it started off fine, sopranos at this little dive bar where everyone is broke and no one talks to each other. quiet. dark. pool table is silent, jukebox only has a few old school jazz cds and doesnt really work. you give the bartender a buck and he lets you play a few tracks.

its in one of the worst parts of hollywood but its a great bar because it doesnt have any of those stupid Miller Geninue Draft or Budweiser bikini posters of chicks you’ll never meet. Just bottles lined up nice, peanuts, glasses, and losers.

They have a tv over the “stage”. Apparently the place used to have a go go dancer back when hollywood was a little more glamorous, because go go dancers are the epitome of class, but now the stage houses the old rack stereo system. turntable on top, double cassette deck, single cd player, records warping below.

most of us watched the tv. i had a hot cider and spiced rum. its getting cold in town.

cute alternachick always likes to try to fix me when she sees me in there. she reads this. hi baby. sometimes she’ll get on me about my clothes. she’ll say, every pay check just buy one new thing. a shirt. a pair of pants. a sweater. before you know it you’ll be dressing sharp.

i dont want to dress sharp. i want to look like i belong in a fucked up hollywood bar on a sunday night, i tell her.

she tells me i look like an immigrant from hondouras.

i look down at my bart simpson tshirt, old black cords, kmart sneakers, green flannel shirt, plastic sacks of oranges.

i tell her she looks like britney murphy’s stand in for 8 mile. she smiles. her gold tooth sparkles at me.

shes not so bad. really looks more like helena bonham carter in fight club, just not as classy.

arent you tired of being broke? she asks me.

who says im broke, i pay for all your drinks dont i?

do you have a grand in the bank?

no.

then youre broke. quit being an asshole.

truth was i was tired of being broke. i just didnt want to tell her. she was the best thing in that bar, next to the jukebox.

why dont you sell out and write like a normal human being? she asked and squeezed the lime into her wiskey sour.

why dont you sell out and become an administrative assistant.

we clinked glasses.

to keeping it real, she toasted.

we drank and she said real quiet, if you were twenty one again what would you do differently?

i said, i would go to photography school right after i got my BA.

i said what about you?

she said, i would get a boob job and become a publicist.

alison lives

40 million people have AIDS.

nobody cares.

no one really changes how they live. the rich dont think that it’ll happen to them, and the poor think they have nothing to lose.

certain churches tell their parishioners not to wear condoms and those ministers should be burned at the stake.

today metafilter has completely redesigned their page and are only allowing topics that are AIDS-related.

right on, metafilter. but even youre smart enough to know that we’re all doomed.

the rich white investor would much rather support breakthroughs like Viagra and Rogaine and cloning themselves than AIDS research and education and prevention like free condoms in your phone bill, etc. but i dont blame them entirely. or the republicans, or the president who seriously doesnt give a fuck even though his wild alcoholic daughters are prime targets for the kiss of death.

twenty one, drunk, loose and crazy? beware the bush twins.

shit, beware everyone. call me paranoid all you want, im not going down like that, and tell me the planet wouldnt be a better place if everyone thought like that.

on second thought, keep it to yourself, keep it all to yourself.

keep your germs and viruses and reckless behavoirs to your own self.

practice safe sex they say. practice makes perfect.

bang everyone in the residence halls if you want and use a condom every time. thats practice.

then when you have a long term relationship, still use a condom.

ashley’s twenty years old. pure as the driven snow. has not been around the block. has been tested recently. still we use condoms every single time and she is a satisfied girl, let me tell you. so much so that she tells her friends.

what i wish she was telling her friends was that we’ve never had unsafe sex ever.

and after each practice session she lays there with goosebumps

and hair standing on end

quivverring

heart beating

flushed

and safe,

fuckers.

metafilter

and all it’s doing is letting the dreams seep through while im at my most vulnerable.

did i say dreams?

nightmares were more like it.

went to the printer to pick up the books. hi, tony pierce, i have an order.

when did you place the order?

about three weeks ago?

oh yes, mr. pierce. we cannot print this book. it’s obscene.

pardon me?

we dont print obscenity or pornography or anti-american sentiment.

exactly what part of my book is obscene?

several parts, if i recall.

tell me which ones and i’ll take it out.

mr. pierce, we are not editors, we are publishers.

