and the third doesnt exist.

theres the easy ass. the kind thats always there for you. the kind that poses and whispers and locks onto you and doesnt let you leave the house without a million kisses and wishes.

easy ass gets boring to most, but the wise man learns to appreciate it and not get bored. boring people get bored – especially of easy ass.

billy joel had some easy ass for awhile and divorced it.

kobe cheated on his easy ass.

hef dances with his.

then theres the perfect ass. this is the type that doesnt exist. perfect ass wants you when you want it. perfect ass comes right before you do. sometimes right when you do. perfect ass doesnt bother you when youre crawling under the beach house while youre laying wire on your day off cuz your sick, perfect ass doesnt put you fourth on its list of things to do, perfect ass will make you cry but only out of joy.

there is no such thing as perfect ass.

if you think youve found it, you should marry it, or bottle it, or shake your head because your probably dreaming.

the closest thing youve probably gotten to perfect ass is your hand.

thats not a bad thing.

then theres normal ass.

normal ass is a pain in the ass, but c’est la vie.

you have to work to get normal ass, you have to work with normal ass’s schedule, you have to marinate it, romance it, wine it and dine it.

you have to tell it that it looks good even when it doesnt look so good.

normal ass looks at you like youre normal ass and gets fed up with you just as much as you get fed up with it.

normal ass is forgetful, lies, cheats, fucks up, isnt perfect, isnt always sweet, doesnt always want it, will talk shit about you to the world, will probably make money writing about your ass one day.

normal ass is as plentiful as the leaves of grass and when people say they cant get any ass theyre overlooking the normal ass.

normal ass doesnt like being identified or boxed in or bagged and tagged.

normal ass wants to think that its special, but its not.

normal ass is as normal as pimple on the ass of a good looking girl.

me, i like easy ass, and i must admit that i get fooled into the idealistic dream that theres some perfect ass out there for me that will love me when it finds out my phone number, and yet im willing to settle for normal ass.

i dont think im much different in that example than most men.

if youre a man under the age of 100, any ass will do, but once you get older than that dont be suprised if you get impatient when perfect ass stops being perfect or when easy ass becomes dull.

even at 109 years old i have never been bored by easy ass, however ive grown tired of jump-through-the-ring-of-fire normal ass.

and because i have experienced perfect ass a few times i can tell you it does exist

but it was probably a dream.

sponsor Blogger Pro for the busblog for a year

hi blog, what’s going on?

um… nothing.

hey, sorry i haven’t talked to you lately.

yeah its been a while, huh?

don’t think i don’t love you. of course i do. im just trying out new things.

oh i know. no hard feelings.

are you sure everythings ok, bloggy?

you know, just because everyone else talks to their blogs now doesn’t mean that you have to stop talking to me.

i know that.

i mean i realize you want to stay a step ahead of everyone, but i think sometimes you forget you’re about five steps ahead of everyone.

i wouldn’t go that far.

you should.

at this point, blog, i don’t know if you’re being generous or conceited.

how can i be conceited with those links over there?

i know dude, im sorry, its a mess over there.

do you even care about me any more?

of course i do. im just so swamped at work… superheroing and stuff.

do you even know what day it is?

its wednesday.

you took off today and you had all day to do something and you didn’t even do anything, so don’t tell me its a time issue.

what are you talking about?

it’s my birthday tony.

holy crap.

i knew it, you forgot.

oh man.

what is up with you dude?

man.

whatever, i’ll get over it.

im so sorry, blog.

no you’re not. you so take me for granted. you know how many people would love to be able to have the busblog? tons. and you just put in the minimum amount of effort and collect the praise. it took you forever to fix the comments, it will take you forever to fix the links. you don’t interview people any more, you only talk about yourself. your writing hasn’t been good since you were banging that teen—

easy there.

no, fuck you. how many people seriously get laid off their blogs? very few. but you do. and you don’t give back. you don’t make this better. you don’t hype it out in the world, you don’t smooze the blogosphere, you don’t learn one thing about design, you don’t even talk about how good Blogger Pro has been for you. how many posts have you “lost” since moving over to Pro?

none.

one. and it wasn’t Pro’s fault, it was yours. and it sucked. i ate it. I did that for you. but you don’t even use Pro the way you should, you barely spell check, you barely do shit. you let the pictures expire, you don’t do even half of the things that high school kids are doing and you walk around like you’re mr bloggy guy. you aint shit and you don’t even know or respect when this shit started. everything you do is half assed and what’s so disappointing is you at 5 is better than most of the crust at 10. you were getting your fingers stinky and cranking out four posts a day with carpal tunnel at your peak and now your coasting like you have something better to do. you don’t have anything better to fucking do.

