is theyre always pissed off at something. we were watching Average Joe last night and for most of the two hour finale they were going on and on about how all the guys shoulda been black or all of them shoulda had like ten inch schweens or lisps.

if you hadnt watched the show, basically it was about a hot model who thinks that she was going to be courted by 14-15 hot single men who she would vote off one by one until she found her true love. it turned out that the men were single, but they were less-than-average in the looks dept. half way through the show, however, the producers introduced three model-looking guys who competed for her attention versus the remaining men.

last night two men remained: the final average joe, and the last handsome dude.

the monkeys complained that it was obvious that the former cheerleader was going to pick the average joe, especially once it became known to her that he was a self made millionaire and was loved by all his friends and family and coworkers.

they screeched that like duh she was gonna pick the funny, sincere, normal one instead of the prettyboy who lived at home who became her bitch immediately while they ate their jerk chicken next to the sea.

they were so bored with what they thought was a sure thing that for the better half of the show they played cards, groomed each other, worked on their needlepoint, or secretly masturbated.

then when we least expected it she picked the pretty boy and youve never seen such pissed off primates.

one of them just stared at the box and said

what the fuck

over and over and over

like hed lost a bet or something.

like it was he who she passed over.

the television was quickly covered by angry banana and marlboro smelling monkey dung, then one of em threw a rocking chair at it, then it exploded and caught fire. the monkeys jumped up and down and started swinging from the chandeliers and showing their teeth but soon the smoke filled the small break room and those that didnt run out either became nauseous and pukey or simply passed out like a bum.

this morning they were still doing nothing but bitching about the show.

what were we to learn from that shit? one of them asked.

(typically one would remember the names of those who worked for one but not me, i call all the monkeys monkey and they all call me asswipe.)

are we to believe, he continued, that not money or personality or good jokes or normalcy or profesional success can trump a sissyboy from the oc?

he inhaled from his cigar stump, held it, and exhaled.

fuck them if thats what theyre trying to say to us and fuck the new average joe, the monkey spat as he watched previews of the next season of the show.

i could see his eyes close and his teeth clench and i was all dont you dare shit in your hand and throw it at that tv, thats my tv, if youre going to throw your shit at anything throw it at your tv which is now smoldering in your break room.

and he did.

tiffany + coyote at the great wall + sahalie

again.

good news and bad news about having paris hilton over to the house. good news is shes hot and she puts out. every time. bad news is she, as you now know from the video, is attached to her phone and it rings constantly.

as you can imagine when you start hanging out with someone like her, you dont really put your entire heart into it because you never know when its going to be over. but i try. she probably cant tell but i do try. my time isnt as valuable as hers, but it is mine, and sometimes im willing to share it with people. rarely. super rarely.

she reads the busblog and is always trying to figure out which parts are real and which arent and whos who and all that but she knows how much i leave out and a lot of times she thinks that i leave out all the real sex that im having and i tell her that im pretty much only having real sex with her and she went over to the floor of my bed and saw the used condom wrappers and said so all of these are just from us and i examined the evidence and said yep.

not sure if she believed me.

anyway, one way you can tell that i like you, and the only reason by the way that i think shes with me is cuz she thinks im the only person who actually really likes her for the right reasons and simultaneously doesnt like her for the right reasons, is if i show you whats on my tivo and whats in my record collection.

last night i was supposed to do laundry with her but instead we started drinking some of that trader joes three dollar wine and i started playing randy newman cds for her and showing her the great beginnings of movies and we watched and everything was going good. might have even been some cozy cuddling happening there.

then the phone rang.

omg the phone!

she sprang up and answered it.

the first time didnt bother me so much because i know about her friendship with nicole richie, but when it kept happening as we were watching the finale of average joe it sorta became tiresome to me. eventually she asked me if i was going to spend the night at her house and i said maybe.

then nicole called again around 9:30p and paris said, wait, bubba isnt there? he hasnt been there all night? ok, i’ll be there at 10, er, 10:30.

at this point i had retreated to the computer closet. body language is everything. there i was totally opening up to her, forgetting my responsibilites about laundry, the blog, the site, the xbi and instead of telling her friends tara and nicole to chill for a lil she kept picking up the damn phone and it was a total wet blanket.

so i wrote.

hot as that girl is, i dont really like the fact that her timetable is determined by her friends.

theres a reason the term cockblocker was coined.

