i called in sick.

i haven’t called in sick in over a year. maybe a year and a half.

in many ways im a great employee. i respect my bosses, i am perpetually in a good mood, i don’t mind working overtime (for a price), im disgustingly loyal, im on time, i don’t take a parking space, i hardly ever expense anything, i bring in all my magazines for people to read, i get along with even the evil people, and i like baking treats for the passers-by.

and i never lie.

ive noticed in my 75 years in the work place that lying is a basic form of office communication. its like a language. people have ways to lie and make it not sound like a lie.

but the best is when they say things that don’t mean a fucking thing.

i actually do like when people can do that, cuz i suck at it.

so yeah, im sick. i do feel gross. if i have something i don’t want to give it to my coworkers because their jobs are vital. if i don’t really have something bad, i will be back in chopper one tomorrow.

and if the boss asks me how i feel i will say, i was shitting fire all day yesterday.

which is true.

you know you’re sick when your farts smell like old man farts.

you don’t have to be a doctor to know that your ass doesn’t lie, america. remember that.

when i was in grade school i had a teacher who taught us that laughter is the best medicine. he told us about a guy who had cancer and he got all these three stooges movies and played them over and over in his hospital room, and he laughed and laughed and he beat cancer.

so this morning i took a shower, drank a bunch of oj, called in, and pay-per-viewed Old School, which, yes, i had never seen before, and of course loved.

then i sex chatted this hot girl who i hope will wear a nurse’s outfit when she gets off work tonight to check in on me.

and then i turned opened my blogger pro window,

and then i said hi to all of you, the wonderfully anonymous readers of the busblog.

who i adore immensely.

and if my boss is reading this, i know that its 80 degrees here in hollywood with clear blue skies,

and the beach is a bus ride away

and if you have any friends who see me there

it was purely therapeutic

who i still love.

a lot.

ive known mary since i was either 14 or 15, i always forget.

she tells me about her life, and theyre not always the happiest stories, but she tells me and all i can hear is

i am still the hottest girl youve ever known

even though youve met them all.

she tells me about the losers she ends up with and the crazy job that she has and all i hear is

take me away from here, romeo

here.

her life couldnt be more different than mine.

her attitude couldnt be any better than mine.

she couldnt be cooler under pressure.

and she said the nicest thing about me.

and now i miss her so much.

in the matter of an hour we got deep into the bible, super deep into slander and HR, waaaaaaaaay deep into sex marriage kids life, we even delved into boxing.

i love that girl.

and if youre reading this, as soon as you divorce that son of a bitch im taking you on the hottest date youve been on since highschool.

so get a sitter.

love alwas,

tony

21mm + happy belated birthday xeni!

and the number 19555

stitched on it is telling people that there’s room to move back into the bus and she’s sitting in a seat and im thinking, ho, if you think there’s room back there then you go stand there.

there’s no room on the bus. she may have the mta sweater and dress shirt collar sticking out from under it but im the fucking busblog copy editor and what little room there is is there to keep us from rubbing our asses on each other as we bounce down wilshire and you might think that’s a good thing to be doing at seven thirty in the morning but look around, its not such a good thing to be doing at seven thirty in the morning.

i turn my back to her so that my ass is in her face.

gray haired sweater woman.

aol chatted with miss montreal last night.

me: why dont you like me any more.

her: i still like you, maybe more than ever.

me: why didn’t you kiss me last week then?

her: im still trying to figure that one out myself.

me: maybe you should go back to just sorta liking me then.

women.

none of them know how easily pleased i am. none of them know what i have to offer them.

if they want to go out with their friends and leave me behind, fine. if they want to sit and watch tv with me and hold hands, fine. if they want to parade around in finery and push the boundaries of slutty, fine.

i dont even care if they run around and date others.

and then if they want to come back to my place every night and hold me tight as we count sheep together with a window open and the white stripes on mellowly as summer comes and goes, you know what, that’s fine too.

life can be so easy if you want it to be.

the ladies think im not old and they’re so wrong, i am so old.