my chair is really bad….

shut up. and you curse way too much on this shit. how are people supposed to take you seriously. why do you do that to me? its a reflection on ME you know, not you. on ME. and then you steal all these damn pictures, and you steal from ee and bukowski and you don’t even care.

and if i had a damn penny for each time you use “and” you wouldn’t have to beg people for ten bucks for a car, you’d have your damn stinky ass car.

look, im really sorry. ive had a bad day. im sorry, i will try to make it up to you

try? try! fuck you and your trying. gimme your try so i can shove it up your ass. try. try to be taller motherfucker. its my birthday and if you want to give me something, give me your damn attention and give me some respect. im older than most of the shit that’s out there and im better than almost all of it. and if you stopped typing typing typing hitting post&publish and actually took your time and read – gasp – your shit sometimes you’d see all your damn typos and you’d make something good out of this more than once in a blue moon.

quit playing to the level of your competition, which, sadly, there is very little of.

anything else?

yes, and if you aren’t going to write about politics, lazy ass, then write about sports. or at least write about music, and none of these one two sentence bullshit reviews where you compare it to a burrito or some nonsense. write like how all the others write and beat them at their own tired game.

im not sure i can do that.

and quit being a fucking sensitive wuss. the lord gave you a mighty sword. use it or lose it. now wish me a happy birthday and finish that thing you’re writing.

happy birthday blog.

thank you tony.

i love you.

i love you too. that’s the only reason i just don’t delete myself.

good.

and tomorrow get an auction going. the winner gets to sponsor Blogger Pro on the busblog.

k.

kevin holtsberry

i called in sick.

i haven’t called in sick in over a year. maybe a year and a half.

in many ways im a great employee. i respect my bosses, i am perpetually in a good mood, i don’t mind working overtime (for a price), im disgustingly loyal, im on time, i don’t take a parking space, i hardly ever expense anything, i bring in all my magazines for people to read, i get along with even the evil people, and i like baking treats for the passers-by.

and i never lie.

ive noticed in my 75 years in the work place that lying is a basic form of office communication. its like a language. people have ways to lie and make it not sound like a lie.

but the best is when they say things that don’t mean a fucking thing.

i actually do like when people can do that, cuz i suck at it.

so yeah, im sick. i do feel gross. if i have something i don’t want to give it to my coworkers because their jobs are vital. if i don’t really have something bad, i will be back in chopper one tomorrow.

and if the boss asks me how i feel i will say, i was shitting fire all day yesterday.

which is true.

you know you’re sick when your farts smell like old man farts.

you don’t have to be a doctor to know that your ass doesn’t lie, america. remember that.

when i was in grade school i had a teacher who taught us that laughter is the best medicine. he told us about a guy who had cancer and he got all these three stooges movies and played them over and over in his hospital room, and he laughed and laughed and he beat cancer.

so this morning i took a shower, drank a bunch of oj, called in, and pay-per-viewed Old School, which, yes, i had never seen before, and of course loved.

then i sex chatted this hot girl who i hope will wear a nurse’s outfit when she gets off work tonight to check in on me.

and then i turned opened my blogger pro window,

and then i said hi to all of you, the wonderfully anonymous readers of the busblog.

who i adore immensely.

and if my boss is reading this, i know that its 80 degrees here in hollywood with clear blue skies,

and the beach is a bus ride away

and if you have any friends who see me there

it was purely therapeutic

who i still love.

a lot.

ive known mary since i was either 14 or 15, i always forget.

she tells me about her life, and theyre not always the happiest stories, but she tells me and all i can hear is

i am still the hottest girl youve ever known

even though youve met them all.

she tells me about the losers she ends up with and the crazy job that she has and all i hear is

take me away from here, romeo

here.

her life couldnt be more different than mine.

her attitude couldnt be any better than mine.

she couldnt be cooler under pressure.

and she said the nicest thing about me.

and now i miss her so much.

in the matter of an hour we got deep into the bible, super deep into slander and HR, waaaaaaaaay deep into sex marriage kids life, we even delved into boxing.

i love that girl.

and if youre reading this, as soon as you divorce that son of a bitch im taking you on the hottest date youve been on since highschool.

so get a sitter.

love alwas,

tony

21mm + happy belated birthday xeni!

and the number 19555

stitched on it is telling people that there’s room to move back into the bus and she’s sitting in a seat and im thinking, ho, if you think there’s room back there then you go stand there.

