hi dennis rodman!

bro, how come you didnt come to my wedding yesterday?

shit, worm, i didnt know you were getting married yesterday.

hell, i barely knew.

did you wear white?

oh man, i wore a white dress, a nice white head thing, and a nice white garter. vera wang, baby.

pretty.

didnt you get the invitation?

no, dude, my email has been fubar for the last week and a half. terrible virus on my computer. dont you read the busblog anymore?

nah, brah, i had this wedding to plan, and my normal rodman lifestyle to maintain.

like what?

you know, drinking, gambling, chasing white women, acting a fool.

arent you ever afraid that racists might point their finger at you and your way of living and say, “see, Black man acting just like we said they all act”?

i do my best not to live my life so that racists would feel better about me.

good point.

i got your birthday gift though.

sweet. wait. your birthday was yesterday! you got married on your birthday?

yeah, my girl asked me what i wanted for my birthday and i got down on my knee and proposed right there.

see worm, i told you that youre all right. but wont this married life cramp your style?

hell no, she will have her house, i will have mine.

she’s not moving in?

nope, she already lives two houses down, why should she move in?

what about the kids?

they live with her. two doors down. my son is two, my daughter is one, they wont even notice.

you’re incredible.

Hef does the same thing. it’s brilliant.

the nba misses you, dennis.

shit, the lakers miss me, thats for sure. they could definately use a rebounder.

damn straight.

forward, never straight, my man.

so where are you going on your honeymoon?

this is my honeymoon, we’re here at the Hard Rock, im about to go down to the craps tables and shes going to be waiting for me when i come back with some money.

again, dennis, youre the man. we miss you. thanks for the invite. sorry my email ate it. i hope to see you soon.

you definately will. we’re going to have another wedding next month down in newport, make sure you come.

solid. can Tsar play?

for sure. lots of bands will play!

later, worm.

later, g

s. eliot + tif’s twat + ah, texas

speaking of which, if you plan on using the subway without paying i havent seen any cops checking tickets in months.

which might explain the increase of people taking their bikes onto the subway during rush hours which is strictly against the policies.

found out today that jules asner is leaving my favorite channel, e! – it made me sad. jules was my favorite e! personality next to howard stern.

she seemed smart. i liked that.

america, im bored. you dont want your helicopter pilots bored. not xbi ones. people start doing stupid things.

wanna hear a secret?

bet you do.

wanna hear my deepest darkest secrets?

doubt it.

ok heres a secret. yes i live in hollywood. yes i live in california. yes i live in america. these things dont always add up to sunny and beautiful and wonderful and magical.

many times they add up to the same old bullshit going on in your town.

ive traveled the world and many nights ive ended up at mcdonalds or kfc even though the lady next door might have been making chicken for 800 years, still i go to the colonel.

here in hollywood people still buy their cds from Borders, their clothes at Ross, and their shoes at Sears. we dont take advantage of Melrose Blvd. the way we should, we dont bang gongs the way we ought to, and worse of all we dont jump into the ocean – or even in some cases – look at the fucking sea the way we thought we would.

we just fly around and work and hustle and go home and light up and flip on the same crap that you do whether you are living in des moines or detroit or debuque. it’s disgusting. i dont want to be a pinhead no more.

i want to fully take advantage of this advantage that i have and i want to report to you what its all about.

some guy speculated in the office today that if horry’s shot had gone down that thered be a riot in the streets of la. the fellow was immediately dismissed cuz nobody riots in the streets of la unless some white cop is bashing the brains out of a brotha in an import.

only other time that people get up in arms is when it rains here. and they only get nutty in that case if they are a tv newsman at the top of the hour.

paul, im standing here at the corner of crenshaw and slauson and it’s raining. fred can you pan down a little. see im in an actual puddle.

last minute laker shots do not create much of anything other than a high five from a bored blogger to an nba cheerleader, but only because we like game sevens.

floor pie + the girl of my dreams + jeff coop + brett lamb

and gray here in LA and if i didnt know any better i would think that a tornado might blow through here and take away all the bad little witches and yapping dogs and plastic surgeons but all it is is the beginning of tourist season, and even clouds like to hit the beach.

another night without my computer so i watched the lakers when i got home while laying on the couch, a strange position for me. my mind was running. i was pacing. i didnt know what to do with all my extra energy.

for lunch yesterday a nice girl from around the way stopped by with free coupons for burritos at Chipotle at the beverly center, ozzy’s favorite burrito place. super great spicy burritos. i took a bunch of pictures of the beverly center and i want to do some good web stuff with them when i get my box back.