if all goes well im about to do something that’s going to take a lot of energy and a lot of effort and a lot of being 100% 100% of the time and all i want to do this month is watch tv and get molested and sample the wide varieties of rum that get sent to my po box.

i dont want to fight with any hotties. i dont want to worry about deadlines and commitments.

karisa did the coolest thing this weekend, she avoided any responsibilities that she might have out there, she threw her cell phone into the la brea tar pits, filled up her mustang with super and drove and didn’t come back till the very last minute.

one day i’ll get to do something like that, i hope.

and if its when im olde and gray and driving a motorhome then fine.

if its before that when im young and still have something to say, then fine.

if i can drive around and meet all of you and take pictures and take my time and spread good will then fine.

if i have to start a caravan of old men in motorhomes and have a cannonball run of senior citizens, then ok.

there are so many possibilities in this deck of cards its mindboggling. it makes me lose patience in people who get paid to say no all day. it makes me lose hope in those who dont think big all day. it makes me want to shine the light on the egyptians who kicked more ass in their day with nothing but slaves and clay than allen greenspan ever did with the federal reserve and that old man still isn’t behind a winnebago and you know why? because he’d drive it right off the road before making it to the end of the block.

i wanna rock right now.

i wanna rock right now.

my buddy saw tsar the last time they played and he’s cynical and takes his time making decisions and bought the cd after the show and yesterday told me that he is now a tsar fan and i said duh.

rene called me last night after work and we tell each other we love each other about every other minute and still all i wanted to do was write but her stories were so good, her life is so good. she is so good.

got off the bus, made sure to accidentally step on the toes of 19555 and saw that despite the up escalator dying half way up, and despite the fat women who stood there like it would automatically fix itself after two seconds, and despite the 20 Santa Monica dissing me at the stop, by the time i was 4 blocks from the xbi i went into the little tiny chinese deli and got a martinellis apple juice and a croissant and the man looked me in the eyes and told me to have a good day.

and thank you.

and you know what, i think he really meant it.

go out there and kick some ass, superheroes.

steph in south beach + wasted life + britcoal + Incendiary Introspection

i dont know why this time. now i know exactly what i want to write to the big time web site i want to write about how the red sox can win the world series.

usually the idea part is the hardest part to writing a column and on the busblog you dont even need an idea, you just need a feeling. something. anything. some sort of motion to get you in motion and as karisa has taught me, a body in motion stays in motion, and a mind full of shit stays full of shit.

karisa jim morrisoned into the desert this weekend as did bunnie as did clipper girls cousin and oddly they all went to different deserts.

meanwhile this super hot girl came over looking amazing, smelling clean, hair driving me crazy with sexiness and didnt move when i tried to kiss her until i got right up to her and she curled up like a potato bug

i retreated and she’d smile.

id attack again and shed defend herself.

claiming she couldnt spend the night.

looking at her watch, calling her hot girlfriends, pretending to be interested.

there is a little bit of mind reading necessary to dating and i suppose thats the reason im not interested in teaching the red sox how to win the world series, something they havent been able to do since 1918 ad.

because mind reading is more interesting to write about than breaking curses, making dreams come true, pulling the hearts out of the yankees and showing it to them before they die in a quivvering heap.

cute girls do get away with murder, but im so old, america, that i dont have very much patience for even the cute ones. especially in hollywood, where you cant flick a spent match without poking a supermodel in the eye with it.

i fall in love about every two blocks.

even on the bus theres your choice of all sorts of wonders.

so i dont know if this girl thinks im going to break her heart or if the world is about to go oops upside her head but all i know is i saw a lady in a wheelchair today on the subway, and i wondered what it was like for her to get prognosised with whatever got her into that wheelchair.

and when i day dream the whole story hits me fast and the details fill themselves in even faster. depth is created. nuances. dialogue. background details.

i thought about what it must have been like to get told that you couldnt walk any more and i thought of the things you couldnt do and the first thing i thought was i couldnt wrestle with the right girl in the right way in the right places on the best nights.

so this girl was sitting on my couch and im thinking tick tock baby this is fun but life goes so fast it makes you wonder if its a race but one thing it isnt is is a fakeout game of lets watch the grass grow.

