when you turn around and see this guy looking at you.

every party is going to have its share of randoms, but the quality of your randoms defines the quality of your bash.

most people judge parties by the quality of hot chicks, amount of beer on tap, or the variety of exotic drugs in the candy dishes.

but if you dont have those things then you dont even really have a party in the first place so step bitch.

any hollywood gettogether is going to attract beautiful people and rock stars and tv stars and superheros and runaway teens from maryland, bloggers, and theives. and youre going to get those who either were invited by the invited of the invited, or who overheard the address, or who just walked by and got lucky.

bad parties will have drunken frat boy water polo beer bongers who keep jamming the steve miller into the boom box even though the stereo is bumping bitches brew.

bad parties will have coked out mods hogging up the only bathroom applying eyeliner and sniping and ignoring the knocks at the door from people who seriously need to pee.

bad parties will have sleepy neighbors kicking the floor which is your ceiling and call the cops and peek through the blinds once the cops come and tell you that they dont like the smell they dont want to know anything about and the other cop says sir is that absinthe?

and i submit that these parties can be predicted, determined and graded by the quality of strangers who find their way into your home for the festivities. if you look around and see assholes, kick em out, they will fuck the shit up, ruin the mood, and tweak the vibe.

if you look around and see a dude with some jrr tolkien shit tattooed on his arm guzzling a miller high life sporting an eighty five bears super bowl shuffle tshirt and an excellent fake british accent, then you can take off your shoes and enjoy the bash cuz its gonna be okay.

mc brown is the other red flag youve got to look for. if he’s in the house that trumps four or five dumbasses.

if you look around and cant find a random, you’re probably the random. even in your own house.

my terrible memory was exposed when a beautiful young woman reminded me that she and i took in a concert together back in san francisco. apparently we had seen victoria williams at the great american music hall and youd think id remember even some of that, especially with such a pretty girl, but nope. zip. nada. thanks, xbi.

and i was the only drunktard dumb enough to be sipping the baby blue absinthe all night, in big gulps at first, and then waterered down slurps once the walls started moving and the voices started speaking czech.

the hallucinations were vivid and fluid. i coulda swore i saw like five six people on my bed listening to weezer and singing along.

i could have sworn i saw a butterlfly flutter in with a record player and prince’s purple rain on vinyl.

and thats where things get fuzzy.

and last night i went to bed, caught by the sun, and this morning i woke up with the worst hangover ive ever had.

so bad i needed two asprin.

thanks all the nice people who came and drank and smoked and had a great time.

i had a great time too.

souptree + katie + moxie + welch + sara

good thing about the blog is people can try to connect the dots and the dots here dont jump around like the verbal word does or the wandering hand.

moxies about to pick me up and take me to the tsar show. mc brown should be there. my old pal aj.

maybe carlisa, maybe jeanine, maybe katie hall and her handsome beaux.

maybe ian and grumman and some of the fine fresh fellows from my past.

i need to jump in the shower but i need to write to you, girl who claims to be my 3242343th fan.

theres no single class that you can take to learn how to write better. i say take them all.

better yet, if youre in college, write for the newspaper. and dont listen to one word that teachers say that are mean.

listen, but dont take it personally. you are not your grammar, youre not your spelling, youre not your short stories, you are not your poems.

we know this is true because when someone writes you and says oh that was a great story, you must be a great person, you say, no, its just a story, you dont really know me. same goes when people see good pictures of us, get kissed by us, or like our hair.

so the reverse is true. if they say negative things, dont stop writing. write more.

you are a person with stories to tell so tell them and fuck those unknown motherfuckers.

if youre not in college write several times a day in your blog and show your innermost thoughts.

make up deadlines for yourself. i have a deadline of 10am PST, 1pm PST and 6pm PST. good news is i dont always have to hit my deadlines, and its not so much a have-to as it is a get-to.

i get to say hi to everyone several times a day, i think thats so incredible.

hi everyone.

i get to have some ideas get from my head to your screen to your head. sometimes you understand. sometimes you dont.

kristin from mad pony never seems to understand me.

maybe its cuz shes a southerner.

they can be a little, you know, slow.

what i dont understand are people who you can say nice things to every day, and then the one day you make a little joke and they think youre serious.

people of earth: i am never serious.

unless im saying nice things.

nite, everyone.

