you can yell you can chat you can joke you can rap but you cant say

never mind the man behind the curtain

you can swear that nothing in here is true but if you even allude to being blue people will automatically feel sorry for you

and sometimes you just wanna tell the story and sometimes the story isnt a happy one

even if it ends happy even if it starts happy even if the people are good and the truth is told and the jelly rolls.

sometimes you wanna whisper something really scary but sometimes if you whisper its heard super loud and clear

sometimes you dont wanna be so clear which is why you wanna whisper

sometimes you wanna just say what you wanna say to some one and just have someone hear it

blogging and writing and talking is a lot like bird calls to me

sometimes youre not saying i wanna get laid

sometimes youre not saying hey look out for the crow hiding in the palm tree

sometimes youre not saying you guys got any acorns stashed away

sometimes you just wanna say can anyone hear me.

i went from super high to super low in a matter of minutes today

i drove around just driving in circles like a slowmotion cop chase minus the copters minus the spectator and minus the cop cars

ended up at one of those buck chinese places that are scary to some but i know im gonna die so i may as well have some green bean chicken kung pao pork and double flied lice to go

and she said four twenty

i was at the sunset and highland chinatown express where its cash only and i dipped into my wallet and noticed i had nothing but a guitar pick from inland invasion in there and i said excuse me but do you have an atm and she walked me out the door and pointed at the big red sign a few storefronts down and its flashing atm sign.

cruised down there and went inside and it was i shit you not a massage parlor

now tony pierce has been down before but not this far down in a long time and i went inside and asked where the atm was and it was in the foot massage area that smelled real nice and you could see all the doors and curtains and

they had a little indoor waterfall and pleasant music

and it wasnt like i had anything to go home to

except you

and believe it or not but ive got a few bucks socked away for a rainy day and it sure as shit rained today and i overheard this one dude asking how much a massage was

and i heard the lady say something but i couldnt make it out

and i heard him say well how much for a half hour and she said twenty five

and i was thinking shit i got twenty five and i might even have an extra twenty for the happy ending that i keep hearing about

and if ever there was a time, cubfans, that this little blogger could use either a deep deep massage to make everything better

or just the hands of a nice woman on his back and front and lord knows where

it was tonight.

but even at my lowest point im a good boy and in hollywood even the chinatown express isnt on the up n up sitting there all innocent n shit across from the carls jr jr

kitty korner from the abandonded mcdonalds that had no reason whatsoever to close down but closed down anyway

shadyness all over that shit allover everything

and sometimes you wanna whisper

and sometimes you just wanna drive all night with cypress hills black sunday on repeat

down sunset

on automatic

without a joy in the world.

phil donahue destroys o’reilly + sexoteric + hey bloggers, you can see Serenity for free!

people have asked me, whats up with this twenty minutes with tony bs? and i say the truth which is, even if you only have seven minutes before you have to pop into the shower and go to work you can post something on your blog.

therefore all of you socalled writers and artists and bloggers and commentors have no excuse not to update your blog everyday.

twice a day if you know whats good for you.

for example, how good was Lost yesterday? damn. i was listening to howard stern yesterday and that big lipped smelly gummed bababooey said that he had read on the web that we werent going to find out what was in the hatch until the third episode. ha to the ha dumbass flaflaflooey!

btw thats exactly what my apartment looks like minus the vinyl. records are for nerds.

anyways as you know im an amateur art historian which is why i present to you the picture to the left that has just been discovered by someone or another.

many believe that this is a divinci of mary magdelan.

i say bs.

i say no way jose.

i say not only did divinci have a little more subtlety in his work but look at how rotten those hands are

plus the nips are all cockeyed and shit.

yes i know that boobies arent always aligned, but we’re talking one of the Messiahs best friends. da vinci wouldnta pulled that shit way back then i dont care what her rep was in the street.

so yes, the busblog appreciates the fake but must deem it a fake and if this was antiques roadshow i would value it at

$75.

bam.

