thats the only reason that i can figure that people link others and not me.

or maybe they think that i get enough links. or that all this so-called attention has gotten to my head. or maybe theyre ashamed to let people know that they read me. or maybe they think im dumb.

i mean, i know why certain girls dont date me, and why others stop dating me, or why some wont even talk to me.

and i can understand going to hollywood at midnight, twelve thirty, one am and not going to see the worlds greatest local band… because youre too shy. ok, no i dont understand that one. mostly because i dont even know what you look like, and i seriously dont know if youre a man or a woman because i dont trust anything that i read on the web, and even less that i read on blogs, and i recommend that you do the same.

and i can understand coming home eating a tv dinner, drinking a glass of rum and passing out as the lakers fucking romp all over the twin towers at like nine thirty only to be awaken by carson daly interviewing rebecca romaine stamos at 2 am in a sweaty lump on my couch, headache gone, fatigue of the week gone, clippergirl gone, and link gone from one of my favorite sites.

but fuck carson daly who is in vegas only to rip off howard stern who was in vegas, what, last week. and fuck carson who while in vegas asked two hot chicks how much money he would have to pay them to have a lesbian kiss – cuz isnt that from the first day of the first month of the first page out of the book of ripping off howard?

my new new years revolution is to make less sense, be less clear, be more flaccid, get less tang, eat less pie, trace less backs, kiss less necks, write less effectively and be on less blogrolls in two thousand and three out of four dentists say that i need to realise that im not eighteen any more and i have to seriously start thinking about wife kids job car house dog credit cards retirement plan rocking chair forgotten death hell ouch.

i watch the mexicans walk down the street and i drink a shot everytime i see a dad with the wife and two or three kids. always a kid in a stroller. always. call me a racist all you want fuckers. theres always a kid in a stroller and usually one in the oven. everything in this shit is true.

problem with being ahead of your time is its just as bad as being behind the times. fella named steve dahl was howard stern well before howard stern was howard stern and steve was number one in chicago and got fired all over and did song parodies and even brian wilson co-wrote tunes with him but steve never got a tv deal. oh wait. yes he did. steve got everything howard got. but not for as long because nobody was ready for it. none of those in power understood how to market it. so how on earth would a newspaper or magazine or even big time website understand why you would want to hire a so called stream of conscious blogger to write a daily column where he would say

fuck the president. are you people kidding me?

in my day columnists were either slice of life bullshit bob greene middle of the road lets talk about my newborn and the beatles, or they were mike royko defending the rights of the vets and their card game that got broken up by the rookie cop.

but royko still was based in politics and sports which no offense, dont get me wrong, fuck you if you get me wrong, but it’s easy. sports and politics is easy and you know it. letting a guy say fuck this or fuck that isnt so easy, even if his name is royko but especially if his name is blonty pierce.

truth is i know that i will never write for the la times. just like i know a helicopter cant fly unless you let it make noise. just like how i know a plane cant take off unless its allowed to speed down a runway. just like how i know i will never get to go down on this blonde at work until i tell her shit anything other than durrrrrr.

the velvet underground were ahead of their time and why not be the velvet underground because twenty thirty years later you can put that shit in and tap the bottle and twist the cap and everything goes down smooth. maybe even smoother. why not be ahead of the game like the replacements since part of the thrill was being in on something that just wasnt going to make it to the moon cuz its only nineteen fifty and you can take my hand, you can take my whole heart too, but some things just were not meant to be.

im not just talking about me.

la fucking times barely knows which way to wipe its ass. im retarded even to want to work with that sort of mentality – again. where people look at your ac/dc tshirt and think youre too punk rock. where people look at your afro and think youre too “out there”, where people look at your website and think that it automatically means that you know how to fix their fucking computers.

i know how to fix a whole lot of things slow pokes but your pentium one is not one of them.

this girl had met me once and we went out the other day and we got to her penthouse on wilshire in westwood and she slipped into something a little more comfortable before i had even taken off my hat. before the sound of the front door closing had even registered. before i had a chance to say something dumb. and that girl understood that in order to get to the good part you have to speed read through all the bullshit and everything that leads up to the climax. and that girl understood that the climax isnt the end of everything.