how to be hip

he will be missed. born to new york jews who moved him to hollywood as a lad, pierre was everyones favorite.

so funny we sometimes didnt believe him when he was being totally serious.

even at his farewell lunch i grilled him rapid fire on the bands that he probably wouldnt like.

do you like boston?

no

rush

no

kansas?

no

elo?

hell no.

did that for a while till we got to

pink floyd

no.

no?

theyre pretentious.

he also didnt like a lot of movies, tv shows, and directors that youd think hed like.

once he said that if he ran into quentin tarentino he would punch him in the head.

other day he ran into quentin tarentino and, infact, did not punch him in the head, but he did steal his wallet and that afternoon we all ate fried chicken and toasted our lemonades to pulp fiction.

the other day our boss was out at the track and around lunchtime pierre said thats it im going home.

lefty said but we’ve got crime to fight

pierre said fuck the crime

ahmed said what about the team

pierre said fuck the team

just then raquel and dominique came in from outside and ahmed said that pierre was leaving for the day

raquel said, pierre but you cant leave

and he said if i stay i just might kill you

it was funny but a little not funny, and he went home

if i had a talk show named bloggers i would have pierre be on the show even though he doesnt have a blog. id do it cuz hes a cool guy and i will miss him on the team.

interesting thing about working is you end up around people that you probably wouldnt even talk to on the street.

makes you wish for the day to come where it would be ok to talk to people on the streets.

55. ernest

sometimes i just think mine are a tad less intelligent than yours.

one guy writes me nearly every day. sometimes long letters, sometimes short letters.

i never write him back because i barely have time to write back the good people who write me nice things.

for all the people out there, by the way, who write me nice things, be it comments on the site, or emails or boobie pictures, etc. thank you very much. all the nice things make me so happy.

so anyhow, this one critic of mine today tried to get on me because everything i write “is all about me”.

dumbass, look at the url.

this whole freaking thing is an excersise in first person narcisistic fiction about a superhero xbi agent who steals from crooks and adorns his beach house and hollywood bungalow with the booty, and then dates barely legal teens.

how hard is that to understand?

also how hard is it to conceive that if i was a decent writer who was capable of things like record reviews, political analyis, or even basic sentence structure, i would be getting paid for this shit as opposed to giving it all away like a fucking bitch.

on a good day i look at 15-20 web sites. i never write mean emails to people. even if they deserve it. and trust me, lots of people deserve some negative feedback.

occasionally, on rare occassions, i will write the author of a web page. usually i write very short emails saying nice work.

if even a tenth of the readers wrote me an occasional short email or left a short comment saying nice work, id have 40-50 comments on my page each day. it’s not about the numbers though. im over the idea of comments on this blog. im just saying.

anyhow, the critic also doesnt like the fact that i grammar bad.

fuck grammar. if i seriously paid attention to the things that i wrote on here i would probably only get one post out a day. im averaging three, and all of them are better than my critic’s emails.

again, i do this during the 15 minute government mandated breaks that i take during work. i also do this for the period of my lunch when im not lunching. that gives very little time to spell check, grammar check, or even proofread my shit. what you see is what i felt at the moment and sometimes (like last week) you might find a post that is missing an entire sentence, or end of sentence, so dont be so weirded out if a line is missing a period, mr. critic.

just because your momma missed her period 9 months before you were born dont get all uptight about me missing my periods

heres a bunch of periods for your ass. feel free to place them in any post that i forgot to use them in: …………………………………………………………………………………

and heres a fuck you for your inbox.

for the rest of you, i love you all. i hope you each have a pleasant weekend like klinger (pictured). i know i will. i have a blind date tonight, i get to see my favorite band tomorrow night, and i get to sit around in my boxer shorts and do nothing on sunday.

the only thing that could make this weekend better is if the cubbies swept the cardinals.

much love,

tony

i heart raymi + i heart party girls + i dont know who Quinn is

and my broken computer was on my doorstep, covered by my welcome mat, which wasnt necessary, im xbi, nobody is going to steal my stuff.

without consequence.

my bro jeff from rock group tsar totally fixed my shit and for that i love him. thank you jeff. my computer repair hero.

i should go into business with that man.

also on my doorstep was a mysterious box from a man im not sure ive ever met.

a fellow from Up North sent me two bottles of my new favorite booze: Absinthe.