in other news dusty baker should be traded to the giants for barry bonds. yes i dont like barry but the mfer is back and the cubs need another left handed bat and i dont know what he and roger clemens are taking or what underground lair theyre working out in but dusty isnt the manager that the world thinks he is

in fact hes not even the best manager in chicago

and if theres one thing that this cub fan cannot stand its when the cubs arent the best team in chitown.

i dont mind if they lose, but they cant get less wins than the sox.

so yes, trade dusty back where he belongs, to the wine drinking, streetcar rdiding crooked streets of frisco where he can chew his toothpicks in the cold of pac bell park or whatever they call that place.

and yes, bring us steroids boy because that fucker can hit i dont care what sort of ass he is.

i need a bat in my lineup and i dont care who you replace dusty with, the a’s have proven that you can win 90 games with anyone at the helm.

and everyone has ten minutes to blog.

evil china girl + the pants + farmer in the deli + vivian

today, i turned you on to raymi.

have you thanked me yet?

jk. but not really.

heres the difference between raymi and a lot of the camgirls or cutesy chicks who show their ta-tas on the interweb:

shes actually trying to show you her heart.

the young boys get distracted and are all b00bies bo0biez which suprises me because a 17 year old boy, lets say, living in north amerikkka in the fourth quarter of 2005 with a halfway decent connection to the internet should have seen more titties by now than all the titties in all the issues of penthouse hustler and playboy combined.

and not just pornstar titties or model titties but celeb titties. todays high school senior has seen so many titties that he should at this point even be discerning in his pr0n to the exent that when he saw tara reids tas that he should have immediately said Yay, of course, but then Ewwww, which isnt to say that he wouldnt have fully examined the entirety of it, for we as men are boobie scientists, especially during puberty, but after an hour should have moved on to either some nipslippage or your garden variety european beach topless tanning gallery of the rich and famous.

which means by the time they have gotten to raymis blog the titties should simply be part of the ambience. like how good mexican restaurants have really good chips. you dont go for the chips but damn theyre good as youre waiting for your fish taco platter and pitchers of cadillac margueritas.

raymi pours her soul out there for you. she tells it as it is. she walks the walk. she keeps it realer than real and i keep telling you to read her but you just scan for the nipples.

theres a reason your older brothers and sisters keep voting for bush cheeney, its because ignorance runs in the family. and your family has deep roots. milton wrote a tale a long time ago about adam, eve, and a fella named satan. he called it paradise lost because its about how adam and eve fucked up their paradise on earth but its also about how satan fucked up his paradise in Heaven.

in the old days satan was a high ranking angel. he was completely loved by the Lord, milton reminds us. but there was something strange about him, something a little off. for example satan was always seen looking down at the golden bricks that made up the sidewalks of Heaven. it totally blew his mind and he never got used to it.

because he wasnt truly a great fit for Heaven he couldnt really look up beyond the mundane of that place and see the beauty that was truly there.

when all you do at raymis site is skim for the titties youre pulling a satan in Heaven and not seeing the big picture.

and youre lost.

quit being a dumbfuck fratboy youngrepublican ambecrombie retread american.

be a fil.

and for all of you who asked after my podcast with busy if i will continue to interview celebs, may i remind you ive been interviewing superstars since the begining of time

i cant help it that the world just doesnt know them yet.

raymi’s blog + fil warning its sorta gross today + my interview with raymi in july

of “Love, Inc.”

You first saw her in “Freaks & Geeks”, then you saw her in “The Smokers”, then in “Dawson’s Creek” and last summer in “White Chicks”.

If you dont watch “Survivor” or “CSI” on Thursday nights, you should consider tuning into UPN. If you check out “Everyone Hates Chris”, stay tuned to watch Busy in “Love Inc.” which I can honestly say is a good old-fashioned sitcom. It’s witty, it’s funny, it’s quick and it’s packed full of hot babes.

This evening I was invited to Busy’s hollywood home to watch the season premiere on dvd two days before it makes it to your house… as she got ready to see Interpol at the Greek.

Afterwards we sat down and talked about her show and her career for a good half hour and she was candid, funny, and right on the money.

