i want to blame the xbi for my internet sloth

but i cant. im a responsible why would i blame someone else when i know im at fault for being a lazy bitch.

today is stephs birthday, shes 23.

happy birthday baby.

ive been calling everyone baby lately. its fun. its like calling frisco frisco. youre not really supposed to do it to anyone youre not fingering but what the hell.

when i read steph (left) ‘s blog i realize just how unmotivated i am. the girl works all night. parties when shes done. then lays out in the sun.

quite a life.

good luck with your pats tomorrow.

even though i hope they go down.

happy birthday baby

knock at the door usually means one thing: a change in plans

snoop dog was on. old school was on. a girl who sorta looked like a younger gabrielle reece if you know who she is had just left behind something smoking in the ashtray and i had just picked it up to see what it was for the odor was seductively curious. i was just about to touch it when a little tap at the front door startled me.

this one looked like an older marisa tomei, but taller. i dont know if ive ever told you this but ive always liked tall girls.

her name was gretchen she lived across the street. little purse little socks tall shoes big hair. her dress sparkled from thousands of sparkley sparklies as she shivered next to my satellite dish.

its funny how sometimes you think a bad date is just that.

she was drunk. hot. sloppy. pale.

someone wrote in one of my posts this week that he didnt believe the story i was telling.



real tits

in here

totally shaved


pierced nips


woke up this morning still on the couch with her.

got up


brushed my teeth

took my socks off

gave each of my feet a generous spray of desenex

put two clean white socks on

fixed up some scrambled eggs

stirred a griddle of bacon around

boiled some grits

toast popped up right when i had poured two glasses of apple juice.

turned on the tv

and i hadnt realized that bitch had knocked my dish out of alignment last night when she waited for me to answer the door.

she woke up next to a vase of fresh snapdragons rubbing her good eye and noticing me flipping through the tivo deleting the shows that had only recorded a black screen that said searching for satellite signal for a half hour.

and then i knew who was gonna get the slice of toast that


had fallen on the kitchen floor.

tiffany + chicha + how appealing

this was an interesting week in blogging

the insta punditgot blogads, the busblog flowed bob moulds blog more hits than usa today’s blog, and the new york times created their first blog.

the times dont call it a blog because they want to be all stuck up n shit, but sure enough they have joined the bandwagon so welcome aboard slackers. better late than never.

worked my ass off today and i was walking home from the subway and i thought about what it would be like to be a pro blogger. and all the way home i thought how it would probably suck cuz nobody would ever let you get away with calling the new york times or cbs or the president of the united states a fucking fuckhead and when all this is said and done, if you truly want to be a great writer

which i would hope a journalist would want to be

i would imagine that you would want to have a body of work to leave behind that people would be able to look at and say yeah and be impressed and want to tell their friends about

as opposed to a collection of middle of the road phil collins lyrics disguised as commentary and being presented as journalism.

i am a one hundred percent believer in Jesus Christ which means i believe we have one life and one death. why would i waste this short journey writing things in ways to please the lowest common denominator.

so many people worry about getting lots of hits and being more and more popular or making money or

forget it.

this blog lets me do everything i want.

yes my real job gets in the way from writing you but that might change

you know what a lot of guys do when they decide to quit the xbi?

they teach highschool.

this week also meant an end of 5ilver.net, after 4 years mindy has retired one of my favorite blogs

thankfully she started a new site: voxura

buzzmachine + wonkette + morland

lets talk a minute about teamwork

lets talk about gifted fucks. lets talk about how kickass Lick is about to reveal itself as being.

superbowl sunday my friends. during halftime. you will see writing like you havent seen before on tonypierce.com, you will see graphics and design that blow this shit away. and you will see a classy style that takes sex drugs and rock to a new level.

and if i were to give the game ball out to one person Before the game even started i would have to give it to ms. raspil iverson of salt lake city utah who stepped up to the plate called her shot and not only hit the scoreboard but knocked the damn thing over.

then ran around the bases backwards like my man jimmy piersall.