no way could it be real Ansinthe, since its a mythical elixer, but the bottle sure was pretty and its possibilities persuaded a young woman to come over tonight and have an absinthe blind date with me.

peak upon peak jimmy johnson preached while he was coaching the cowboys.

plus i need to drown my sorrows. sux not to four-peat.

so last night i was able to mess around on my computer and chat with people of all sorts. some of whom i dont know why i chat with any more. it just brings pain and distress and sorrow and evil thoughts.

my mind has been bombarded with evil thoughts lately. maybe it was part of the eclipse. hopefully they will leave my head soon.

i just want to be good. thats all. just good.

so yeah, tonight also my good friend Greg will be coming over to the beach house. i havent seen greg in a while. he’s my bro. we’ll get to catch up a little. maybe he’ll bring his guitar over and play some songs for me. he’s my favorite guitarist you know.

and he writes some of the most wonderful songs.

im so very tired today.

hopefully theres nothing i have to do this morning and the crew will just let me take a little nappy-poo in the hangar.

dancing + joh3n + lago

hurts more to lose when youre supposed to win. especially at home.

especially with the greatest center, greatest coach, greatest kobe, greatest cheerleaders, greatest fan, greatest and classiest history.

fuck the celtics.

no, the fans werent booing, but that was derek fisher shedding a tear, and that was kobe (pictured) physically and emotionally beaten.

this was a grand team. champions. outcoached and outplayed.

the lakers are a team that showed on tuesday that they can perform miracles at any moment, just like theyve done since time began. back when los angeles was riddled with lakes.

theyre a team plauged by age and injury. even the coach ended up in the hospital.

and the pressure? this team was built by a gm whose sillouhette is the logo for the nba and even he couldnt stand the pressure of championship-or-consider-it-failure so he ran away the lowest pressure gig he could find: gm of the memphis grizzlies.

i dont know how the laker girls do it.

the fans werent booing, they were bawling.

these fans have seen this team come back year after year. and theyve seen their stars hurt before.

kareem got hurt in the finals during magic’s rookie season, and not even that stopped them from winning it all that year.

and speaking of magic, these fans have watched ervin beat hiv, so who cares if they dont have rick fox or a power forward.

and have three twisted ankles and no chickie baby.

the fans were booing because the eggs are cold, the butters getting hard, and the jellos jiggling, except this time, for the first time in a generation, the jello was jiggling for thee.

skywriting + coyote + chicha + katie, playmates

im grateful that i dont belong to a cuntry where they make the kids hold up pictures of religiouslypolitical tyrants i mean leaders.

im grateful that i dont belong to a country where you’d get strung up for saying fuck the president fuck the president fuck the commander in theif fuck him fuck his pappy fuck his pappys pappy.

im grateful that i live in a country where i can get two Beck tickets on the front grass sextion of the Santa Barbara County Bowl with the stars above me and the warm air cruising off the mountains and it all cost just under a hundred bucks.

im grateful that i live in a country where i can go to the newsstand and see pictures of naked people, i can go to the video store and rent tapes of naked people, and make a phone call and invite a bunch of naked people over to my house, but i cannot see naked people on my television without paying an extra $15 a month.

im grateful that i live, wait, im not entirely grateful for that last statement.

im grateful that i live in a country where i can lose $8 Trillion dollars, no shit, $8 Trillion dollars, and have the president appoint me to do my job for two more years.

fuck the president fuck the president, fuck his drunken daughters.

i’m grateful that i live in a country where blowjobs from cheerleaders arent illegal – anymore.

i’m grateful that i live in a country where Black men can walk down the streets with white women and not get hung – anymore.

i’m grateful that i live in a country where morons still have a chance to flourish financially, politically, musically, theatrically, and literally — but especially religiously.

i’m grateful that i live in a country where i dont have to even worry about buying a car radio because every rock station completely sucks ass.

i’m grateful that i live in a country where christina aguelera calls home because i lust her. god do i lust that dirty girl.

i’m grateful that i live in a country where we are so prosperous that not only is everyone overweight, but we have such issues about our bodies that many people have eating disorders where they are convinced that they’re overweight even though theyre perfectly healthy.

i’m grateful that i live in a country where nobody has any self esteem so they either turn terribly meek or irritatingly aggressive.