but some people allow it to happen and they dont know sometimes that the guy is reaching out, it might not be reaching out in the way that they might be used to but it is. and it sucks when the good thing is fucked with.

and last night i was gonna ask paris to the xbi christmas dance cuz she has been good, but the phone rang again and i said forget it.

and id ask my true love but she’ll probably say no cuz shes smart and secretly im superlame.

operation gustation + resident jason + jeff mcmanus

near the bubbling brooks atop the neighingest asses floats a butterfly of majesty a notebook full of dashed dreams a pocketful of shaving cream a mousekateer of slutty fear

her name was dopey seventeen prom queen of the unseen. typist with the jelly beans, icycle licker at walgreens. never said a bad word, never touched a dead bird, always said the right things strung out on my collard greens.

touch me if you want

touch me if you want

she loved to say the darndest things

touch me

tony

here

now here.

we’d walk down the street and it felt like spain it felt like led zeppelin street it felt like baja. she held my entire arm in hers she couldnt get enough she couldnt smile more she couldnt but she would if she couldnt but she could: wait.

never saw when harry met sally and he loved her for that what about joe versus the volcano and she said no what about sleepless in seatle and she gave him a look like come on think alternative nation think exclusively babish feel her docs under the table think slightly unstable.

come over here closer

she sign languaged so subtlely

george forman grill clicked off

hot tub started bubbling

she said i feel like im chasing you all over

she said i feel like im another bladeless lawn mower

and certain falls the cocky rocky

lost but sure his way is right

turns his back upon the present

and sleeps alone and cold at night

but he did have a magnificent

and throbbing

mighty sword

the kind they talked about

round the world

an envy to some

a miracle to others

a dream for daughters

a sin for their mothers

but then there was sonny

fake name was tony

teef full of gold

hollow leg stuffed with money

whattya writing about. love. what about. about a woman who has to pick between a man with a huge magical perfect dick and a man who doesnt have one. what does the other one have. a baldspot, and hes a good writer. anything else. no. hmmm well hmmmm does the other guy have enough money to get a vibrator. yeah. well then whoevers nicer

she had small teeth and made brocolli beef. candles everywhere even in her hair. she knew something right she was super high. he knew everything but he was about to fry.

sometimes theres a sound out there something not so kosher there sometimes theres a sometimes something sometimes times some sum times tie me’s.

and summer brings a false september through the waving grains of gold

and mothers call their daughters home but

somewhere theres one

not alone.

chokey chicken + large american penis + kitty bukkake

one of the striking ones. theres a grocery store strike going on in california, fyi.

i dont know why the people are striking, but they are. four grocery stores: albertsons, ralphs, vons, and some other one. basically all the biguns.

somehow they pulled the strikers away from Ralphs and said that we can shop there if we want, but the people who will be working there will be scabs, but its cool. dont ask me how that makes any sense.

lately ive just been eating out cuz when i sold hot dogs at candlestick i was union and i loved being union and i swore that id never cross a picket line cuz being union ruled so mightilly.

so i went into the store today, and right before thanksgiving the Teamsters said that they would honor the strike and they wouldnt bring food to the striking stores. somehow that doesnt include Ralphs, who today had about 90% of the food that they normally had.

what was missing? you ask. well, let me tell you. about half of the make-your-own salad tray, pre-cooked chickens, various chunks of fruits and vegetables, etc.

but what was really missing was the smile and professionalism of the checker.

the dude i got, the scab, was bad!

imagine that.

here the guy is getting paid to screw over a striking worker and he was no good at it.

i didnt get a receipt and the chick behind me didnt get a bag.

for those of you reading this from third world countries, let me explain something to you about america and our grocery stores: we Are our grocery stores.

supermarkets is what we call them. there needs to be every fruit and vegetable that can be grown or manufactured – all ripe, no blemish, and low priced. every shelf needs to be packed. every corner display needs to be bright and cheery. there needs to be a huge deli with a short line. there needs to be places where one can sit down and speak to a pharmacist and measure ones blood pressure FOR FREE. there needs to be a machine that will accept all of our coins from our piggy banks and within seconds tell us that we have collected a FORTUNE.

everything should be on sale.

we need name brands and generics, seasonal items, international cuisine, fresh meats and seafoods, and hot bread at any hour. there should be a customer service counter where i can get my bus pass and where michael jackson can get his payday advances.

and that shit needs to be 24/7 with free parking.

i once went to a supermarket that made you put a quarter in a shopping cart so you could use it, and once you returned it you got your quarter back.