so the lakers. ive never seen a loss actually be a win before until last night. san antonio lost the playoffs last night. i dont care what the score was. first of all, you dont let someone, i dont care how many sparkly rings they have, come into your house after being down by 25 and comeback and be one centimeter away from winning a game.

that three pointer by robert horry went in. yeah it came back out again, but it went in. the lakers won that game. they are going to come back to staples, three metro stops away from the home of the busblog and destroy the spurs. i say by at least 20. theyre going to do it with sprained ankles on devon george, derek fisher and a fella named kobe. then theyre going to go back to the shadows of the alamo and theyre going to break the hearts of those deep in the heart of texas.

you heard it here first.

saturday night is going to be interesting because we were all going to see the matrix two, but now it looks like we’re going to have to watch game seven.

pretty girl wrote me last night to affirm that indeed she has a crush on me still. college girl. how come when i was in college no girls had crushes on me? i know why.

dear college girl, please direct your pretty eyes to some college boys. im so old you have no idea. maybe you do have an idea. guys my age only want one thing. and im too embarrassed even to say what that one thing is here.

fine. i’ll tell you. we want everything. we want love, we want lust, we want attention, we want to be left alone, we want someone to watch tv with, we want something to fall asleep with, and when we want it we want you to be wearing unbelieveable outfits and whisper the dirtiest things youve ever said without cracking up.

sweet college girls should stay sweet while their sweetness still comes easy.

not that i dont appreciate the college girls, but at my age i need some jaded porn stars to develop raging crushes on me.

ones who dont wince when given booze, but who slam down the shot glass and look me in the eye as if to say, whattup fuckr.

DeWey + heather + alecia

i know the little game youre playing. it’s cool. i know you said you were too shy to go to the tsar show the other night. but i saw you in the back.

rocking. drinking. stalking.

eating!

oh yes, that was you. hot chick with the chucks bobbing your head to “you and jim” headbanging at the bar to the new tunes.

i write you, you dont write me back, i talk about you, you dont talk about me back, i lurve you, you are repulsed by me, not the only thing that we have in common by the way.

i know you like the rock music, model girl. i know you would rather listen to something other than the pretty boy depeche and moz dones.

i know you want to have your mind blown by the dual guitar attack, the cowbell, and a long haired solomon on axe.

word on the street is this saturday, at spaceland, tsar, will play, pretty much just for you, cuz you were in the back. follow the light. follow the hype.

this is what the cool kids are going to do. everyones going to the archlight to see the matrix. then theyre going to go to my house for beer bongs.

then to spaceland to get their socks rocked.

then to your house in encino for the after party.

then we’ll wake and bake and gorge at ihop cuz i know its your favorite.

signed,

your number three fan

p.s. if you want to, you can email me at fragrant@tonypierce.com and tell me that you secretly lust me, that you’re just way too shy to say so.

thanks!

p.p.s. i like your new blog.

p.p.p.s. i want to travel with you one day

i have forwarded some of the mail that i normally get to her boyfriend keanu reeves.

so today we present to you Ask Keanu.

Dear Keanu,

Does size matter?

Ah, the eternal question. I have learned quite a few things with my dealings with the fairer sex. Women, that is, and from that experience I have good news and bad news in regards to this inquiry.

The good news is: women are crazy.

It’s good because if a woman likes you, she won’t care what your penis is shaped like, how big it is, or how little it is. I have some teeney-dicked friends, some of which you have seen on stage and screen. They have some incredible girlfriends and wives who make “little” jokes but have stood by their men loyally as if everything was fine. I also have some friends with very odd-shaped units and their girlfriends learned how to use them to their advantage.

Love overcomes all things is what I learned. And it helps that women are crazy.

Following this theme, the bad news is, sadly, that women are crazy.

Me, I have a marvelous body, I’m rich, I’m popular, I know how to do it well, I know how to show a woman a good time, I have no terrible deformities, I even play in a rock band. And still I get turned down for casual sex nearly every day. Suxor!

Dear Keanu,

I went out with a girl the other night and she had talked about how much she loves sex and how she thinks about it all the time and the whole date I was thinking, I’ve got it made. Then the girl wouldn’t even let me give her a good night kiss. What gives? What should I do? It went down a week ago and I can’t stop thinking about it.

You’re definately doing the right thing by obsessing over it. I suggest that you over-analyze everything that you did on that date, think mean things about the young lady, and stare at the mirror and pick at your zits.

You might also join a gym.

Dear Keanu,

Why does music suck so bad nowadays?