she kicked so much ass that it is hard for me to take any credit whatsoever in Lick but i suppose if it wasnt for my idea and my vision and the fact that i attracted all these great writers to talk about some of their deepest darkest secrets it wouldnta happened.

but thats almost like giving christopher columbus credit for discovering amerikkka.

none of these writers needed to be discovered. and ms iverson definitely didnt need to be discoverd and if she did i will lose her to some big time website before the probowl kicks off, and thats fine with me.

i think you kids will like what you see at halftime on lickmagazine.com

and the cool part is…

it’s just the begining

prepare to see Lick updated once a week, prepare to see a daily updated group blog, prepare to see something that takes this medium to a new direction of revelation creativity and intrigue.

prepare to be impressed by the women of the web and their wonders.

ms. raspil iverson cheif director of style, lick magazine

mr. oswald undertone, president of hosting services, networking, and class

lick behind the scenes bloggy

papa jeffrey solomon, technical consultant, cheif sultan, diaper changer

over the last few weeks

karisa has been making a concerted effort to spend a little more time with me. that makes me happy. tonight we went drinking at the good luck bar, which is within walking distance from my hollywood bungalow and yet even though ive lived here for what 57 years i still havent frequented.

it was great.

reportedly the place is packed on the weekends but tonight it was about three quarters full when we arrived at 10 and about one quarter full when we had our last baileys at 1:15a.

the bar is dark, the jukebox played x and the clash and elvis costello. at one point someone put stairway to heaven on and the bartender walked over to it and turned it off and then on again so it’d go to a new song.

it was the only time we’d hear zeppelin but those few seconds were plenty as none of us needed to hear any more of that song tonight.

karisa and i talked about lots of little superficial things like television and rearing children and gays in pro sports, which of course led to me dissing her quarterback tom brady who will probably lead the new england pats to a superbowl victory on sunday despite the fact that he probably wouldnt give a cheerleader the time of day.

she said, what proof do you have that hes gay?

i said just look at him.

she said thats not enough evidence.

i was all, joe willie namath stood on the sidelines in a floor length white mink coat and he still didnt look or act gay and yet your boy cant not look like a fairy even when hes driving his team down the field with nothing left on the clock.

still she remained loyal and unmoved on my accusation. but whatever, shes a girl, shes forgiving when it comes to good looking winning quarterbacks who are poised to bring another ring to her home state.

soon we would reach agreement on a sad point. we’re both so over 103.1 fm. we dont even listen to it any more.

the problem is, they dont change their songs up nearly enough.

its painfully obvious that they have bob marleys legend the clash’s london calling and k-tels the best of grunge on heaviest rotation and i wont even get into the Spree, but after a while i know im gonna hear something off either Wild Gift or Check Your Head, which trust me, is never a bad thing, but theres a lot of rock to choose from, so why not keep choosing.

wheres zwan and king missile and celebrity skin and mr bungle and urge overkill and sugar and tom waits, victoria williams and motorhead and de la soul and digital underground? wheres nomeansno and house of large sizes and kinky and the boo-yaa tribe? theres a bottomless pit of quote unquote independent music that kroq wouldnt dare put on their airwaves that would sound just as good as the third ramones record in an hour, so why must they insist on singing that cover of mad world for the tenth time in the day?

bust with the jesus and mary chain for pete sake

and the pogues

and the minutemen and firehose and watt and the rentals.

remind the kids who jello biafra was and is, and what negativland did and how good teenage fanclub and nashville pussy sounded.

where the fuck is my motorhead

thats all i want to know

wheres my boy lemmy and dont you dare tell me that he’s not independent.

we toasted and drank and kept getting more and soon we were done and soon it was over and it had gone so quickly but we were both responsible adults and before you know it my electric blanket was warmed and i had finished telling you all that needed to be said.

other than janet is still looking good.

as always.

damnnit janet.

beautiful mistake + raymi + no blood no foul

blind man stuck his nose into the bus today.

hey what number is this bus he asked us through the side door. the out door. the middle of the bus door.