youre fucking assholes is what you are! you just didnt want to do the work.

see, thats profanity.

youre out of your mind.

please exit our place of business, here is your manuscript.

so youre saying you wouldnt print the Catcher in the Rye?

of course we would.

it has lots of Fucks in it.

no it doesnt.

it certainly does!

well, thats art, its different.

next riot, im coming here and burning this place down. i dont care if im in maui. im getting on a plane and burning this place down.

good. we have plenty of insurance, and now we have a prime suspect. good bye.

then i found myself in france and they too were debating as to whether it was obscene.

oui, they kept saying.

mais oui.

barberman

i talk about the things im thankful about all the time, so why should today be any different? just know i don’t count my blessings all the time to show off or anything, indeed, most of the times i do it so that the negative parts of my brain take a little break. no matter what you might read in these posts, don’t ever think that im the slightest bit confident of anything. i have the lowest self esteem of all people, which is one reason i fill these pages with lies, because if you knew what my life really was like you’d feel bad for me and i don’t want that.

ashley was late coming over and i took a little nap cuz i was pooped from waking up so early yesterday to take chris to the airport.

i awoke to her little gloved hand tapping at the door, and the sweet daisy girl sobbing.

why doth thou cryeth so, m’lady?

the roads, my love, they’re so dark and the carriage bounces and the shadows throw shadows and frighten the horses. the bridge was out and we had to traverse across the river and i only had one new dress to wear and i had to take it off so it wouldn’t get wet. and the water was so cold. so i shivered but rode on beneath my new dress for you. and these dark horses tried to overtake us but you’ve trained my team so well and they rode like lightening, fearless, instinctually they knew how to come home to you. but still it terrified me and i cried all the way.

sweet princess, no.

and then i couldn’t find any parking!

parking can be a bitch in modern day hollywoodland especially when the church is having their annual thanksgiving day food drive, and the weather being as mild as it was, so i held her as she sobbed in the drawing room, and whispered nice rhymes and promises and offered up a special goblet of nectar just riped for the season.

i laid her down on the day bed and collected my hat and gloves and took the carriage and horses into the barn and dried them and fed and watered them as your horses are everything to you and if you don’t take care of them they wont take care of you.

this was a lesson i learned in management and at all times id take care of those who were there for me.

i gave each of them an apple right from my hand as i kissed their noses and stroked their hair.

thank you dynamite.

thank you hurricane

thank you pityfuck

thank you buttercup

then a sugar cube each and fresh hay and clean buckets followed by blankets and born again coletrane. a love supreme.

locked the barn and woke the coachman and handed him a new bottle of makers mark and slipped him a small pouch of gold.

my man.

he stumbled off to his cottage as i unlocked the back door.

called pizza hut and got one of those new chicago style deep dish three topping pizzas. second one ive gotten in two days. pepperoni sausage chicken. got a medium one topping regular pan pizza for two ninety nine. pineapple for the sweet girl.

her hair was still damp as i rubbed my whole face against it.

from the couch i threw a match across the room and poof a fire in the hearth.

one drop gasoline, two cups of hay, one duraflame log beneath two whiskey soaked pine logs, and luck.

christians aren’t supposed to say luck but i cant imagine the good lord using up all of his blessings of the week on me.

but if He was, thank you so much.

and also i must thank my man in new jersey and me mate in australia and all the others who wrote in to wish me a happy thanksgiving.

tonight we ride over to greg and mollis to taste one of coulter’s deep fried turkeys and drink and kiss the baby and sing into the night.

wish you were here.

snoop doggy blog

hi tony pierce, bloggy star.

hi anna kournikova super cute hot babe.

hi tony pierce totally cute boy.

do you love me, anna?

yes, do you love me, tony?

no.

no? why not?

cuz you didnt send me a thanksgiving card.

who sends thanksgiving cards?

my mom.

did you send me a thanksgiving card?

yep. go to your mailbox and you’ll see it.

nah. im too busy being sexy.

i hate you anna.

aw dont say that.

you dont love me any more. im gonna have to find a new russian tennis star girlfriend.

please dont say that, tony. you know im incredibly jealous. and i do love you.

prove it.

how can i prove it to you, it’s love.

tell me.

i love you.

show me.

mwah!

no, your boobies.

ta-da.

and your ass.

hi.

