slow day at work

so i went to the barber shop to get my hair did. its always a good idea to talk to the fellas when theres nothing going on on the street. the problem with the marines is they always want me to hit the streets when the shits going down. aint gonna learn anything when its hot on the block.

and on top of that, theyre going to know youre the heat if you only show up when there’s a bustle in the hedgerow.

now that i dont have a fro they were slow to recognizing me. then they were all, whoa broth-aaaa!

alot has changed in the barbershop. theyve taken down the nubian artwork and added a wall of tvs. they were on the same station, playing the same commercial. i was irritated cuz they used to play these neosouljazz mixed tapes that i really loved cuz id never heard anything like that before.

sat down and told the guy i wanted it shaved down to nothing. i had maybe 2 millimeters of hair and i didnt like how it was growing in. i looked olde. dumb. mean.

before the guy had a chance to put the smock on me an older man showed up asking for harold. harold is the young brotha who runs the place. harold has a huge fro so huge i have always thought it was fake, but you never know.

a half white barber kid yelled out, harolds at the store.

the sto? the old man questioned.

my barber was all, no, he in the back.

old man repeated even louder the sto? looking at the half whitey. and held the look.

my barber put down the buzzers, ran in the back and collected harold.

a bus sped by. a twenty. with an old ad for the nba allstar game on it. shaq.

when harold and my dude came out together the old man complained about the tvs that i wanted to complain about.

y’all selling tv’s in this place? what if i want to talk with these gentlemen?

i looked around.

apparently he was talking about us.

the barbers didnt say anything. i laughed. the old man demanded a remote so as to turn down the televised hip hop. nobody went for one. B.E.T’s “rap city” was on. beyonce was dancing around in lingerie.

i got a hammer in my ride if you cant find your clicker, the old man said. not moving from the point.

the tv was turned down and we were able to conversate.

the fellas didnt know the old man was my partner.

a seven twenty rapid barrelled past the barber shop. a blur of red.

twenty minutes later my head was fully shorn and i was being asked to pay $20. i slipped my man two twenties because the info was good.

the ninety degree sunshine hit my bald pate and i walked down the dirty boulevard like i owned the place.

cuz i did.

kitty bukkake + tsar plays one week from today at the el rey + amy

one of the best parts of this heat wave

is that everyone is bringing their pets out: cats, dogs, hiyenas, baboons.

my apartment has no a/c and no heater. its pretty typical in hollywood. it only gets hot enough for a fan maybe 10-12 days a year, and only cold enough for a space heater for about a month. some would call the weather here ideal, which might explain why so many people move here and never leave.

its so nice i want to get a haircut during lunch. im getting fat. i need to do other things at lunch than eat. i need to get into the gym. i need to read the bible more. i need to clean out my closets. i need new sheets,

i need to decide if i will stop allowing people to post comments on this thing without leaving behind a valid email address or homepage url. people shouldnt be allowed to lie in the comments without having to put themselves on the line at least a little bit. im fucking right here. tony pierce. thats my name dont wear it out. the least someone could do, especially if they want to hate the player and the game, is put their own name on their bullshit.

i need to start calling people back more. kitty bukkake is right. i will post her phone message but not return her call. thats punkass shit. im ashamed.

i need to get this internet radio show going. i have an idea for two shows. one being the busblog talk show the other being Devil Radio where i play quote unquote devil music. the kids today are soft because theres not enough satan in their music.

checked out the britney spears concert from miami last night on showtime. the bitch just doesnt sing. she sang one song at the piano but then FAKED PLAYING THE PIANO! then on the second verse grabbed the mic, walked away from the piano and there was no difference in the music. plus she dressed like a ho half the time and come on britney half your audience were in highschool and junior high. wheres the outrage? satan loves little hos how lie to their fans by pretending that theyre singing which is why i will play a britney song a show on devil radio.

the devil also loves monopolies like Ticketmaster. right now i could get two tickets to see Madonna play at the Forum. these arent great seats. theyre good, but not great. 20th row, not floor, but Loge. $300 each. how does tickemaster figure that they can charge $22.50 “convience charge” for each ticket?

its the same ticket that they print out for a $30 face value ticket where they ding us for $8.50 “convience” fee. if i was john kerry the first agency that i would investigate would be the fcc and the first business i would shut down would be ticketmaster cuz its one thing for madonna to say fuck you pay me, but its an entirely another thing for ticketmaster to be able to get away with a real monopoly in 2004.

makes me want to buy every pearl jam record or let lose the baboons through the offices of ticketmaster which reside across the street from tower sunset in a black shiney devil dwelling of hate where you can bet this blogger will be near during the next la riot.

the unsomnambulist + w-uh + who is heidi

i guess everyone is bound to make a mistake or two.

but a million dollar mistake? i wonder how many of those ive made over the years. i suppose not buying amazon stock back in the day… or buying ebay stock.

its hard going through life pretending not to give a shit about money and then being even slightly depressed about stocks during a beautiful sunday afternoon when the santa anas are blowing their hot winds through this valley like during a drunken grab ass.

her name was chica. she was a showgirl. wild flowers in her hair. little beemer over there. tapped on my door in the middle of the night last night and i was startled because i thought it was super late but it wasnt it was only 930p but i had fallen asleep after the east coast showing of the sopranos. she wanted to know why i hadnt called her back after our last date and i have a hard time not telling the absolute truth on sundays and i said it was cuz i didnt think she liked me and she was all i like you and i was all why didnt you put out and she said that she wanted to that she didnt think that i wanted it and i was all guys always want it and she said girls always want it too.

but i didnt want it. i wanted to turn back time and sign those option grants and pay my $500 and get my 45k shares so i could have a house and a car and all the troubles that come from having to answer the phones when people called asking for money and i wanted to be able to say where were you when i was working for the xbi giving all those bags of ill begotten cash to the poor. where were you when i was riding the bus in the middle of the night to get to miss montreals birthday party and you look in the bus and theres one two three four five homeless people sleeping and each one has a huge hefty bag of their shit in the seat next to them.

and one of the dudes walks up to the busdriver as hes booking down wilshire at midnight and he said youre cool man i like you and the driver says thanks. and the dude tries to sell him sunglasses because he reportedly has one dollar to his name and the driver says oh its ok, im good. and the guy goes no try it on. and it couldnt be more midnighty dark. and the driver could have easily pointed to the sign that says any unnecessary conversations with the operator is prohibited. but instead he just goes, no thanks, i dont have any money and i wanted to say driver carries no cash.

and a little voice says your reward is in the kingdom of heaven give to george washington whats george washingtons give to andrew jackson whats andrew jackson and give to ben franklin whats ben franklins.

and a littler voice a more annoying one says a hundred grand would buy you that burrito hut in isla vista and there will be a girl in a bikini top out there from noon to six next to the keg and she will pour out buck cups and that will be your big attraction, the senior vista bikini buck beer girl and i look at chica and wonder if she even knows who shes trying to make out with and i ask her what records shes been listening to lately and she says bright eyes and im all hmmm thats a toss up and i say who else and she says john mayer and i walk her to that beemer and i vow never to see her again and convince myself that i wont miss her. and its that sort of logic that keeps me broke ugly and single.

jessica + smile at me + whats your damage