we burned that store down within a week.

even the old ladies arrived with mason jars filled with gasoline.

so, todays experience with only 90 percent of the store filled did not impress me, nor did the poor service. so i will begin my strike against Ralphs post-haste. thank you.

banks + brody + right over there

make jimmy fallon funny or interesting or edgy or witty but all they end up making him look is pathetic.

the other day they wrote him some good double entendre jokes with miss paris hilton and you know youre not much of a comedian when shes better at reading the jokes than you are.

lucky for him most girls and gay guys think hes cute.

hank in my comments says that i should stop trying to be charles bukowski and just get back to being tony pierce and hes got a point, buk was a great poet short storyist and novelist and im just an average blogger and photo essayist.

but then bro from france told me that i should give up blogging for a while and write a novel.

i dont want to write any damn novels.

and i dont want to stop blogging.

and i certainly dont want to go to work tomorrow.

super hot chick came over today to take me to the laundrymat. we never made it out of the house.

nice.

soon as she came into the house i couldnt keep my hands off her. best part was she loved my hands all over her. third girl in a row ive met who feels this way about my hands on their person. fascinating.

we were making out standing up. my hands wouldnt leave her ass. then they settled for the lower back. skin so smooth i was sure she was just another android, but the switch on the back of her neck only flipped from human to superhuman and didnt include android, so we were good.

my sheets were off my bed, pillowcases filled with dirty clothes, so she threw me on the bare mattress and i bounced right off cuz you need the jams. came back from the weight room with the boom box, popped in the new nelly, the derrty remixes, took off my cubs hat, and clapped twice.

now im a sucka for cornrows and manicured toes

ho

droppin outta high school, going straight to the pros

ho

and there was a time when i could make it through a double album but lately ive been lucky if i can make it to the chorus of track one

which is fine cuz the thai arrived and what cheerleader doesnt love thai on a rainy coldy sunday night?

we ate all cuddled up and toasty and watched the simpsons which was good, south park which was great, and viva la bam which was pretty good.

and then she asked for second helpings and i asked if i could at least put a sheet down and she said of course, but we never made it off the couch.

franklin ave + treacher + dawn olsen + david janes

or review anything really anymore, but there’s a new book out that i have a feeling that if you knew existed you’d like. if you like me.

american bachelor is a photo book of about 100 pictures of thirtysomething men, their homes, their loves, their wishes, and their lifestyles.

mostly set in southern california, with a suprisingly sensitive storyline of a man who doesn’t really want to be a bachelor forever, but isn’t going to get all crazy inside if he never gets hitched.

for the most part these pictures are of men’s men. theyre not prettyboys, they have dirty apartments and well worn floors. there’s a hint of recreational drug use, social drinking, after hours dance parties in small apartments, drunken toplessnesses, skateboard collections, mattel old school l.e.d games, cigarette smoking and so cal surfing.

the pictures show a promise of bachelorhood the way a highschool boy would want it: individualistic, rough around the edges, sloppy, and fun. in nearly every picture you can see the need for a womans touch, and its sorely missing, in a good way.

the lie of the tv series thirtysomething was that once you were no longer fresh out of college you had to be all serious and wear button down shirts and beards and buy houses, beemers, and baby diapers.

these hundred and thirty pages give an alternative that to some might be far more appealing.

the cover photo shows a young shirtless man laughing while holding a blended margarita in a goblet. he has a little hair on his chest, hair in his armpits, wetlooking short hair on his head, a casual five o’clock shadow, and seemingly not a care in the world. not the babyfat on his gut, not the lack of trendy tattoo on his arm, not the impending dark clouds behind him.

his goblet is definitely half full.

the women inside are attractive and adult. theyve been around the block a few times. and will be around it a few times more.

the men shoot lighter fluid into the flaming weber grill. they wear boas cuz theyre so not gay. they iron their shirts next to their cluttered sinks.

i like this book because its cribs minus the fame. the fridges are mostly barren, just like theyve been since college. the beds are unmade, and the magazine pages that are scotch taped onto the walls could be from the same magazines that i scotch taped onto my walls… under the nerf hoop beneath the christmas lights.

these are the friends the friends of Friends have in real life california. their real friends.

if you want to have a quickie little glimpse into the world of right now, here it is.

and it doesn’t suck.

or serious inquireries, i should be able to write whatever the hell i want to write. no?

yes.