When I filmed “Little Buddah” I learned alot about the yin-yang of life. In music the yin yang revolves around the relationship of good Black music and good Rock music.

In the early 90s the hip hop scene was ripe and creative. You had the Beastie Boys, Cypress Hill and De La Soul. You also had Grunge. Even AC/DC and Metalica had huge, great records. The end result was an amalgom of great music for every genre.

Hip hop today is stagnant. Only Eminem is worth listening to and that record is 8 months old. 50 Cent? are you kidding me?

And rock is horrible, so the mixture therefore is even worse.

Look no further than AudioSlave which on paper is wonderful, but where it counts, on vinyl is watered down bullshit that only kids and soccer moms would enjoy.

My prediction is we will go through a few more years of horrible music to be followed by a wonderful resurgence in the Indie scene probably spearheaded by Tsar’s third cd which I predict will be a concept album based loosely on the Rush epic “The Trees”.

See you at the box office,

KR

krix + gweilo is (currently) sars-free + more

one of the interns is gearing up for the matrix screening tomorrow at midnight by playing the soundtack from the original. manson, then propellorheads. quite a way to greet the morining: with brass knuckles.

had a date last night.

hot chick, couldnta been more than 24-25. gorgeous eyes. color of suede on a rainstorm at midnight with a full moon in a black and white movie.

she was all over me. finally. god its been a long time. to feel the curve of the small of a woman’s back. to feel her hips pushing closer to mine. soft skin below the ear lobe. stinky breath of cloves. to reach underneath and nearly snap the thin g string.

tanned everything. bloodshot eyes from smoking and drinking on a monday night. i know im not worthy to receive anything, but only say the word and i will be– this girl likes to scratch. i totally forgot about that. and here i am a sensitive poet. she likes to bite too. she likes to slap. i look like i lost a street fight. i look like i got thrown in a sack with a thousand cats. i look like hell, but i guess thats nothing new.

all my move-making music is in winamp, but as you probably know all that is on a computer full of viruses, so we had to do things the old fashioned way, compact discs. that meant getting up and changing things every 45 minutes. you know youre doing ok if you make your way through four cds before throwing in the towel.

in the morning she was gone, but left behind a sweet note telling me that it was better than she remembered and any time i wanted to invite her over again she’d say yes.

some girls just know how to live.

fucking love that.

rolled into work nearly on time this morning and read the comments that you all left. god i love you all.

why are you so good to me?

normally i would have read them all minutes after you posted them because i am glued to my computer most nights, doing dumb things like sex chatting college girls in manitoba or making lopsided trades for fantasy baseball, or trying to write poems, or trying to arrange the thousands of photographs that ive taken in the last month, or trying to design a good web page, or trying to write something of interest, or trying or trying or trying, and yoda was right, trying takes up all your time, its the doing that we need to do more of.

to do, to be, to get done, to do, i do, i be, i am because i was done, so far from done, so far from it, so far so bad, so bad so good.

the approval that women can give is unbelievable. i wish you girls knew even what a smile could do. not to mention a whisper.

or a french kiss on an italian fender on a los feliz corner

in america.

sepi + uppity negro + all about george

yes, me!

usually my advice is keep writing, its bound to get better.

i studied creative writing in college and there were a lot of teachers who had a variety of different ideas on what makes a good writer.

they did agree on the idea that in order to write well you have to read a lot.

i chose to disagree with them there.

i think you need to read, but not a lot, and you need to read with a good eye on what to look for.

if youre a basketball player, you dont have to watch every player that ever lived, but it wouldnt hurt to watch a lot of basketball in general, and watch it with someone who knows the game, and see how good players adjust to certain situations.

same goes for writing. read the good people, read the popular people, read the people that everyone admires, and find out what makes them good. then write.

i think that if you read too much, you will have a hard time carving out your own style. i think that you should write twice as much if not three times as much as you read. when you read, read to learn something about the art of writing.

but when you write, do your best to try something new with each post, or story, or poem, or article.

always be risking. always stick your neck out. maybe not with how you are writing but by what topic. this post is a risk for me because you can seem incredibly pompus to give others tips on writing when you indeed are not even a paid writer.

people are always bringing up the fact that they have writers block. one of my teachers said that writers block is the world telling you to quit writing for a little while. an hour, two hours, a day.

again, i disagree. i think writers block is what happens when the devil inside of your mind convinces you that what you are writing is no good, so you dont even get a chance to get the first stuff out which will clear the way for the magic.

my solution for writers block is to write out all the things that terrify you, or write about the things that you think are dull, or write about the things you are avoiding.

two chicks came over to my house friday night. late. must have been 3 am. bars must have been closed. they were drunk and sloppy. i dont answer the door at night because i dont have a peep hole, all i have is a french window and if i stick my head into the window they will see me.

i heard them giggling and i wasnt afraid of gigglers so i stuck my head in the window.

what? i asked.

tony pierce? is that you in there? our friend told us that you lived here.

what friend?