and that girl understood that her nakedness was just the very beginning. that she liked being naked. and she liked being touched. and she liked spending all night making out and doing all the things that the fcc wont let adults see on directv even though this is two thousand three even though its just sexy even though we pay money to the hole which is run by behind the times motherfuckers like colin powells sellout son.

and ive been with girls who understood all this too and maybe they could see the future and maybe they knew that hours of messing around is fine, just not with me. and i can deal with that too because some people should be people you work with and some people should be friends and some people should be sexy friends and some people should be your wife and some people should be people you read on the internet.

every day.

just like some people were born to fuck and some were meant to type fuck

just like some people are just dumb fucks.

just like some people are just dumb

fucks

and since those are the people who matter then thats the people i’ll be

karisa sent me the sweetest, nicest long email. renee called me as soon as i got home. and as i was taking my pre-tsar power nap i was awaken by the soft little knock of clippergirl replete with kneepads and hot pie.

i wasnt depressed yesterday, sweet souls.

nothing in here is true.

if im depressed, the last place i will corrupt will be this beautiful playground.

mayor richard riordan in one of his interviews about the la newspaper that he wants to form on the backs of my pals ken and matt said that he wanted a paper that would tell the good news as well as the bad.

easiest thing in the world to do, in my opinion, is to spew out negative crap, or find dirt on dirty people. or bitch. or whine. or vent.

yesterday i just didnt want to go to work. i wanted anything other than to have to get up in a copter and seek out the bad in my fair city. even if all i was going to do was rub it out.

sometimes you feel like youre a rat catcher or a cockroach exterminator. someone calls you about a smell and you go to where they smell it and you smell around and you say ah ha theres the rat and you flush it out and then you capture it.

rarely is it pretty. rarely are you happy that you found it. rarely is the mess that theyve been making for months or years enjoyable to dig through.

im the most positive person that i know and it affects me, so you should see how it affects the rest of the guys around here. guys who were never upbeat or optimistic one day last year, or the year before that, or ever.

these are the cast-offs, the unloved, the misfits, the loners. anarchists with guns. criminals who roam the streets undercover chasing other criminals.

i dont want to be around some of them any more than i want to be around the real crooks.

but then i get into the office and i have my morning meeting with my team and we joke around and that comraderie makes it worth it all.

and i end up not wanting to be a bum on the 21 looking like george bush whose best slice of luck will be getting a bus transfer twenty five minutes into the ride.

i end up wanting to be the superhero that many of you already are.

then i climb into chopper one, ask the crew to pop in janes addiction idiots rule, turn the engine over, and we’re off.

dont cry for me islavista.

but when i fly over, feel free to show me your tits.

kate + welch + emmanuelle + layne

and coulter, drummer of my favorite band, tsar, peered over his sunglasses and said, what sort of secret show is this?

as is normal for lots of bands who want to try out new material without the pressure of appeasing their fans, secret shows are in many cases good ideas. unless the secret gets let out. and all your friends arrive with giddy anticipation.

we were only one marc brown away from capacity when the quartet took the stage poised to unleash a dozen new high powered rock assaults onto the mostly virgin crowd. yes, tsars best friends were there, but most of the audience had no clue.

until it was too late.

ive had a lot of favorite bands over the years: ac/dc, iron maiden, the police, the replacements, led zeppelin, janes addiction, the wonderfuls, thee mystakes, the beastie boys, but never has one of my favorite bands become more aggressive and powerful and spiteful as theyve aged. the key word last night was rock. rock motherfuckers rock.

the hot girls had to back off, even their tattooed boyfriends couldnt get too close to the blast coming from the stage which was furious, friends. there were no ballads. there were no la la las, there was no phone call from the governor.

tsar’s new tunes are thick and mighty and raw and sped up. you feel like you’ve been up all night on crank and a cute girl knocks on your door with some pure shit and your mind melts and you quickly tumble through the rabbit hole only to be greeted by… a trumpet, a gong, a timpani? no its the dual guitar attack of whalen and kern and kern only gets better on lead guitar and whalen wails in approval.