sexpeciallially on sex saturday.

too young girls appeared at my door last night. young but not illegally young, and they were holding hands which is the univeral sign of immediate entrance. one led the other in. it was cute. i shut the door behind them and locked it.

the lawyer of the printer emailed me back the blook II pdf and included this in the message: i think one of the things that bothered me a lot was the excessive emphasis on sex/girls. it was kind of exhausting and i think you are way better than that.

everyones a critic.

one girl was blonde the other was dark blonde. both were naked within minutes because thats how it has to be.

we smoked cigarettes even though i dont smoke. we played a game called do something dumber than the next person and that was fun. they couldnt drink any of my booze because they werent yet of age but they didnt care. not everyone needs liquid courage.

i put in the white stripes and the blonde girl said, thats so spring. so i put in the doobie brothers greatest hits and they started to dance together.

i dont know why the good things happen in my life any more than i know why the bad things happen, but i have officially stopped trying to figure it out and started to learn to enjoy it.

like this.

one of the girls was clearly in charge in the relationship and pushed the other into the leather couch and sorta mashed her face into the arm rest. my house is messy but they didnt care. i was watching and taking pictures but they didnt care about that either.

the phone rang someone spoke into the machine. nobody listened. all we listened to was the dark blonde getting into it. whipping her hair back out of her face so she could see her friends hand and me and she couldnt see with her eyes half closed like that, breathing out of her mouth

quite frankly im suprised this doesnt happen to more bloggers.

i didnt think i was in trouble til they turned their attention toward me.

i was sipping on a tumbler of 151 with just a whisp of coke. sometimes just sitting resting it next to a bottle of coke is enough.

they asked me over to the couch, i politely declined. it was nearly midnight and i was going through the waiver wire to see which players i was going to drop and add for my nba hoops fantasy teams.

cuz i havent done so well in this young season.

maybe because of the excessive emphasis on sex/girls. it was kind of exhausting.

and i think i can be way better than that.

matt and em on vacation + mc brown at the watts christmas parade + amy says its snowing! so does tomdog!

can i tell you about my favorite blog. can i really get away with giving the busblog awards for best blogs.

the answer for both is no.

no is my least favorite word so let me tell you about someone dear to my heart who i dont talk about much on here because shes sweet and doesnt deserve to be made fun of but today she called me from the waiting room of her chiropractor and i told her that i bet she doesnt realize it but she has a shrink, an astrologer, a regular appointment with her hair dresser, and a chiropractor.

i told her all she needed was a condo on the wesssside, a pilates instructor and an exhusband and she will have totally become a yuppie.

which she is far from.

im listening to mariah carey. listening and watching. melting doll girl asked me if i was against kazaa and i said hell no. just a minute ago i watched david letterman interview madonna in that interview where she said fuck a million times. and now im watching mariah in the vh1 divas concert. im not against the delivery system. i love the delivery system.

i think the entertainment world is against the only real billing system: micropayments. bill me a nickel every time i watch it or something. or a quarter a download. it could be done. some people need to be faced with their back up against the wall to figure it out. they will.

now im watching a lenny kravitz video where they .. “american woman ” where they spliced in porn. charge me thirty five cents for that one. id pay. its good.

have people like me review it. i’ll weed out all the riff raff. they’ll figure it out. i dont have a shrink or an astrologer. i have dsl and dss and tivo and y.o.u.

and of course rum.

and blogger.

and soul train on my thirty five inch.

last night tragedy struck when i went to the printers to pick up blook II for your ass. the door was locked with a chain and a lock. there was a phone number on the door. i called it when i got home. it was a lawyers office. apparently my printer who had made blook I was a front for some illegal activity. i left my name and number and i was told that check this Blook II was being reviewed as to whether or not i had any connection to their misdoings. i said if the copy shop was a front then nothing in the copy shop could be connected. and they said not necessarily true, that they were investigating it.

fortunately i only had to put up half the price of printing costs when i submitted the pdf, so

but anyway it doesnt look like blook II will be out before christmas.

im thinking about not having it come out at all, just returning all your money and calling it a year.

i didnt like it anyway, and this sort of stuff makes me think that it shouldnta come out in the first place.

plus karisa didnt really like it.

plus my old poems suck.

plus it wasnt like people went crazy over the last one.

i had some fucked up dreams last night and i dont even dream.

id be flagrants cool neighbor + something very funny called “i use ms paint” + how all kids should be