What I learned was the show was originally slotted to star Beverly Hills 90210 bad girl Shannon Doherty, but it tested poorly but UPN was committed to the show which was written and created Andrew Secunda who wrote on Late Night with Conan O’Brien. After a little bit of casting Busy was hired to star in the show.

By star, I mean star. It’s her show. Yes Holly Robinson-Peete is in it, as the owner of a dating service, but the series revolves around Busy’s character who is the main matchmaker.

After talking about the show we went quickly through her history as an actress including her role in the cult classic Freeks and Geeks.

I asked her if she was invited to Dawson’s co-star Katie Holmes’ upcoming wedding to whatshisname

And I asked her how much she cruises the web.

All in all it was a super good interview that went way fast and hopefully if things work out on the show she will invite me back because we could have easilly talked for much longer.

If you would like to hear the interview, just click here and you’ll enjoy the 22 minutes of love.

by the way, for all the Stern fans out there, i did ask her if she was interested in going on Howard’s show and she not only said yes but said she likes the show. so you gotta love her.

if any other tv stars want to be podcast, just have your people messenger over a reel… 🙂

busy on imdb + my odeo channel + have a sneak peek at the show

called me the best blogger ever.

some of you have heaped similar praise my way and it humbles me to no end. as the man said, its just an honor to be nominated.

any time anyone says something nice to me it makes me very happy, and sometimes someone will write me and say, “i see people kiss your ass every day, but i just had to say…” and perception is such a weird thing because yes i do get a lot of praise, but i forget about it almost immediately. you people have no idea how much weed ive smoked over the years, thus my memory is painfully short, especially in regards to compliments.

anyways, all the nice things you guys say stokes me and encourages me, but when someone like doc, who is partially responsible for the famous cluetrain manifesto, says something like what he did today you can better believe i will remember it.

he also linked to something that i included in How To Blog which i will repost today because my carpal tunnel is killing me, but i think i should preface it with this:

the post in question was written about two years ago. it was written to two fellows who were fans of the busblog who were bummed out that i hadnt included them in my blogroll on the left. i hadnt done it for a few reasons the first, and most important, being that i had forgotten, but then, as i recall, they tried to be toughguys and call raymi some disparaging names. as you know i adore raymi – as a blogger, an artist, and as a person – so you wont get me to do you any favors if you insult my idols.

at some point they tried to attack me thru a blog post.

below was my rebutal.

(and thanks for all the nice birthday wishes you gave my mom. i hope she reads that post today.)

from the busblog 12/7/02

the only thing i like better than a good bank robbery is a blonde bj with a redhead working the balls.

hi, im tony pierce and i can kick your ass in so many ways, kids, that you better watch it cuz i will. for fun.

and for profit.

right now miss newport beach 2004 is speeding north up the long beach freeway in her miata to my cranky ass, this after spending much of the day with miss redondo 2001. is the fact that i get that sort of attention make me an asshole? no. being alive is what makes me an asshole. live a little and it’ll happen to you too.

yes, i have for some reason left ward entertainment off my list of links to the left. blow me. im 109. this is a blog. get a life. i have carpal tunnel, but i can, with a little help uncurl my middle finger, raise it high and shove it right through your acid washed gap baggies. and dont think i wont.

you call me a celebrity blogger? what the fuck is that. you call me the blogfather? then have some respect. how about an email? how about a comment? how about chilling out for a fucking second, dillweed. you’ll get yours.

its a link.

and you wish you flowed me 120 hits a day.

you know who gets me 120 hits a day? not you. not the real blogfather the instapundit. “anna kournikova nude” gets me 120 hits a day so step off bitch.

to me blogging is a variety of things. first you must know how to write. best thing about writing is that the more you do it the better you get and unlike beating off, writing well is something that you can parlay into sex drugs money power. so practice.

when youre done practicing read the good book. when youre done reading do curls, pushups, sit ups.

one day you might find yourself in the curious position of being requested to lift a young lady up in a corner of a suite in a swanky sunset blvd hotel far above the madding crowds and let me tell you the goal isnt to get there, it’s to stay there. the correct response is please dont leave me here alone tonight. call in sick tomorrow and drink mimosas with me by the pool.

