and it looked a lot like this.

bungling, fumbling, desperation and finally resignation.

you end up feeling sorry for the guy.

and at times you even feel pity.

for at times, it really is pitiful.

this evening we saw a little boy who wanted to go home.

who doesnt like wearing a suit, doesnt like the press, doesnt like the mess he’s created, and doesn’t want to play this stupid charade any more.

he was always better at playing cowboys.

he always felt more comfortable in jeans clutching a cold frosty one.

not everyone was cut out to do the things that they become famous for.

i watched this press conference and i saw the youth of the president. to me he still seems like a very youthful man.

he seems capable of learning, but its impossible to tell if he has any serious convictions himself or if the entire night he’ll be telling his buddy cooter that he told him he could get away with saying turkey farm twice and not crack up.

and then there were the sad moments. the times when you literally saw a president try to think

and fail at it.

i can think of 10 things i did wrong in the last ten hours, george w bush couldnt think of one mistake he’d made since 9/11/01

and he hoped the answer was on the chandelier above the press corp and he looked

and it was exactly like the final round of a heavyweight fight

no one has enough energy to even swing

whats the use

everyone waiting for the bell

or a towel to be thrown in

or the lights to go out

or anything

tonight i saw living nothing

and it made me feel badly for the gentleman.

bunny mcintosh + trevor + moxie

i want to open a burrito shop. i want to have twins for girlfriends. i want a house in malibu and one in the hills. i want this day to end. i want to be able to type without people interrupting me. i want to be able to go home and do some of the design-y stuff that i used to be able to do. i want to have the energy i had when i was 20 and i would dance around my apartment listening to new music.

i want to be able to call my tivo from chopper one. i want solomon to make my home wireless. i want to be understood everytime i open my heart or my mouth or my blogger browser screen. i want every girl i meet who i fall in lust with to fall in lust with me sevenfold.

i want to be able to take a check and go to a credit union and be able to open a savings account in less than 30 minutes. less than 20 minutes. less than 15 minutes.

i want to be tall enough that i could get away with only hitting 50% from the line. i want 15 boards a game. i want a hook shot that you tick tock cant stop.

i want a dog and a dog walker. i want a maid that speaks even poquito englais. i want a dance partner who will look me in my face (and not down my shirt) i want to type all night till it hurts. i want to be able to have barely legal asian girls come over and be prepared enough to have at least a half keg on tap cold chillin like jakob dylan. i want ticketmaster to be something my children will have to ask me about like vhs, records, and republican presidents not named lincoln.

have i asked for this work day to be over. i want my true love to know that i might ask her hand in marriage every time we converse but 90 percent of the time its just cuz ive got nothing else to say. okay maybe eighty.

i want this sky and this sun and this air to stay the same for the rest of eternity cuz its perfect but im in this ivory tower and i have no hair to let down in which to escape.

i want everyone responsible for the 9/11 to eat it. rummy condi bushie for starters. not because they protect the rich but because theyd have been the first to bitch if gore had been where he shoulda been, which is large and in charge.

i want a large pizza. i want a large meatball. i want a large four wheel overdrive motor car. i want my camera to work again. i want to open its mouth clear a path and blow life back into it. i want a tire swing and a rope and a tree.

i want to have a sign and a chair and set it on the corner of hollywood and highland, i want the sign to say let me take your picture, $2, you might get into the best photography book about hollywood ever.

and i want a little sign that says, produced by a blogger

and an even smaller sign that says no more questions, either sign your name and print it and say cheese after you hand over the money, or keep walking.

i want to do it without talking.

whats his face said that the root of pain is want.

but my face says that the definition of being dead is to want nothing, so suck it, camus, nobody ever dresses up as you.

intricate plot + jason g + <3 kimmy <3

first they used sex to win the first few challenges in the hit tv show. then they were advised to use their brains instead of their sexuality and they lost a few challenges.

then they were mixed up with the men and they were pissed off when some of the men used them to be hot but left them out of the desicion-making.

and now that we’re a few days away from the final, theyre no where to be seen.

fired from the show.

as most of them shoulda been.

and so now theres a report that says that the ladies were offered $250k each to pose nude for playboy magazine and not only did they decline, but they instead posed in lingerie (pictured) for that icon of taste FHM.

their compensation: $0.

didnt their time with trump teach them anything?

obviously i am a man with an open mind. and if i was given a choice between hiring a woman who posed nude with a woman who posed in lingerie, i wouldnt think lessor of the woman who posed nude.

but apparently the women of the apprentice think differently.

yes there is a difference between being nude and wearing trashy lingerie.

to me there isnt much difference.

to the irs the difference is a quarter mil.

now i thought these women were interested in being entrepreneurs. dont they think $250,000 of seed money would be beneficial to them? more beneficial than the “exposure” that they will get off this laddy mag?

perhaps one reason i have an open mind is because i have an extremely short memory.

ive seen playboys “women of starbucks” ive seen playboy’s “women of wal*mart”, ive seen the girls of the pac-10, big-10, and i even got my playboy autographed by two ucsb gaucho women who posed during the “women of the big west”: and if you put any of those beautiful ladies in a line-up i wouldnt be able to tell you their names their colleges or their professions.

why do women think that posing for mr hefners magazine will cause them so much negative feedback and they dont think that fhm maxim and stuff wont?

if i could, im sure trump would fire these batty broads again.

and im glad they lost to kwame and his bro from the windy.

kevyn malone + mc brown needs gmail + offline adventures

why dont you start up your own left wing pot smoking pre marital sex actually read the bible church?

a. at a thousand hits a day, i reach more people on this blog and i dont have to tolerate any crying babies when im trying to rock the mic.

lost my wallet today.

it was a hectic day at work. i didnt really have much time to write. i couldnt talk to the hippy girl as much as i woulda liked. i wasnt 100 per cent being that it was a monday and it was the cubs opener and i still couldnt believe that tiff and tboz suprised me on saturday with tales of eighteen and over clubs and fake ids and pearl necklaces.

got a lift over to the cuban girl’s headquarters on hollywood blvd and outside the kfc i discovered that i had lost my regular wallet which consealed my xbi wallet. one thing you dont lose is that.

plus jeanine had given me a money order for $500 that i hadnt cashed yet and the first question is what on earth is jeanine doing writing money orders for that big, but what am i doing not cashing them immediately.

the cuban paid for the breast and wing combo and we went to my house to root around my backpack a little more.

she took a nap and i woke her up her favorite way while listening to kayne west. yes, virginia, kayne is the man. thank you for turning me on to him, i listen every day and i love it.

then we went at it again.

i dont know if its cuz its still aries, the month of war, but shit that id usually blow off is hitting me in the wrong part of my sore spot and i …

fuckers saying that i comment on blogs just for the hits? fuck you.

fuckers saying fuck the busblog, that other blogs are more creative.

wheres their stories and poems and fullpage webshit and photo essays and side blogs and side zines and side novels and ebay scams and interviews with escalators

i see people talk shit about me and have the nerve to do it in my style even

and it makes me happy cuz when they do it theyre saying that im the man

and i’ll take it.

cuz not everyone has what it takes to say what stinson and others have said which is i might disagree with you sometimes (or most the time) but i like your style

but they should.

and one day one of you fuckers might point to someone who brings it day after day after day after day and thats when you can tell me to fuck off and take a seat

meanwhile quit pointing to will wheaton

and then i found my wallet next to the recycling box beside chopper one.

now ive gotta find my phone.

anti + vortexia + dehumidifier