miss montreal returned my text page with a simple one.

as you know one means yes and two means no.

and today, i found out just an hour ago, luckily

wasnt

opposite day.

sometimes just agreeing to pick me up take me to kfc and bring me home is enough for me to rip a girls clothes off before the magically salty grease on the popcorn chicken has a chance to finish hardening.

just the night before i thought id never see those tan eyes again

and there they were

oh, canada.

and let me tell you another thing about this one

her friends chip in to get each other semi expensive presents.

instead of everyone giving little bullshit birthday gifts

or no gifts at all

her friends are classylike

on account of being canadian, probably.

they all chip in twentyfive bucks

all twenty of em

and they each get good shit.

or in this case get rid of it.

except for a tiny landing strip.

using

“lasers”

i was all how did you know i loved the eighties

and when i was done her toes were curled

just like bunny said theyd be

offline adventures + stinson + chelle

Friday, March 15, 2002

i was trying to prove God to this buddist at the baja fresh and i saw my old boss signalling me from the salsa station.

my old fbi boss.

i excused myself and met him in the men’s room.

“long time, agent.”

“not that long, really, seems like yesterday.” i said.

“hows the xbi treating you?”

“the what?”

“ok, well, whatever. tony we want you back.”

“im touched.”

“we miss you and we need you.”

“you cant afford me.”

“what, are you suddenly materialist? has the xbi spoiled you?”

“it’s not money that i want.”

“figured as much, what do you want then?”

my old boss wasnt much of a negotiator, especially with me. all he would ever say is “no.”

“i want my old flying car back and i want to be a superagent, and i want my old territory back.”

“sorry kid, no can do. santa monica is taken.”

“yeah, i know, by your son-in-law. is he still in the hospital?”

“hal is back, he’s fine, thank you.”

“well, those are my terms, my fish tacos are getting cold.”

someone knocked on the door, my boss yelled, “one sec, buddy.” then he said, “we could get you your car.”

“and i want to pick my partner,” i added.

“next you’ll be telling me that you want to pick your boss.”

“get me santa monica back, and let me pick my partner and i’ll be happy with you as my boss.”

“boy, that’s a change.”

my boss always liked to get close to me and whisper in my ear. that never sat well with me, but i understood his motives.

he said, “i’ll see what i can do, agent. but your partner has to be someone from the bureau. none of those xbi hoodlums.”

i washed my hands with hot water and soap. my boss looked at his male pattern baldness and primped. i dried off with the papertowels and threw all but one in the trash and used the remaining towel to protect my soon-to-be fishy fingers and opened the door.

like a gentleman i allowed my boss to exit first.

he said thank you and as he passed, i attached a bug to the collar of his suit coat.

i like steph’s buzznet pics + and tiffany’s + and teera‘s

but is he on par with prince and george harrison? fuck the beatles, but i had no problem with harrison. mostly cuz he made up for it with the wilburys and all those terry gilliam movies.

fuck the rock n roll hall of fame.

fuck pretty much everything. howard stern was right this morning. rolling stone wants to put him on their cover and write about his problems with the fcc and at first he was going to do it, but then he realized that this wasnt His problem, it’s Everyones problem. for 20 years hes been doing his show and the public has been eating it up.

nothing that he does is obscene. it’s about sex a lot of the times, but that doesnt instantly make it obscene.

the radio waves are the public’s airwaves. how public is it when one company owns 80% of it? how public is it when a few republicans are dictating what can be broadcast? how public is it when the number one broadcaster is suddenly deemed obscene the same month he comes out against the president of the united states?

i know a lot of my elected officials read this.

and some officials, like senator clinton read this too.

if you fools dont start fighting the repubs on this issue and on the issue of free speech and of the issue of censorship and of the issue of assholes bulldozing their quote unquote morals all over my shit im going to not only vote them out but vote you out too.

where is the main democratic voice standing up and saying, oh no you didn’t!

do i have to elect the audience of the jerry springer show to run my senate?

do i have to move to canada?

do i have to open up a coffee shop in amsterdamn called expats?

do i really have to get an internet radio show called devil radio where i get one of those voice boxes that alters sound so i sound like the Great Deceiver and all i say is stuff like, “this is devil radio, give me your soul!” and play metallica, maiden, zeppelin, and britney?

you know ive never owned a pair of air jordans?

you know how clean my house is?

you know how sleepy i am?

prince deserves better than to be inducted alongside bob seger, thats all im saying.

its cuz hes black that hes being dissed like this, isnt it?

maybe its cuz hes just so damn funky.

my truest and i heard sinead do nothing compares 2 u in the launderia and she almost started crying cuz its so good, still.

and me, i just loved that part where she goes, i went to the doctor you know what he told me you know what he told me

he said girl u better have fun no matter what u do

but hes a fool.

free stern + howard stern dot com + buzzmachine

return from vacation again.

woke up cold. woke up beat. fucking dreams which have left me alone for years and years and years came back with a vengeance this last week.

unlike most people im not a fan of dreams. those little lies that catch us when we’re at our most vulnerable. and unlike most people i usually have incredibly sound, refreshing sleep. which is why i dont need much of it mostly.

got on the train. hated everyone. got in the elevator, hated the old man who stuck his big paw in the way of the door as my car was about to lift up. hated the lady with the baby. hated the kids.

even though it was a pleasure to keep the company of ms bunny mcintosh, my idea of a vacation is to sit on my couch and watch tv and sleep and fart and eat and get tired of doing nothing. our lil redhead from georgia was an excellent guest but on saturday when she had left i was finally able to relax.

yesterday i still wasnt completely at ease, however, because half the girls i date were incredibly jealous of the fact that i paid so much attention to one girl and not them and all but one of them didnt even want to talk with me.

this did wonders to my stress levels which rarely go much higher than barely there.

unless im at work where they’re always at max levels.

why am i living the life that im living, america?

what great sin am i paying for?

part of me thinks that if i had just stayed in hangoverpark, ill i would have a house a mortgage a mini van, some kids, some wives, some dogs, and something in common with the rest of my high school graduating class.

instead i dont even know whats going on.

i thought about what new job i could have while i sat at the busstop. i remembered how they used to have a guy standing at the stop at wilshire and western, he had a walkie talkie. he would tell the busses to get the fuck over there. kept everything running smoothly. during the bus strike they got rid of that guy. i think i would like that job.

i keep thinking i want to be a high school teacher.

fuck that though.

now im thinking i should just be a benefactee.

someone that people can leave their fortunes to when they kick off and want to piss off their kids.

that ones sitting better with me.

leah + bloopy + it’s my life