fuck links on a blog, fellows.

so thats writing. the part that hollywood has all but given up on. the part that television couldnt care less about. the part that mr. miyagi would have considered both the wax on and the wax off of life. work at it work at it work at it.

writing isnt bitching. writing isnt whining. not one man has gotten doubleteamed by brazillian gogo girls because he was a whiner. want proof? who’s the biggest whiner of all? thats right, drudge. and ask yourself, what sort of pussy does matt drudge have walking around his studio apartment clonking around his hardwood floors while he’s trying to type his little bullshit?

zero, people.

zero.

there will never be a “cribs” crew rolling up to drudge’s pad asking him to open his fridge to see if he’s got gold bottles of bubbly and a stripper pole in his boom boom room.

whiners wouldnt know the first fucking thing about a boom boom room, so dry your tears and remove the back of your hand from your forehead.

writing is comedy poetry and a freestyle bootycall that dips through drama and ends in a flourish of philiosphy. spread your wings and fly and make sure theres a begining middle and end.

easiest way to piss off a hack: bring up his endings.

and lie people.

the asshole who told you that your lives are interesting shouldnt be trusted. i lied in nearly every keystroke of this masterpiece.

even kids know that a good art heist beats a bank robbery any day under the sun.

lie when you write.

your boy drudge does.

then theres design. i like ward entertainment’s design. i like riley dog’s and illuminent’s and i super love my long lost girlfriend whateverhername is from youfuckedupmylife.net

love love love her design.

love. and i haint linked her sweet ass yet either, so back the fuck up, boys.

if i truly had interns instead of little teases who say they want to intern but dont, they’d do the upkeep on the day-to-day. im trying to lead by example, so dont make me make examples of you.

my advice?

think youre young and original?

get out before…

who’s that baldie on the sxsw page today? + the brownie merch has raised over $250 for the red cross, thanks y’all!

happy birthday!

i first met my mother a long time ago. im not sure what she expected but she got me and you know she didnt predict this, but for a mild mannered southern belle from fort valley georgia, she didnt freak out as much as you’d think.

i was wild as a kid. the doctors called me hyper, but my grandparents called me a kid. my mom was very patient with me and quite smart. she was one of the first computer programmers ever. and definately one of the first black female computer programmers ever.

so when the doctors called me hyper she said, but my boy can sit still and do a whole jigsaw puzzle, and the doctors said, oh, really? because of that, they were unable to prescribe the ritalin or whatever they were going drug me with and we went on our way.

my mom raised not only me, alone, but my sister as well, who is also crazy. needless to say my mother was never bored. she worked long long hours at motorolas headquarters in schaumburg illinois and sometimes i think it was because she didnt want to come home to the madhouse that i was responsible for. but when she did come home it was always with love in her heart and mcdonalds in the car and loving questions about school or homework or basketball scores or the like.

i could never have asked for a better mom.

her mother was a librarian at the state college in georgia. during holidays we would go down there and we’d always end up at the library and i am sure that my love of books and writing is directly influenced by my razor sharp grandmother who read two newspapers before 9am and was working on one of her novels before breakfast was done.

my mother worked on computers all day and paid for my first computer, the apple IIc. i will never forget what she did for my sister and i. i will never forget how difficult it must have been to be a working single mother in a town of so few Blacks.

one day a “friend” of mine fell on the playground and lied to his father and said that his black eye was the result of me punching him. the father came to our door with his son and told my mother that he was informing us that he was going to beat his son because no son of his was going to be beaten up by a nigger.

instead of freaking out my mom sat me down and said that she knew that i didnt beat that boy up, but that race is a difficult thing for people to deal with, and some people are just plain crazy, but that we needed to be patient cuz the world would catch up with reason soon enough.

im still waiting on that one, ma.

