outside of portland in a starbucks

no i havent been kidnapped. anyone who knows me knows i hate starbucks, but i desperately needed to charge my computer and for some reason coffee shops dont mind if you hang out in their little corporate establishments and suck their electricity and bypass their pay-wifi for the Comfort Inn wifi across the street, so hi, my name is tony, im a blogger.

sipping some okay hot chocolate and listening to them pipe in the new stones cd. its ok. certainly the type of meloncholy day after Christmas on the road alone music that would make most people sob in their styrofoam but a shot of rum somehow made its way into my cup and watching the percentage of juice on this white notebook reach 35% only brings a bigger smile on my face.

two Oreogon state troopers have made it into the ‘bucks and i wonder if they get free joe? chocolate moca says one venti blahblahblah says the other. $3.35? theyre gonna charge these men? get out of here. are you insane? when i worked at mcdonalds you gave the coppers free whatever because you wanted them to sit around the place to protect it for free, and you also wanted them to come running if there was ever a report on their radio that the place that gives them free shit was being robbed.

but starfucks is corporate and this is why corporate rock still sucks. poor girl would probably get canned if the surveilance cam ever found out that she was giving the overpriced beanwater away.

i believe my good pal ken layne, his beautiful wife laura, and their pride n joy jesse dean are about 20 minutes away from here, and i believe that jack bog is probably even closer, but deep down im a ramblin man as hank sr so elequently sang, and if it wasnt for the fact that i get sleepy at night i would blow right through washington on my way to canada. so as i pass by, buddys i will give a friendly wave and pour out some bacardi onto the freeway for the brothas who arent with us.

i love traveling so much, and i love meeting people, and i love typing on this bad boy on my lap outside a best western and i love being run out by a motel owner in his overalls, but i really love sitting here in this foreign coffee shop as cute girls walk in with rolled up jeans and say hi to their friends behind the counter, but best of all i love typing on this table because the keys want to tell this tale and its a long one and a good one, one of gmail accounts filled to the brim with Christmas greetings and topless pictures of women who i dont know.

thank you women who i dont know.

you might be fakes, those pics might be of your friends or sisters, or xxx images you found on xxx sites and youre just pretending. some of you have held up my book(s) next to your most intimate of areas and you i truly love because… well… because you know me so well.

this afternoon i peed on a tree next to Duck Stadium and hopefully soon i will pee in Washington for the first time ever, the state where Kurdt lived, our 48th state, our forgotten province. yes its the home of bill gates and ichiro but its also the birthplace of jimi hendrix the true king of rock n roll.

42% says the number on the upper right, and now 43% i tried to call my momma last night to wish her a merry Christmas but her cell phone was turned off. then this morn she wrote me an email saying call back call back that she had just gotten to the phone a tad late and technology can be your friend but it can also be a jealous mistress, damn you phones that dont know that its tony pierce the third on the other line. damn you voice mail. damn you lack of esp for the commonfolk.

i got a lot of gifts yesterday, lots of candy, some pajamas, some games, but the best gift was being able to sit next to the fire with my best friend christina spurnikova under a blanket and whisper and laugh and tell each other that we’re the coolest kids on the planet and deny it but deep down know that no matter where she travels to next year, namely uganda, or where i travel to next year, namely every fucking place i possibly can, we will be in each others hearts and thoughts and fantasies when we wake up a tad ornery.

well, i admitted that part. and then we threw a dab of gasoline on the log and watched the flames roar and i kissed her cheek and she fell asleep on my shoulder and we woke up to the sounds of embers fizzing out and i carried her to her bed and i went to my bed and now we are apart, again, as usual, as is fate.

and this time when i come to vancity im gonna try some of that bc green shit. you betcha.

small island girl + ben allbright + susan + smelly

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