without todays birthday boy, mr oswald rosenkrantz the busblog wouldnt have ever existed.

and before the busblog there was tonypierce.com and before that there was allstar install.

and before that there was simply darkness

and light.

somewhere in the middle of all that came os.

fluent in french, czech, and hillbilly the youngest rosenkrantz of the boise rosenkrants, os transferred into uc isla vista after being kicked out of princeton for delivering an oral presentation in a ridiculously high voice.

as he tells it it was a fine overview in the downfalls of reganomics and its impact on southern californian auto sales and its correlation to the nations ultimate economic downward spiral, but because everyone in the classroom was laughing so hard the professor couldnt hear.

and eventually he didnt want to hear at all and ordered our man out of the class and damned into new jersey.

a pool shark, a poker cheat, a left handed stepchild who looks good in any hat, vest, or lampshade.

hes the crosslegged doodad floating across your conscious always there always aware always near always dear.

i call him mr. os because he brings the southern gentleman out of you.

one whose bathtub gin tastes hauntingly different than yours.

and thats because its from a meticulously manicured still.

not a spare tub.

class, bitch. class.

os is the type of fella who could wear a pink beret at a rodeo and walk out of the rodeo with two pink berets.

drunk.

and yet appearing perfectly sober.

until the cawwing begins.

happy birthday mr. os.

only one more year till 100.

that broken girl + leah + nothing special website hosting

if you knew how ridiculously little money i make to save the world you would be flabbergasted.

there was a time when i would have to go out of my way to get flabbergasted. i would actually seek out ways to get flabbergasted.

i would do what i needed to do and then i would look around and if i could say that i was flabbergasted i wasnt flabbergasted enough.

you only truly know youre flabbergasted after the factergasted.

this morning im in an ornery mood thanks to the cell phone being dialed at six am.

this is me ornery.

grrrrr.

one reason that they like me flying chopper one is that im a fairly even keeled mother.

this is me happy.

hi.

this is me mad.

hi.

this is me flabbergasted.

uh, wtf, fellas.

last week you might remember that there was a young lady who had me flabbergasted with her lunacy and she came over and i was pissed off and i wasnt ever going to speak to her again. ever.

she came over to the house and i was at the boiling point of anger and this is how i was:

hi, may i get you a cold soda?

no thank you.

beer?

no.

gatorade?

is that orange soda, may i have one of those?

its good to have even keeled people piloting billion dollar black copters with armed forces spy planes trying to check your shit and enemy forces trying to gun you down, and the bloods with surface to air missles aiming at your ass, and the mob, and the irs, and the feds, and the kids, and the migrating geese, and the paparazzi, and the stank hos trying to say you’re their baby’s daddy.

it’s good to have someone who has been accused by ashley as having no heart no soul no emotions and robotic in the center of the hurricane during hurricane season.

especially when its always hurricane season.

but at some point i do need my sleep.

and occasionally its nice to get paid for answering the phone at six am and solving the worlds problems before six thirty.

and if you dont see me working for the xbi soon, you can say you heard it here first.

just like you heard it here first that the santa monica farmers market old man hit a benz before he hit the people.

and just like you heard that the Coulter Klassic lived up to its name.

phone kept ringing. too many loose ends left loosed. sunday should really be a day to just rest but i have a big photo essay dealie to give the world even though very few people told me they liked the last one.

got linked a bunch last week though. and several people told me i was their hero.

your hero hasnt gotten any in way too long.

and im not talking ten bucks of flowage either.

even though i probably should.

rickey hit another homer today. i sat around and watched two episodes of the sopranos. and got caught up on the real world, and project greenlight.

i want to watch strangers on a train but im telling you i have this great photo thingie to bust and theres a great story there which i need to unfurl cuz someone will give away the great surprise.

my true love came over yesterday and there are very few people who get my heart beating any time they are around and i couldnt even look at her when she asked me if i liked her new haircut and dye.

its supposed to make my eyes look bluer.

and i knocked her over onto the couch and hugged her and we held each other and she smelled of parliments which is on the hipster bingo as were my old school pumas which were

strewn

on the floor next to my digital camera for my blogging which is o-4 i think

and here i felt so old but now i see im secretly hip.