we told him it was the old 720.

he was blind so he was looking at us with his left ear, crazy bloodshot eye looking up into the sky.

he accepted the information and allowed his german shepard to enter the vehicle.

cuz he was blind the busdriver didnt say shit about him going in through the out door.

the dog lead his way through the standing people to the front of the bus and the guy followed him, looking up at the roof of the bus. everyone got out of the way nicely. things got real quiet too.

even though there were 50-60 people in the bus, it was the blind man and his dog that everyone cared about. it was very odd. i hadnt seen that many people pay attention to two passengers since two swedish girls got on the 20 santa monica with beach bags last summer looking radiant and exotic.

one guy goes to the man and says excuse me.

i was all, oh no.

cuz the guy looks like a freak.

he goes, hey can you tell me about the braile institute?

the blind guy says excuse please?

the weirdo goes the braile institute on vermont and melrose, yeah, why is there a big sign on it that says braile institute? everyone who wants to go there cant see it.

some people laughed. not laughed really but smiled.

blind guy was smiling the whole time.

dog wasnt smiling.

busdriver kept looking in the rearview, he wasnt smiling

and after me and this big guy threw the weirdo out the side door at the next stop he wasnt smiling either.

the dog didnt bark once during the whole fracas.

jbanks + janelle + lick will launch superbowl sunday during halftime

ghost band ghost band

theres a ghost band, girl, playing our song yeah. drank beers and rum ate bowling alley shrimp fried rice and got to hang with an x xbi director which was a pleasant surprise because i always liked him and i was shocked when he had to turn in his flying car. its a strange planet we’re rotating on he esped to me. but i kept thinking of rancid.

hot girl earlier in the day got shot standing right next to me. i dont talk about her much because we’re undercover of course and if anyone saw a brotha with a fro and a super cute korean girl keeping it real one might get the impression that theyd seen us before in that neck of the woods and suddenly we wouldnt be so much undercover. but it looks like thats not going to be the case any more and it was mighty scary let me tell you.

on the way home from bowling tonight i stopped by the hospital and whispered little secrets into her ear. her hospital is very close to my house. after a while she told me that it hurt to laugh and asked me to stop.

hospitals are never the way you wish they were.

she said if you ever see me getting interviewed on the view, shoot me.

i said, if you ever see me getting interviewd on carson daly, carpet bomb me.

she said, if you ever see me wearing a hoop dress punch me in the nose

i said blink once if you want me to climb on top of you

she said if you get on top of me i will knee you in the family jewels.

i said what if i like my family jewels kneed

she said then climb on top

of me.


and fell asleep with that little smile going

and i stole the little chocolate from her dinner tray she had pushed away

snipped a bud from one of her many bouquets.

kissed her nose

for the first time

kissed her forhead

for the first time

undressed her with my eyes

for the tenth time

that day.

and whispered that it was

going to be ok.

d.lo + leah + <3 raspil <3

The Replacements


Sire Records, 1986

“Bastards of Young”


God, what a mess, on the ladder of success

Where you take one step and miss the whole first rung

Dreams unfulfilled, graduate unskilled

And Pete’s pickin’ cotton and waitin’ to be forgotten

We are the sons of no one, bastards of young

We are the sons of no one, bastards of young

The daughters and the sons

Clean your baby’s room, trash that baby boom

Elvis in the ground, there’ll ain’t no beer tonight

Income tax deduction, what a hell of a function

It beats pickin’ cotton and waitin’ to be forgotten

We are the sons of no one, bastards of young

We are the sons of no one, bastards of young

The daughters and the sons… young

Willingness to claim us, ya got no morals to name us

The ones who love us best are the ones we’ll lay to rest

And visit their graves on holidays at best

The ones who love us least are the ones we’ll die to please

If it’s any consolation, I don’t begin to understand it

We are the sons of no one, bastards of young

We are the sons of no one, bastards of young

The daughters and the sons

take a shower, take a shower, take a shower, take a shower

see thru skin + bob mould + aint no bad dude