S_____.

go away, i have venerial diseases.

god did they laugh at that one. one fell over on the other and they stumbled down the three stairs that led up to my porch. they landed on the grass. skirts up, panties, heels.

i turned off the porchlight and put the chain on the door and listened to the neighbor’s dog yap as they laughed and tried to get up only to fall overthemselves again.

i thought about letting then in since they were going to drive home if i didnt do something to stop them.

but im not all that nice, deep down.

dawn + lane + reesha

train was on time this morning. bus was on time this morning. it stopped at the wiltern for a little too long if you ask me. whatever.

on the train a super hot asian woman in a chanel suit with legs unpantyhosed spread just a little to wide with mouth open asleep clutching her coach ripoff purse had all the men looking at her.

i read slaughterhouse five cuz i love kv and even though my memory is bad all i needed to do was look at her once and all the details of this woman were etched in my head like a chisel to granite.

dark hair dark roots. just a strand of gray here and there. perfectly plucked eyebrows. nice job on the lipstick. very pale, almost geisha skin, natural. beige suit with white trim, no neglige to ruin things, beige shoes, everything matching, yellowing teeth, hint of a tounge trying to slide through the teeth. far too attractive for the morning commute filled with security guards heading west to the beach side hotels.

warm, finally in hell-a. seems like we got ripped out of our spring and our early spring, still i wore a flannel for the ride but was pleased when the woman next to me cracked open the window as we sped down wilshire.

she saw that i was reading but still she wanted to talk. she asked me if i saw survivor. i said yes. she asked if i liked it. i said yes and rang the bell. it wasnt my stop but it was obviously time to get off.

yesterday while i was watching the lakers and folding my clothes at the laundry a different woman asked me what the score was.

i wanted to say, i do not talk to strangers during the laker game or during my laundry. i said the game was over.

she asked what inning the game was in. shit you not. i pretended that i didnt know english.

que?

didnt matter. she told me that when she first moved out here from new york that she went to a dodger game and they won.

women care about the score of the game. and about how when they went to a game a certain team won.

men, we just care that we went. that we had some beers with some friends. that we saw some big fake titted woman.

fuck the score.

i ignored her and folded my leopard skin boxers.

sometimes i get a ride to the laundry mat. sometimes karisa lets me come over to her house and do it there. lately ive just taken my granny cart which fits my hamper perfect and place a horizontal hamper ontop of that, and then i shove more clothes in two pillowcases and pull that shit down the street a few blocks to Coin Laundry.

it may look precarious to a nosy woman who doesnt know that the dodgers play baseball the lakers play basketball and i couldnt care less about her or her stories, but for me it works.

she said, you should remember to get bungy cords next time.

i wanted to step on her toe. real hard. smoosh it.

got out of there. nothing better than clean laundry all done by four pm and the lakers tying up a series.

except coming home to you.

and smelling potato pancakes as snacks frying up just for me.

kitty + azarok + sarah

to tell me that they had broken up with their dudes. one of the girls, actually, told me that she had broken up with her chick, but that chick actually liked being called a dude. long story.

anyway, my response to both of them was, come on over, let me comfort you.

and both of them, naturally, declined my generous offer.

one of them said that she didn’t want to be just another one of my women. i told her i had no women. she said ha and pointed to exhibit a, the busblog. i reminded her that nothing on the busblog was true. she said she knew half the girls i talked about on the busblog including clippergirl, to which i told her that clippergirl and i really sit around holding hands and doing very little else. to which she asked me if i was inviting her over to hold hands and very little else and i said sure come on over and we’ll play a little game called lets hold hands and see if we can do very little else.

she said she didn’t want to come over and play that game.

i said its cuz you know that you’d lose.

then the lesbian lover called not soon after. she said that she really wanted to be with a man since itd been so long.

i told her that until she found the man that she was looking for i would try to pretend to be one.

she let me know that i was indeed the type of man that she was looking for, but she wasn’t interested at that time, she just had read yesterdays entry where i disclosed that my computer was full of viruses and i could come over to her penthouse and use her computer if i wanted.

i said, i already blogged that night, that i didn’t need a computer, but i did need someone to drink with.