then why doesnt splink ever write me?

and why isnt the associated press and the santa monica police reading the busblog?

in todays article, they are saying that they are investigating whether or not the old man hit a mercedes on his way to the farmers market.

i told you the day after it happened my homeboy os saw the old coot smash the mercedes.

investigation over.

lock his ass up.

i told you that os thought he was watching a hit and run until the first guy was sent flying into the sky.

meanwhile all the pundits are writing about whether olde people should have licenses or not. how about whether the cops should still have guns and badges after letting a hit and run artist run out of their prison cell because he was old.

every damn day i write this blog to serve mankind.

and there i was serving santa monica, my first california home, and santa monica has turned its back on me.

im going to lie down.

and watch hitchcock.

on the day of rest.

riley dog + wired anjel + tina

but they aint going.

nike will want them to be human billboards, but they wont be shilling for any damn nike.

there will probably be a time when they will want to vote republican before they turn 35, or try heroin, or drink and drive, but im not gonna let em.

and if i find out that they did, i’ll burn down their house. maybe steal their car. maybe erase them outta the will. or talk shit about them on the busblog.

im sure i’ll have handsome boys and once they turn pro they’ll jet off to colorado for some secret arthiscopic surgery and they’ll meet a pretty young girl who’ll want to ease their minds right before going under the knife, and my boys might even want to induldge.

but they wont go through with it.

and if they do they will first have the young woman sign a release.

and after they have signed the release they will call my childrens’ lawyer who will put the young lady on the phone and she will tell the lawyer that she wants to get with my offspring.

and the lawyer will record all of this

and ask the woman if she wants to do this act, that act, that act, that act, and that act.

and then the woman will either accept or decline

and then the lawyer will have the woman provide a drivers license number and social security number and the laywer will do a quick background check and then call back my progeny and either give the green light or the red light.

none of this will be made aware to me because i believe unlike those who wrote and passed the patriot act, i believe in the right of privacy and at the chocolate center of that right is the attorney-client privelge, which i whole heartedly respect.

none of my children will be allowed to marry before they turn 26.

you barely know shit at thirty.

who you kidding.

since my kids will be brilliant they’ll say

then how could hemingway bust with the sun also rises at 21, how could pete townshend drop tommy at 21, and if magic hadnt come out early he wouldnta won his first ring playing every position at 21.

and id say if you roll with a tommy, a sun also fuckin rises, and play center your rookie year in the finals and win it for the lakers, then yes you can get married when you want.

but realize kids, hem ended up a drunk his whole life which ended with a bullet in the head, pete townshend ended up getting caught looking at kiddie porn, and magic fucked around and got more than a triple double.

so fuck you, stay in school, wake up your lawyer when youre about to get some strange, and dont even get me started about the nike sweatshop and how they want to brand you like cattle so they can sell the most expensive sneakers that were made from the lowest paying sweatshops.

dresarii + rob wanska + leah + popie

which im loving, and the phone rings, just like it rings every day, all the time.

every fucking day, mother fucker says the voice on the other end of the line.

clipper girls cousin

all class

who has taken to complimenting me at every chance she can in hopes that i will start paying attention to her instead of her cousin or any of the throngs of young ladies who throw themselves at me every waking moment of my so called life.

every day you rock that blog and last week you did it better than ever she says

and i hang up

cuz who can believe a desperate girl who is finding that you cant go back after youve gone light skinned

but we’ll always have palm springs she text pages me

and people are asking me why im not talking about kobe.

and you know the rule here, i dont talk about black folk who are cast in negative light

unless i can say something good, something thought provoking, something to make them seem better than they are.

so, how about them dodgers.

rickey henderson, huh.

fourty four years old and hitting home runs.

Moneyball teaches us that the best way to watch baseball might be to not watch it too carefully, or too often. but the year that i worked for the giants, rickey was playing for the padres, and on one particularilly swirling windy fucked day at the Stick i saw rickey drop three fly balls to left and i sadly concluded that his career didnt have many seasons left.

well, the good news is, im often wrong, as that was six seasons ago.

so welcome back to cali, rickey.

thanks for giving us someone watchable at chavez ravine!

unsubscibe + bluecad + howard owens