i’m grateful that i live in a country that has nothing better to do than to worry about Tommy Chong’s bong business, and confederate flags, and tied up all star games – and ignores things like poverty, poor education, and the designated hitter rule.

i’m grateful that i live in a country where a guy like pete rose can get more hits than anyone in the history of baseball and not get in the hall of fame – for any reason.

i’m grateful that i live in a country that’s helping the buttcrack become the new cleavage.

i’m grateful that i live in a country where shunned fbi agents have a place to go to fight crime once theyre kicked out of the agency.

singe out west + la blogs + the french amour me + kitty stokes the foot fetishers

from Rob Brezsny’s Real Astrology – which i adore

Libra for the week of May 15

“Dear Dr. Brezsny: Does astrology work differently in Texas? I’ve lived all over the world, and I’ve found Libras who live in Texas to be unlike Libras everywhere else. Normal Libras love beautiful things, seek harmony, and see opposing points of view as well as their own. But every Texan Libra I’ve ever met loves beautiful things only if they’re big and loud, seeks harmony only if there’s something in it for him, and acknowledges opposing viewpoints only if it helps him win the arguments he loves to start. Your opinion? -Natural-Born Texan.”

Dear Natural-Born: I was born in Texas and have three planets in Libra, so I’m not objective enough to comment. I do know this, though: Many non-Texan Librans will soon exhibit the behavior you described as typical of Lone Star Librans. But I think that’s a good thing: an antidote for Libras’ sometimes-excessive politeness.

got home, warmed up some weekend pizza, drank some diet pepsi, turned on the 76er game and laid on my couch.

knock on the door. one of the academy girls came by with some porn and some penne pasta. she asked if she could sit and talk with me. i said no, maybe next time. all she ever wants to do is ask why i dont want her as my girlfriend. she looks a lot like monica belluci (pictured) except with blonde hair. im tempted one of these days to ask her to dye it black (or quit dying hers blonde) but im too shy. deep down im very shy.

she asked if she could kiss me and i said on the cheek. she said, only on the cheek? and i said fine, what the hell, and she gave me a good freedom kiss and i noticed something different. my girl had gotten a tongue pierce! wow! still that didnt hold my attention long enough and all i wanted to do was play around on my computer, so i showed her to the door and worked on that tongue pierce one last time, and watched her stroll down my little rock path through the security gates and into visitor parking.

popped open the porn, put it in, and toaster ovened some more za.

it was an amateur film. amateur meaning that there wasnt a set, no story, no plot. just a hand held camera. the first girl was a pretty girl. skinny. long brown hair. french.

the guy she was going to do is a famous porn star. he spoke into the camera and explained that the girl didnt know much english and she giggled and he made up a dumb joke about the language of love.

she got up off the bed, and did a little strip tease to a really bad blues song that played off a boom box. really bad tune. like it was her brother’s band.

apparently this was all being shot in the guest room of the famous porn star’s home. i get weird thoughts when i watch porn. last night i thought, “can he write off part of his house because he films in there? can he write off the bed? can he write off his porn star clothes?”

soon she was nude and on top of the dude. he had gray hair. i wondered if the girl was creeped out even in the slightest that he could be old enough to be her dad. after a few minutes it became obvious that she wasnt at all freaked out.

he was doing stuff to her and she moaned, oui. oh, oui.

the blues music stopped and all you could hear was him saying dirty things to her and her saying oui. i thought that i would like to see the transcript.

i noticed that he had a notch in his sack. obviously he had gotten a vasectomy. i thought that there would be no way that i would ever get one of those. ever. what happens if aliens fly down to earth and need to round up a few good men to help populate a planet of amazonian women from another world who desperately need jizm. the boy scouts taught us to be prepared. it’s one lesson i have never forgotten.

be prepared.

other day this beautiful girl wanted to make sweet love to me and because i was prepared and had a condom in my wallet, i was able to fulfill her request. thank you, boy scouts.

fell asleep to the porn before the two actually finished. work has been hard on me. life has been hard on me. typically when i get home i can fire up the computer and read the emails, chat with the good people and create fun stuff and become refreshed from that good energy.

without my lovely entree to all things good, i am a couch potato. im an olde man. despite my rage, im still just a– woke up to american idol. three kids were on the screen.

fell back asleep.

dirty fez + jaded girl + random fixation