my mom always threw big birthday parties for us, she gave presents to all the attendees, she drove us to practices and games and rehearsals and recitals, boy scout crap, girl scout crap, science fairs, parades, amusement parks, field trips, she hosted our sleepovers. she went to parent-teacher conferences, she drove us to the airport and back, she took us clothes shopping for school supplies in the fall, she did it all, and i dont remember her complaining and i dont remember overhearing her ever saying that it was too much of a burden.

there was never anything that i wanted that i wasnt given. ever. and we were not by any means a wealthy family. i have no idea how she did it. she was always there. was there when i went through college. is there now for my sister and my neice and nephew and my brother in law. was there for our dying relatives. is there for our friends of our family. she is rock solid.

one of the finest moments was when my mother took me to my first real rock concert. AC/DC Back in Black tour. i was but a wee lad. she had given my sister the album that christmas and here it was nine months later and somehow i scored 1 ticket in the 12th row. one ticket because none of my friends’ parents would allow them to go to the show. but my mom not only drove me (about an hour away), dropped me off early, and drove home, but after it was over i called from a payphone and she drove back to the arena to pick my little ass up.

not only would most mothers not allow their kids to see devil music (hells bells opened the show and i nearly peed my toughskins), particularily Alone, but how many would make two trips to ensure a safe ride?

when i became of age to drive she tightened the reigns a tad because in her words, “the roads are filled with drunk drivers”, but i was still allowed to drive into Chicago to see the cubs pretty much any time i had saved up enough allowance money to pay for it.

over the years she bought me a few saxamaphones, guitars, drums, lessons of all sorts, sports uniforms, bikes, games, books, junk food of all sorts, anything.

i cannot imagine a better childhood. i cannot think of anything i could have wanted more than the ability to be myself, and free, and trusted, and loved.

my mom did all those things for me and she continues to.

the only thing that she asked in return was that i be a good reflection of her.

and if it werent for the swear words in this blog im doing my best, although i know i fail pretty much every day. although when i quit weed im sure that made her happy.

i love you mom im sure you loved the bears game on sunday!

happy birthday!

ashley moved back to vegas + greg vaine + welch + christie

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mike royko was the greatest newspaper columnist ever. even he would probably agree.

he was a no-nonsense toughguy who took on the biggest toughguys in chicago, namely the mayor, the cops, ditka, and the owners of the cubs.

he first started writing for real at the Chicago Daily News writing obits. Quickly they moved him to covering politics and folk music as a columnist. When the Daily News went out of business he wrote for the Chicago Sun-Times.

As a Cubs fan I made a point out of not buying the Sun-Times, which was widely regarded as the Sox paper. But in my school they had both the Trib and the Sun-Times in the library and I snuck a peek at what Royko had to say from time to time. Ok, every day. And I wasnt alone. Many Cubs fans snuck glances at his super funny takes on Chicago politics and everyday life.

When Rupert Murdoch bought the Sun-Times Royko quit and moved over to the Tribune.

“No self-respecting fish would be wrapped in a Murdoch paper,” Royko said, and the fish pretty much agreed.

Remember the story of Valerie Plame, the CIA agent who was outted by Rove and newspaperman Robert Novak? Novak is a Sun-Times columnist and has been for years. When Novak dies, he’s got an ass-kicking or two coming to him and I would bet money that the Good Lord will let Royko near the front of the line.

But I digress.

in his 40 year career Mike Royko wrote over 7,000 columns. Right up to the end of his life when he suffered from a brain annyerism, he continued to be biting, critical, and funny. For example, when he made a list of his favorite Westerns someone asked him about his pick of The Magnificent Seven, asking him if he felt weird that one of his faves was actually a remake of a Japanese classic.

Royko replied, “if the Japanese producer had a choice, he would surely have made a western rather than a movie in which the heroes were stumpy, bowlegged guys who wore bathrobes and couldn’t speak English.”

Out of context some of that might appear racist in this PC world, but that sort of crude, street, common language, delivered in an intentionally ignorant manner was part of Royko’s charm. And trust me, he wasnt any easier on the… lets say… plump mayor of Chicago.