rock, motherfuckers. the kind that even midnight cant harness. a spit in the eye of the dance clubs blocks away with lines around the corner of trendies in their fendis. a poke in the eye at alleged rock radio with their incubus and suckubus and linkin puke and so ons. and a kiss on the cheek to everyone in attendence.

i have the best friends in the world and some of them are in the best band in the galaxy and if you dont believe me then youre wrong.

on the drive home my ears were ringing and the smiles shared between matt emmanuelle and i were big and bright as we sped through the streets that have names but dont matter for tsar had come and rocked our little worlds without even trying very hard. as if they had done it all in second gear. as if theyd done it left handed.

as great as last night was i will be expecting even more when tsar plays a real show on saturday may 17 at spaceland in silverrock.

tell your friends.

warn your enemies.

circa 1977 + leah + jesse walker + no left turn unstoned

we used to rollerskate a lot. from what i remember we rollerskated at least once a night during the week and also on friday nights and if we were really sick about it saturday nights too.

one particular cheerleader was cute, had great hair, but she was really shy. even back then i knew that she was probably getting her ass beat at home from her old man or something along those lines and it made me sad cuz she was a sweet girl and i had a full on raging crush on her. it was her who first got me interested in cheerleaders, and crimefighting. fyi.

because i was too scared to approach her as anything other than a friend friend, i set her up with one of my buddies who was kind of a burnout and not all that good with the ladies. well they got together and totally hit it off and instantly became boyfriend and girlfriend.

my friend who we will call Jeff morphed into a high school stud nearly over night, as can happen when youre 14-15 and finally getting some tail on the regular. cheerleader tail automatically makes you cooler on paper, but grateful constant willing and vengeful cheerleader tail can make you grow a foot in height and a mile in priceless reputation.

“Jeff” started to feather his hair, listen to zeppelin, and chainsmoke and before that next year was over he was in the top ten of cool dudes in my school.

fortunately he didnt forget me and what i had done for him, and fortunately she didnt forget what id done for her either and one day we were all rollerskating and it was a couples only skate and she asked me if i wanted to skate.

i saw Jeff playing defender so i took her up on her offer and we first held hands and then i skated backwards when she asked me if i knew how, and she put her hands on my hips. that move, at that age, people, in our town, was a big deal. fortunately the lights were low, lionel richie was being played on the turntable, and the mirrorball was spraying little droplets of light everywhere, so not many people could see us.

thanks for being such a great friend, she told me.

no problem i said.

jeff is the best guy, she told me.

i wanted to ask her if they were having sex, but courage was never my strong suit in highschool. it still haunts me.

we just skated around, and when the song ended we rolled over to the wall and she kissed me on the cheek.

best kiss on the cheek i ever had.

until the other night.

halfway there + lauren + a shot in the arm

bum in the back of the bus today looking like a black george bush, bald, im even jealous of him cuz he gets to take the 21 down to santa monica beach this morning and i dont. and just as i thought that he walks up to the front of the bus, a good twenty minutes into the ride and asks for a transfer and he gets one.

you’re not supposed to get a transfer like that. you can only get one right when you pay your fare. he pulled up his pants a little and hopped back to the back of the bus with me and the drunken mexican cuz he knew his good luck.

i was jealous of the drunken mexican this morning too. one because he was drunk and i couldnt be. two because he got to ride the 21 down to santa monica beach today and i had to come in to work. c because he got to crack open a can of beer as the bus was putting on the air brakes and everyone must have heard that thing opening but nobody knew it was a beer since it was cleverly disguised with a little brown paper bag. i didn’t look at him out of jealousy until i almost got to my stop and then i noticed that he had todays new york post. how does he get todays new york post! that shit cost a buck out here.

im jealous of anyone who has a date this weekend. im jealous of everyone in corvettes. im jealous of everyone who actually gets respected in their chosen professions. im jealous of anyone who has a viable career.

im jealous of the guy who pawed my true love last night. a guy who doesn’t share any of her beliefs be them politics or rock music. its the politics that steams me up the most. even the fortune teller told her that this wasnt the man for her but she doesn’t care. none of you girls care. only girls who want me are the ones who know im the wrong man for them and they keep on paying attention to me even though the sign says closed.

