nice things happened.

then i banged out the column i had been procrastinating.

then i ate my little dinner.

then i chatted with a bunch of people, one who i hadnt chatted with in a year.

then i ate a bowl of cookie dough ice cream.

then i watched howard stern.

then i thought of you.

then i sent my column across the country to be edited.

then i said goodbye to my nice chat friend.

then i said my prayers.

then i said amen.

matt + raymi + moxie