there’s no room on the bus. she may have the mta sweater and dress shirt collar sticking out from under it but im the fucking busblog copy editor and what little room there is is there to keep us from rubbing our asses on each other as we bounce down wilshire and you might think that’s a good thing to be doing at seven thirty in the morning but look around, its not such a good thing to be doing at seven thirty in the morning.

i turn my back to her so that my ass is in her face.

gray haired sweater woman.

aol chatted with miss montreal last night.

me: why dont you like me any more.

her: i still like you, maybe more than ever.

me: why didn’t you kiss me last week then?

her: im still trying to figure that one out myself.

me: maybe you should go back to just sorta liking me then.

women.

none of them know how easily pleased i am. none of them know what i have to offer them.

if they want to go out with their friends and leave me behind, fine. if they want to sit and watch tv with me and hold hands, fine. if they want to parade around in finery and push the boundaries of slutty, fine.

i dont even care if they run around and date others.

and then if they want to come back to my place every night and hold me tight as we count sheep together with a window open and the white stripes on mellowly as summer comes and goes, you know what, that’s fine too.

life can be so easy if you want it to be.

the ladies think im not old and they’re so wrong, i am so old.

if all goes well im about to do something that’s going to take a lot of energy and a lot of effort and a lot of being 100% 100% of the time and all i want to do this month is watch tv and get molested and sample the wide varieties of rum that get sent to my po box.

i dont want to fight with any hotties. i dont want to worry about deadlines and commitments.

karisa did the coolest thing this weekend, she avoided any responsibilities that she might have out there, she threw her cell phone into the la brea tar pits, filled up her mustang with super and drove and didn’t come back till the very last minute.

one day i’ll get to do something like that, i hope.

and if its when im olde and gray and driving a motorhome then fine.

if its before that when im young and still have something to say, then fine.

if i can drive around and meet all of you and take pictures and take my time and spread good will then fine.

if i have to start a caravan of old men in motorhomes and have a cannonball run of senior citizens, then ok.

there are so many possibilities in this deck of cards its mindboggling. it makes me lose patience in people who get paid to say no all day. it makes me lose hope in those who dont think big all day. it makes me want to shine the light on the egyptians who kicked more ass in their day with nothing but slaves and clay than allen greenspan ever did with the federal reserve and that old man still isn’t behind a winnebago and you know why? because he’d drive it right off the road before making it to the end of the block.

i wanna rock right now.

i wanna rock right now.

my buddy saw tsar the last time they played and he’s cynical and takes his time making decisions and bought the cd after the show and yesterday told me that he is now a tsar fan and i said duh.

rene called me last night after work and we tell each other we love each other about every other minute and still all i wanted to do was write but her stories were so good, her life is so good. she is so good.

got off the bus, made sure to accidentally step on the toes of 19555 and saw that despite the up escalator dying half way up, and despite the fat women who stood there like it would automatically fix itself after two seconds, and despite the 20 Santa Monica dissing me at the stop, by the time i was 4 blocks from the xbi i went into the little tiny chinese deli and got a martinellis apple juice and a croissant and the man looked me in the eyes and told me to have a good day.

and thank you.

and you know what, i think he really meant it.

go out there and kick some ass, superheroes.

steph in south beach + wasted life + britcoal + Incendiary Introspection

i dont know why this time. now i know exactly what i want to write to the big time web site i want to write about how the red sox can win the world series.

usually the idea part is the hardest part to writing a column and on the busblog you dont even need an idea, you just need a feeling. something. anything. some sort of motion to get you in motion and as karisa has taught me, a body in motion stays in motion, and a mind full of shit stays full of shit.

karisa jim morrisoned into the desert this weekend as did bunnie as did clipper girls cousin and oddly they all went to different deserts.

meanwhile this super hot girl came over looking amazing, smelling clean, hair driving me crazy with sexiness and didnt move when i tried to kiss her until i got right up to her and she curled up like a potato bug

i retreated and she’d smile.

id attack again and shed defend herself.

claiming she couldnt spend the night.

looking at her watch, calling her hot girlfriends, pretending to be interested.

there is a little bit of mind reading necessary to dating and i suppose thats the reason im not interested in teaching the red sox how to win the world series, something they havent been able to do since 1918 ad.

because mind reading is more interesting to write about than breaking curses, making dreams come true, pulling the hearts out of the yankees and showing it to them before they die in a quivvering heap.

cute girls do get away with murder, but im so old, america, that i dont have very much patience for even the cute ones. especially in hollywood, where you cant flick a spent match without poking a supermodel in the eye with it.

i fall in love about every two blocks.

even on the bus theres your choice of all sorts of wonders.