and your hey-nanu-now-now.

whoop-a!

okay i love you again, anna.

awe-some!

shot in the dark

leave me alone, im sleeping.

people sleep in heaven?

of course and no one wakes you up.

but it sounds like i woke you up.

who said i was in heaven?

bob marley, of course youre in heaven.

i am, but you shouldnt assume things.

so i woke you up or didnt i?

i was napping.

do you dream in your naps in heaven.

yep.

were you dreaming when i woke you?

i was already up.

what were you thinking about?

i was thinking about how great heaven is. i think about that all the time.

do you play guitar a lot in heaven?

yep.

what song do people request you play?

well, the lame people request “stairway”

stairway to heaven?

yeah.

ok, that is lame.

yeah. but this old lady requested “cocaine” yesterday, it was funny. so i played it.

they have cocaine in heaven?

of course.

whats it like?

i dont know, ive never been a coke man.

what one thing do you do in heaven, bob, that you never did on earth?

yoga.

anything else?

ding dongs. i never had ding dongs before. i eat a ton of them cuz you dont get cavities here.

youre the best bob marley.

no, youre the best, tony

this is super dumb.

yeah.

marc brown kicks ass

and taking the bus over to the wesssside is like visiting your parents over the holidays: everything is clean, smells good, safe.

we laid in her bed holding hands looking at each others eyes and catching up. we love each other so much you’d think nothing has ever changed, but tons has, all in good ways, mostly on her side. she looks better than ever, she’s successful as hell, her place is gorgeous and can you believe its the first apartment that was hers, all hers?

its spectacular.

far different than my hollywood bachelor pad where garbage tumbles down the alleyways and crows caw from the powerlines.

in santa monica theyve passed a law against the wind, it’s not allowed to howl after 10pm. so sweet.

we ordered chinese from our favorite place and i went back for thirds i was so happy.

chris always has some pajama bottoms for me and a tshirt and hugs and hugs and hugs and maybe a kiss on the cheek or on the lips when im not looking but we know whats up, we’re best friends forever, but im still a man so when i catch her in the mirror changing out of her sexy work clothes i cant help but say real loud, “looking real good over there. shake it!”

and of course she’ll shake it. why not?

while she watched the gilmore girls i checked my email and then took a hot shower. everything in her place is in place. nothing like when she had to live with me. she has such class, such style. you’d think after five years id pick some of it up, but no.

she beat my ass at scrabble even though i had the q z and x. fuck!

she taught me a few new cheater words that id never known about like zee and she laughed.

i jumped in her bed, which is the softest and most comfortable on planet earth filled with sleepable pillows and i said come in come in and she finished packing for the holidays and then the phone rang and then i passed out within seconds.

this morning we woke up at 6am, hit the road at 630 and now my sweet exgirlfriend is jetting across the clear skies to her storybook family on the river in oregon, which only means one thing.

party in santa monica.

sam adams keg, three bands.

my single mom life

they ask me about things and i’ll tell them whatever they ask.

they question me about boys and whether they should break up with their boyfriends and i say stay with you man. we’re all the same, really, and in your youth you should figure out how to mend things and compromise, not how to break up.

they ask me about sexual positions and i check their IDs and i tell them make sure he’s there and you’re there and thats all you need to work on.

they ask me what its like to be 109 and i tell them its just like being 18 except you’ve seen everything hitchcock ever made.

sometimes they’ll send me pictures, and thats nice, sometimes they’ll mail me gifts and who doesnt like gifts, but mostly they pay attention to me and i would say thats the best thing in the world for a single man and the worst for a not single man.

and all of this because of you, blog. wonderfully arranged zeroes and ones laying resident on a box in a server in a cage far away from here.

thank you zeroes and ones.

thank you. like the jiggaman said, you could be anywhere in the world tonight, but youre here, and i appreciate that.

some say this is all a grand experiement in communication. some poo-poo it. some dont even know what to think. the cynics call it the loudest bird call in modern history. i call it a miracle.

one day my princess will come and i wouldnt be surprised if she came from the pictures and text found on this very blog.

i just hope shes legal, lives nearby, and knows where i can find a decent paying job so i can buy a car and some clothes, and maybe a tv for the bedroom.

and hopefully she likes to make out to my favorite rock group, tsar.

bathtubgirl