it made me remember the games i had to deal with a long time ago that nobody won.

theres lots of games i like playing but peek a boo or even advanced peek a boo dont do it for me the way they used to.

i should be nice to her. nicer to her. im not the easiest person to eat pizza with.

and im still procrastinating.

so the sox will have to wait

another lousy day.

blue cad + aaron’s baseball blog + d.lo

but the ones that i keep going back to day after day week after week month after month are the blogs written by the ladies.

and this weekend i was trying to figure out why this was, and i think its because the best blogs that i like are the personal ones that have to do with stories and emotions and real life and nuttiness and i know youre not supposed to pick favorites but youre also not supposed to do a lot of things that i do.

and i think right now my favorite writer and favorite blog is the always entertaining and dangerous splink.

unlike Bunnie (who has been my favorite for a long time) who even in her weakest moments is totally together and in control and sexy and wonderful and adventerous, our girl flagrant always seems on edge and crazed and paranoid and yet Still seems sharp and smart and fascinating and surprising.

for example she is totally freaked out to roam around LA, her hometown, in the daytime, and yet she’ll fly off to Bali alone to combat bugs and strangers and foreign languages and SARS with no worries whatsoever other than getting her frequent flier miles.

i want to think that she writes her life in a more dramatic way than it is, but something about her tales are very believable, and it makes me super happy that she keeps on blogging it down and keeping herself out there.

some might look at what she writes as being crazy. you might even look at what she writes as being crazy. i dont think shes the slightest bit crazy. if anything i think shes awesome.

splink takes great pictures, has decent taste in music, is living a traveler’s dream, but most importantly she writes about her parnioas and complexes and issues in an educated and creative way.

people have said that they feel blessed that good bloggers dont charge for the entertainment that they provide, i feel blessed that we get this sort of stuff at all, because typically people who can provide the sort of blog that flagrant does are either too nuts to write it down properly, or too paranoid to keep it going or to keep it on the web.

like Bunnie, flagrant also has successfully remained anonymous, only photographing her shoes or a hand, or a shadow, which is a tough trick to keep up.

so i have imagined her as a blonde mandy moore (pictured).

regardless, she has proven that its the words and stories that matter, not the pictures of the author.

rock on valley girl.

when you seriously do dump your supermodel boyfriend and buy a house in santa barbara and look for a husband, all i can say is look no further.

a year ago i interviewed flagrant + her old blog + her new blog

i might be 209, but the day will come.

i might not be the shooting guard for the lakers but i will marry a nice girl and i can guarantee you one thing, i wont ever cheat on her.

i can guarantee you another thing, if i ever did, in a moment of weakness, cheat on my young bride, i would not buy her a $4 million ring.

a big gaudy ring that if i ever looked at i would remember the colorado teen who accused me of sexual crimes and her young ass that i tapped.

why would you want to remember that?

why would you want a glittery sparkely expensive albatross around your lover’s finger?

other than for resale value.

i bet you right now you could get $6 million for that $4 million ring.

maybe $8 million.

its the most famous $4 million ring ive ever seen. and the dumbest.

if i cheated on my hot wife and i wanted to make it up to her financially i would buy her a $4 million rose orchard and let her run the place.

id name the roses “kobes”. theyd be expenisive roses. like $100 a dozen.

for when you really love your girl.

or really

for when you royally f up.

on sad days my wife could stroll through her acres of roses and smell the lovliness that sin has ironically brought her way. and on happy days she could see the bottom line that the business venture has reaped her way.

imagine the dynamic that men and women could have in the future:

man: im so sorry baby.

woman: yeah, sorry you got CAUGHT.

man: no really baby, im so so sorry.

woman: i know you’re going to get me some kobes.

man: baby im gonna get you two dozen kobes.

woman: so you really ARE sorry, arent you?

man: oh yes i am. of course i am.

woman: oh i love you.

man: i love you too.

once again, the busblog helping mankind before lunchtime on a monday morning.

metropolio + bloopy + riley dog

big fancy website’s gonna print what i type soon and im taking my sweet old time like a fool.

im pretty sure i know what im gonna say and im pretty sure it will be funny but im pretty sure im not gonna write it tonight like i should.