she said, its always about drinking with you, isnt it.

this is the glamorous life of a blogger, friends.

i said, no it isnt always about drinking, its mostly about watching sports. to which she asked me questions about love. about how she should go about finding real love this time. and i said if i knew those answers i wouldn’t be sitting around on a sunday night totally turned on and frustrated about to crack open another bottle of bacardi as my tivo paused the Survivor finale.

she asked me if my house was clean. i said yes.

she asked me if my sheets were clean. i told her that i had just done my laundry while watching the lakers. i told her that not only my sheets were clean but they were warm and downy scented.

she asked me if i loved her. i told her that i loved her perfect body and her brilliant mind.

she asked me if i would do things to her that her girlfriend wouldn’t do.

i told her that i would only do to her things that her girlfriend wouldn’t do.

she giggled and told me that she’d take a raincheck.

i knew that these girls just wanted me to beg. im too old to beg. plus part of begging demands promises, lies, white lies. i cant lie. biggest thing i wanted yesterday was just to fall asleep with a nice girl next to me.

she added that she thought that i was a little depressed and she wanted to cheer me up. easiest way to cheer up a bachelor, ladies, is to reach down their pants. crude, yes, but the truth.

truth doesn’t always hurt.

her long fingernails may have hurt a little bit.

got a second raincheck within an hour and unpaused the tivo, headed up some peas and a baked potato and watched tv alone

as the camera panned away

and pulled back

up into the sky

into the dark night

filled with twinkling little stars

and then nothingness.

omer poos + faith fools + moxie

today shes 23. her name is mary. i called her but she wasnt home.

cops once flashed the light in our car cuz we were making out.

aj called me though. shes gonna fly out here to see tsar. right on, aj!

last night welch and i went to the angels game. his dad has season tickets between first and home right above the outdoor cafe where the carrot cake is as big as a volkswagon. i told my mom this today when i called her and she said carrot cake at a ball game? i should have told her about the panda express in right field.

i took a lot of pictures but my computer has a virus so i wasnt able to upload them.

this afternoon i write you from a local internet cafe where the old man left so the kid switched from the oldies station to the modern rock station and now weezer’s dope nose is on.

come on and kick me. oh. come on and kick me.

youve got your problems.

ive got my asswipe.

a girl i would have done anything to date in highschool sent me $10 to the car fund last night.

54. missy

she says no one calls her missy any more. she lives in switzerland. shes the new school swiss miss.

thank you missy.

all day long i wanted to write in here, not that i had anything to say but because i have a terrible issue with habits and rituals. i have to do the same things every day or i feel like im not doing something right. its not obsessive compulsive. its just something that i like to do.

i like to write each morning. i like to write after lunch. i like to have rum with my dinner and write after that. i like hot girls lap dancing me and writing after that.

me and welch brainstormed about career opportunities with this blog and with blogger and with the great outdoors and with corporate sponsorship and with wireless technologies and i gotta tell you, i dont think anyone could do it as well as i could. plus i have experience for once in my life. i was the rep for magnavox and then webtv and then microsoft and then the dot com that i was part of.

i guess i could tone down the busblog if need be. i havent poked around bloggerpro that much but im sure i saw a Tone control in the advanced features somewhere, didnt i?

i just know that im at a crossroads in my olde age and i think all the planets are ready for what should come next and what should come next is a world tour, a mess of blog posts, a heaping handful of goodwill and some still photography, and maybe even some digital video to show off.

could it be a book? could it be a blogger goes wild? could it be a novel? could it be a tv show? could it be something that blows up in the wrong hands? could it be overthrown by a treacherous group of evil doers?

could alice in chains sound any better than in this crazy place with people playing networked video games trying to kill one another?

mark twain wrote some of his best stuff while traveling around america telling the good people about the country that they live in.

i aint saying that i have anything to do with mark twain. but i dont see anyone even trying to do anything these days other than making For Dummies books and i dont think this planet is full of dummies.

i say its time to rock.

i say its time to make a song we all want to sing in the shower.

i say the dot com explosion and then implosion taught me that theres a time bandits window that opens for some for a long time, but for others for a very short time and lucky are those who jump through it for the right reasons, for the correct agendas, and with the greatest number of positive points for all parties possible.

so happy mothers day mom, and mary and all the moms out there in the blogosphere.

thanks matt for the tickets and the ride and the great conversation and friendship and thanks pete for letting us use your angels seats.

lakers all the way,

tony

digital tavern + mad pony are safe + nocturnal angel + litwack