so i dont know if this girl thinks im going to break her heart or if the world is about to go oops upside her head but all i know is i saw a lady in a wheelchair today on the subway, and i wondered what it was like for her to get prognosised with whatever got her into that wheelchair.

and when i day dream the whole story hits me fast and the details fill themselves in even faster. depth is created. nuances. dialogue. background details.

i thought about what it must have been like to get told that you couldnt walk any more and i thought of the things you couldnt do and the first thing i thought was i couldnt wrestle with the right girl in the right way in the right places on the best nights.

so this girl was sitting on my couch and im thinking tick tock baby this is fun but life goes so fast it makes you wonder if its a race but one thing it isnt is is a fakeout game of lets watch the grass grow.

it made me remember the games i had to deal with a long time ago that nobody won.

theres lots of games i like playing but peek a boo or even advanced peek a boo dont do it for me the way they used to.

i should be nice to her. nicer to her. im not the easiest person to eat pizza with.

and im still procrastinating.

so the sox will have to wait

another lousy day.

blue cad + aaron’s baseball blog + d.lo

but the ones that i keep going back to day after day week after week month after month are the blogs written by the ladies.

and this weekend i was trying to figure out why this was, and i think its because the best blogs that i like are the personal ones that have to do with stories and emotions and real life and nuttiness and i know youre not supposed to pick favorites but youre also not supposed to do a lot of things that i do.

and i think right now my favorite writer and favorite blog is the always entertaining and dangerous splink.

unlike Bunnie (who has been my favorite for a long time) who even in her weakest moments is totally together and in control and sexy and wonderful and adventerous, our girl flagrant always seems on edge and crazed and paranoid and yet Still seems sharp and smart and fascinating and surprising.

for example she is totally freaked out to roam around LA, her hometown, in the daytime, and yet she’ll fly off to Bali alone to combat bugs and strangers and foreign languages and SARS with no worries whatsoever other than getting her frequent flier miles.

i want to think that she writes her life in a more dramatic way than it is, but something about her tales are very believable, and it makes me super happy that she keeps on blogging it down and keeping herself out there.

some might look at what she writes as being crazy. you might even look at what she writes as being crazy. i dont think shes the slightest bit crazy. if anything i think shes awesome.

splink takes great pictures, has decent taste in music, is living a traveler’s dream, but most importantly she writes about her parnioas and complexes and issues in an educated and creative way.

people have said that they feel blessed that good bloggers dont charge for the entertainment that they provide, i feel blessed that we get this sort of stuff at all, because typically people who can provide the sort of blog that flagrant does are either too nuts to write it down properly, or too paranoid to keep it going or to keep it on the web.

like Bunnie, flagrant also has successfully remained anonymous, only photographing her shoes or a hand, or a shadow, which is a tough trick to keep up.

so i have imagined her as a blonde mandy moore (pictured).

regardless, she has proven that its the words and stories that matter, not the pictures of the author.

rock on valley girl.

when you seriously do dump your supermodel boyfriend and buy a house in santa barbara and look for a husband, all i can say is look no further.

a year ago i interviewed flagrant + her old blog + her new blog

i might be 209, but the day will come.

i might not be the shooting guard for the lakers but i will marry a nice girl and i can guarantee you one thing, i wont ever cheat on her.

i can guarantee you another thing, if i ever did, in a moment of weakness, cheat on my young bride, i would not buy her a $4 million ring.

a big gaudy ring that if i ever looked at i would remember the colorado teen who accused me of sexual crimes and her young ass that i tapped.

why would you want to remember that?

why would you want a glittery sparkely expensive albatross around your lover’s finger?

other than for resale value.

i bet you right now you could get $6 million for that $4 million ring.

maybe $8 million.

its the most famous $4 million ring ive ever seen. and the dumbest.

if i cheated on my hot wife and i wanted to make it up to her financially i would buy her a $4 million rose orchard and let her run the place.

id name the roses “kobes”. theyd be expenisive roses. like $100 a dozen.

for when you really love your girl.

or really

for when you royally f up.

on sad days my wife could stroll through her acres of roses and smell the lovliness that sin has ironically brought her way. and on happy days she could see the bottom line that the business venture has reaped her way.

imagine the dynamic that men and women could have in the future:

man: im so sorry baby.

woman: yeah, sorry you got CAUGHT.

man: no really baby, im so so sorry.

woman: i know you’re going to get me some kobes.

man: baby im gonna get you two dozen kobes.

woman: so you really ARE sorry, arent you?

man: oh yes i am. of course i am.

woman: oh i love you.

man: i love you too.

once again, the busblog helping mankind before lunchtime on a monday morning.

metropolio + bloopy + riley dog