my heart is a flower, its wilting though. they say that some flowers will bloom when theres no water. this flower gets pissed off and sometimes that coloration is beautiful but right now its just weepy and sad and chris taught me that if you prick a droopy tulip or gerber near the top of the stalk it will prop itself right back up, but this stalk knows that trick and just needs a little sip, not a prick. definitely not a prick.

tomorrow night i want to get with this girl i used to do. dont be so surprised, i want to get with every girl i used to do. even though the wind in the willows whisper to keep moving forward, little tone keeps saying lets go back. how far back. way back. and i wouldn’t mind the new ones but the new ones lie. and they keep lying. only place you can lie is in your blog, new ones. and even though the old ones lie too, theyre familiar lies that we’ve heard before. i’ll be back at a reasonable time. god i love you tony. god you’re so big. god you’re so great.

and tick tock it dont stop. even the sun isnt sure about rising this morning. even the heart isnt sure about beating tonight. met a girl yesterday who looks like that chick who played frida, but minus the unibrow and minus the ed norton boyfriend. she was telling me all this great stuff and then she told me about something that she heard in church last sunday and i asked her what church she was at and she told me and i said shit i used to go to that church all the time. but it was cold yesterday and she just had dranken an iced coffee and wanted to end our little meet and greet before i could ask her on a date this weekend.

how about a little saturday night mass, hot chick, i was about to ask her. only i would ask a girl to church on a first date. and only i would think that theres absolutely nothing wrong with going for it after ice cream and movies and drinks. and only i would get said yes to. unfortunately only i would let opportunities slip away like sand in the hourglass, these are the los angeles times.

killer mart + chris howell + izzy wizzy

id do my hair crazy all the time. constantly dying it. wigs. the whole deal.

id be my girlfriend, of course. cuz im a great boyfriend, once you get to know how i work.

53. Leho Pictures

id wear cheerleader skirts matched with guns n roses tees, ripped. unmade hair. the just-raped look.

if i was a girl my blog would probably be ten times more popular, and it would allow me this sort of slam against my local newspaper:

Dear LA Times,

Why is is that you suck so bad?

I’m a fucking girl and even I know that when you have a local angle on a story of (ironically enough, newspapers) you don’t bury that local flavor TWELVE fucking paragraphs into the story!

Are you people all high over there?

Is this Let Your Children Run Your Business Day?

fucking a i called this shit yesterday. quit being defined by life outside of LA!

Your staff writer starts his story by telling the tale about a bunch of college conservatives in Carolina(!) who thought their school paper was too liberal, so they wanted to start a new paper with a different slant. They wanted to make professors feel “threatened” when they got a phone call from this new paper.

Nowhere is the impetus for these southern kids Better journalism, more facts, more investigative stories, clearer writing, or freer reign over op-ed pieces. All the kids at the Jesse Helms Center seem to be whining about is that lots of college students were against this last war, according to your paper.

Meanwhile fifteen paragraphs into the story, you get this quote:

“A lot of my professors don’t try to hide the fact they are outright Marxists,” said one Nicholas Romero, 20, editor of the UC Santa Barbara Gaucho Free Press. The Free Press is the new conservative paper, you tell us, an alternative to the highly acclaimed UCSB Daily Nexus, which launched the careers of great writers like Welch, Amy, Ben, the Whalen Bros., and yours truly.

Once again, LA Times, I’m a chick and I know a great fucking quote when I read it, and you just buried one by wanking off to the North Carolinian readership that you seem to be pandering to.

Now, it doesnt matter to me that Nick’s allegedly Marxist professors have no influence on the Nexus, since there is no journalism school at UCSB and no advisors, but i’ll let it slide, just like you did.

But just look at the sweet juicy diss that the Gaucho Free Press levies at the Daily Nexus:

“Romero and co-editor Gretchen Pfaff, 21, had no interest in writing for the main campus newspaper, the Daily Nexus, which they say too often glamorizes drug use and promiscuity. ‘It’s offensive,’ Pfaff said.”