instead im going to check out this hot chick who’s coming over any minute now.

i mean we’re going to watch a movie together.

the problem is so simple.

i dont think im ready for this jelly.

i dont think im ready for prime time.

im a not ready for prime time blogger.

i havent seen too many bad reviews about the busblog out there in the world and i am being asked to do this but still im a little nervous to break on through to the other side.

i know i have to do this though.

i know it will only help me though.

the hot chick is over. you would know this if you walked past because sex and the city is on. shes being a good sport.

we were supposed to watch moulin rouge but tivo deleted it prematurely.

c’est la vie.

shes not into the rum or the blunt or the beer or lots of me but for some reason things are working out right now.

she was miss montreal in 97.

i dont know what we’re going to do after this tv show is over.

i never know whats going on in this reality game show soap opera.

while showering i came across an idea that would probably fly, but why even bother.

a gen x soap opera called isla vista about a college beach town and all the cool kids who go there to live die and rock out steal bicycles experiment with kegs and burn couches every day on cbs.

there really should be a regular farm team for all the best young talent of hollywood to get discovered.

no ones saying it shouldnt be a soap opera where a rock band plays at the end of every episode.

i think the meat lovers pizza and diet pepsi have arrived.

bon appetit!

faith fools + moxie + get your oj

but i do have the guts to wake up a snoring cheerleader before the alarm sounds. infact im mighty courageous in the waterbed, and if theres one thing i can teach the world it’s whisper, be safe, and experiement.

even if it doesnt come out right i love writing in the mornings. every morning. any morning. mornings where i have to work in an hour or less, mornings when i am working. mornings when women blow the rest of what they have from theirs into my lungs on a sunday morning in southern califuckme again she whispers.

but im writing.

please.

the lilt in her lilt is adorable and my hairline might be retreating, and my tummy might be advancing but the libido still thinks we’re nineteen so i ask the beauty queen to give me ten minutes. i swear baby ten minutes.

its the morning but its the summer morning so i have to take my shirt off to write which she puts on and models infront of the mirror for herself. its a red flannel pajama top thats never been ironed after a million washes so its all fuct but on her and that nattygood long hair it looks spectacular as tanned long legs jut from underneath and disappear into the plush carpet

when did i get plush carpet?

nothing in this is true.

ah yes.

a little sore from grinding this morning with her before going to sleep again. she likes her panties when she sleeps. lots of girls do. daintiest things in the world and yet these very bright girls charmingly seem to consider them protection.

she kisses me on my bald spot and i say eight minutes bring me some cereal dear and she comes back with a tiny variety pack box of frosted flakes and i forget shes not my mom shes the polar opposite, she doesnt serve she receives and now she wants to receive every inch of my attention.

she says nice things about my attention. she says its perfect and i say it could be more perfect and she says yes it could be closer to me and i say seven minutes hot girl and she puts her hair up and poses and lets it down and acts coy and is hyper hyper hyper what has made you so hyper and she says lalalalalalust

shes a singer. not a pro. not even a fake. but she sings her words when shes happy and sings her words when she whines.

when will you coooooooome-herrrrrrrre she complained on the phone last night twirling her hair and stretching on her queen sized sounding like a boarding school girl and people have always asked me how i tolerate such things but im a fan of communication and shes just saying those three magic words i want you added with the best one of all

tony

inpatiently she flips through tivo as the sunlight’s revived in her highlights

she cant sit still and she cant stop making the tv beep and bop and bing

she cant stop flashing me her nothing.

everythings cute on her. i want to take pictures and show you but it doesnt photograph well.

and anyway everythings context

on some it looks dangerous and sexy on others adorable or evil

on her its cute. just enough attention paid. just enough motion made.

the best planned babe of men and lays.

brought her own condoms. flavored the way she likes em. and guess what will happen when a girl likes the taste of something dear gentlemen,

oh and there were other things in her magic bag which would have worried me once upon a time but what did i say in the opening.

play.

and later she will continue to lick my chest in her attempt to break my heart.

killermart + dresarii + scene fashion + sexiest blog of july