Or the cops. In fact late in his life Royko was arrested for drunk driving and resisiting arrest. In the police report the officers wrote down at least a half-dozen ways that Royko insulted them, many times questioning their heterosexuality.

Maybe its a Chicago thing, maybe its a big-city thing, but to me it’s classic.

As I’ve said several times here, there have been a few major influences in my life that are mirrored in this blog. Mike Royko’s hard-hitting tell-it-like-it-is style is all up in this piece. He was afraid of no-one no matter how big they were or how much clout they carried. And ultimately he was the champion for the common folk, and the Cub fans.

And for that he will be loved forever.

here is a column he wrote the day Jackie Robinson died.

Jackie’s Debut a Unique Day

All that Saturday, the wise men of the neighborhood, who sat in chairs on the sidewalk outside the tavern, had talked about what it would do to baseball.

I hung around and listened because baseball was about the most important thing in the world, and if anything was going to ruin it, I was worried.

Most of the things they said, I didn’t understand, although it all sounded terrible. But could one man bring such ruin?

They said he could and would. And the next day he was going to be in Wrigley Field for the first time, on the same diamond as Hack, Nicholson, Cavarretta, Schmitz, Pafko, and all my other idols.

I had to see Jackie Robinson, the man who was going to somehow wreck everything. So the next day, another kid and I started walking to the ballpark early.

We always walked to save the streetcar fare. It was five or six miles, but I felt about baseball the way Abe Lincoln felt about education.

Usually, we could get there just at noon, find a seat in the grandstand, and watch some batting practice. But not that Sunday, May 18, 1947.

By noon, Wrigley Field was almost filled. The crowd outside spilled off the sidewalk and into the streets. Scalpers were asking top dollar for box seats and getting it.

I had never seen anything like it. Not just the size, although it was a new record, more than 47,000. But this was twenty-five years ago, and in 1947 few blacks were seen in the Loop, much less up on the white North Side at a Cub game.

That day, they came by the thousands, pouring off the northbound Ls and out of their cars.

They didn’t wear baseball-game clothes. They had on church clothes and funeral clothes·suits, white shirts, ties, gleaming shoes, and straw hats. I’ve never seen so many straw hats.

As big as it was, the crowd was orderly. Almost unnaturally so. People didn’t jostle each other.

The whites tried to look as if nothing unusual was happening, while the blacks tried to look casual and dignified. So everybody looked slightly ill at ease.

For most, it was probably the first time they had been that close to each other in such great numbers.

We managed to get in, scramble up a ramp, and find a place to stand behind the last row of grandstand seats. Then they shut the gates. No place remained to stand.

Robinson came up in the first inning. I remember the sound. It wasn’t the shrill, teenage cry you now hear, or an excited gut roar. They applauded, long, rolling applause. A tall, middle-aged black man stood next to me, a smile of almost painful joy on his face, beating his palms together so hard they must have hurt.

When Robinson stepped into the batter’s box, it was as if someone had flicked a switch. The place went silent.

He swung at the first pitch and they erupted as if he had knocked it over the wall. But it was only a high foul that dropped into the box seats. I remember thinking it was strange that a foul could make that many people happy. When he struck out, the low moan was genuine.

I’ve forgotten most of the details of the game, other than that the Dodgers won and Robinson didn’t get a hit or do anything special, although he was cheered on every swing and every routine play.

But two things happened I’ll never forget. Robinson played first, and early in the game a Cub star hit a grounder and it was a close play.

Just before the Cub reached first, he swerved to his left. And as he got to the bag, he seemed to slam his foot down hard at Robinson’s foot.

It was obvious to everyone that he was trying to run into him or spike him. Robinson took the throw and got clear at the last instant.

I was shocked. That Cub, a hometown boy, was my biggest hero. It was not only an unheroic stunt, but it seemed a rude thing to do in front of people who would cheer for a foul ball. I didn’t understand why he had done it. It wasn’t at all big league.

I didn’t know that while the white fans were relatively polite, the Cubs and most other teams kept up a steady stream of racial abuse from the dugout. I thought that all they did down there was talk about how good Wheaties are.