So let me get this right. You have a story about conservative college alternative papers sprouting up. Instead of focusing on the UCSB papers (one which is established, award-ridden, and glorious; one that is new and Republican), you spend the entire first third of the article writing about a lame ass redneck fishwrap deep in the heart of Dixie?

Lick my clit, LA Times. Lick it good.

LA Examiner + marc brown + la daily news

brezney’s real astrology

Libra ( September 23 – October 22 )

At a recent concert, devotional singer Krishna Das recounted a story of escorting his revered teachers, a frail old Indian couple, to an acupuncturist in New York. They had to walk through a neighborhood dominated by strip clubs, prostitutes, and drug dealers. Every few feet, a new salesperson approached with an offer of crack, weed, crank, or sexual adventures. Krishna Das worried about subjecting his beloved guides to such a degrading experience, but they were unfazed. “This is heaven,” said the woman. When a surprised Krishna Das asked what she meant, she replied, “Heaven is any place where one’s needs can be met.” My wish for you this week, Libra, is that you be as open-minded as she was about where heaven might reside for you.

is a convicted purveyor of kiddie porn?

kill yr idols?

forgive and forget?

ignore the obvious?

me, i like to blame the President of the United States.

damn you george!

well its only fair. how many knee jerkers instantly blame sex drugs rock for the decline of western civ? or the fact that their daughters are listening to 50 cent and their sons are dressing like him.

i just want to know where all the devil music has gone to? how come nashville pussy hasnt taken over the world?

doesnt marilyn manson have a new record out? why havent i heard it?

why do i know more about the justin timberlake tour than i do ozzfest?

did you know that american idol was in the top 5 in neilson ratings two nights last week?

this may be a stretch, but through all this am i to assume that pete townshend isnt the only one salivating over children?

the kids write me and send me nice things and they want to molest me, but i just sit in my media room flipping channels waiting for something to entertain me and i just flip and flip and flip until i pass out on my leather couch only to be awaken by my robotic dog, my sole companion who yips when he needs to be recharged.

sprinklers soak the grass, and my window, and my white man lawn jockey.

wind chimes tinkle their tunes in the wind.

raccoons sniff at the buddah bird feeder.

weather vane just spins and spins and the cock aims at the wrong direction making me wonder how on earth can a weather vane be broken?

i hope i get old before i get old.

true boy + oish + the ward + fun squared

quarter beer night, three for one lapdances, phish food ben and jerrys, bank error in my favor, clean sheets and dirty girls, pringles salt and vinegar, all my fantasy baseball teams, all the people who say nice things about me, cold beer from a keg in isla vista, oriental rugs, white chocolate, the invention of the cd burner, white garters, my green thumb, christina aguelirea, dusty baker, diet dr. pepper (thanks, laurita), super balls, truth or dare, stolen lighters, frosting, seeing how fast cars can go, cheerleaders, ultra violet, sexual tension, violets, cold grape jelly, passing out while kissing, not guilty by reason of insanity, retsin, monocles, nighties, recessed lighting, mood rings, cashiers who can be convinced to mark down one box of something that costs thirty bucks down to fifteen bucks because its supposed to be buy one get one free and theres no more left except that one box, paris hilton, and the fact that im about to get a motherboard and 2.2 ghz processor for less than ninety nine bucks, to name a few.

raspil at bluecad has an eyeopening look at salt lake city, her town.

i read blogs all the time, and so very often i read people say that they have nothing to say. if you really have run out of ways to talk about sex drugs rock then start telling us about your town.

i live in east hollywood. little armenia. south of thai town. the jacarandas are blooming right now. green happy trees that turn purple in the spring. its been cold lately. electric blanket weather still. sux. this girl sent me a picture of right below her neck to right above her belly botton. thanks nice person.

three willie nelson looking bums got on the bus this morning smelling bad sitting near the front, wearing american flag head bands.

ive never been offended by an odor until today.

it made me want to open a showerhouse for the homeless and free laundramat.

if youre going to have homeless, they dont really need to reek. lets get it together.

if you make a photo essay about your town, tell me in the comments here.

bluecad + halfway there + dave hecker