Late in the game, Robinson was up again, and he hit another foul ball. This time it came into the stands low and fast, in our direction. Somebody in the seats grabbed for it, but it caromed off his hand and kept coming. There was a flurry of arms as the ball kept bouncing, and suddenly it was between me and my pal. We both grabbed. I had a baseball.

The two of us stood there examining it and chortling. A genuine major-league baseball that had actually been gripped and thrown by a Cub pitcher, hit by a Dodger batter. What a possession.

Then I heard the voice say: “Would you consider selling that?”

It was the black man who had applauded so fiercely.

I mumbled something. I didn’t want to sell it.

“I’ll give you ten dollars for it,” he said.

Ten dollars. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what ten dollars could buy because I’d never had that much money. But I knew that a lot of men in the neighborhood considered sixty dollars a week to be good pay.

I handed it to him, and he paid me with ten $1 bills.

When I left the ball park, with that much money in my pocket, I was sure that Jackie Robinson wasn’t bad for the game.

Since then, I’ve regretted a few times that I didn’t keep the ball. Or that I hadn’t given it to him free. I didn’t know, then, how hard he probably had to work for that ten dollars.

But Tuesday I was glad I had sold it to him. And if that man is still around, and has that baseball, I’m sure he thinks it was worth every cent.

rokyo collection donated to library – nothing from former mayor + some classic columns + a nice piece by salon on royko + royko on daley

and i still havent written my 600 words for the weekly. i never procrastinate. i always knock that shit out.

its not due till tomorrow afternoon but some of us work and i will have no time to do it there so all i gotta do is squeeze all of what i wrote down there into six hundred words which is why i thank the Lord above that he whispered in my ear to major in poetry cuz a poet can make anything short.

im also procrastinating cuz theres a lot on my mind. im mad at the world. im mad at my landlord im mad at my neighbors im mad at the people on the freeway which is why i dont take the freeway any more.

im mad at the cubs im mad at the raiders im mad at rodney on the roq im mad at my xgf for picking whiteboys over me time after time.

i think theres nothing that fool has over me. he has one thing, hes got a motorcycle. thats it. i could have a motorcycle. anyone could. black man could have two motorcylces, it wouldnt matter. we’d have to have three.

letter have her whiteboys my good angel says. its like how this country votes republican. they do it because they feel like theyre almost supposed to but when its over they always feel so fucking gross and they run around thinking that it was them who did something wrong, not the whiteboy. bitch it was both of you! stop it.

i went to the show yesterday with a very sweet girl. twenty years old. why are all the sweet girls nineteen and twenty years old. i was all are you hungry she was all i never get hungry. i was like want something to drink and she was all i never get thirsty. i got her food and drink anyways. licorice and water is all shed accept. she took the licorice and made a straw out of it and sucked up the water and you tell me, why should i hang out with anyone older than twentyone after that shit.

six hundred words. i can do six hundred words standing on my head. the problem is i really wanted spending today on the final edit of stiff. i wanted to add a few more poems and throw in two newspaper columns from the nexus cuz the poems were written around the same time. this book is never coming out. i hope you know that.

i dont know if i ever told you but i saw the 50 cent movie the other day. it wont come out for a little while but when it does it’ll win an academy award. thats how good it is. but im not supposed to talk about it.

one of my favorite bands from the isla vista days, the sean white band, put their stuff online and i downloaded some of it and its great. thanks jamie.

have i procrastinated enough? its so silly cuz ususally the only time i procrastinate writing something is when i either a)dont know how to start it or b)have waaay too much to say.

i totally know how im gonna start it, im going to say that someone put something in rivers’ juice box and he went nuts on stage thinking he was angus young.

and i dont have waaay too much to say. i just have too much time to say it.

once a week you should learn something about me.

since this is technically the begining of the week, here goes: i dont beat off on sundays. i try to keep the sabbath holy. for some reason i dont think looking at porn and beating off is very holy. well, at least not the porn that comes into this house.

clinton finally shows a pair + hackoff.com, a blook + a blook from kids – too adorable