you remember me, your president. ahahahahah god i love saying that.

yes, tony, despite what you want to believe, i am the president of the united states. no i didnt get the popular vote. no, not all the votes were counted. and yes, my brother and the supreme court helped suppress the counting of all the votes, tough shit little man, its time for you to get over it.

here i am with kristin and lauren from mad pony for the annual lithiuanian parade that they have each year here in oklahoma. wish you were here, motherfucker.

would you feel better if, as your public servant, i provided a service to your public?

okay, well, best thing that happened this week was miss resha came back. her site is beautiful as ever and the disturbance in the force has been rectified. reesha is my girl and im so glad to see my girl back where she belongs, showing us all how it’s done. and can you believe thats just a temporary layout? damn.

shes the brains behind kthnxbi, im sure you know.

anhywho, how come you havent updated listen missy’s link? we bug your house, you’re not that busy.

here… listenmissy.com …is that so hard?

by the way, why arent you more like this guy?

im sure if a nice girl like sarah was writing about you all the time, he would talk about her more. whats wrong with you?

you dont talk about ashley, you dont talk about anna, you dont talk about mariah, you dont talk about karisa or chris or jeanine or tsar. shit man all you seem to talk about is yourself.

i may be a complete failure as a human being, but i know a thing or two about giving the people what they want, and i dont mean referencing kinks records.

we intercept your emails. how come you dont write any dirty stuff? why dont you write hper romantic stuff?

why arent you telling everyone to read welch‘s sweet peice in the national post about v�clav havel? dont you think your readers are educated?

a bunch of hot shot bloggers were invited to my alma matter yale last week. since you didnt write about it why dont you lead people to the buzz machine? scroll drown and read all of his great notes on the blogger conference hosted by the law school. clean up your act, asswipe, and maybe you’ll get invited to one of those shindigs one day.

but dont count on it.

ahahahahaha.

there were some cool insights noted from that conference. among lots of things, henry copeland reports that slate said that they are pretending that linking to something libelous could be argued as being libelous itself.

as if microsoft gives a shit about laws!

omg, that was the funniest thing ive ever seen.

how come you dont use blog ads?

why arent you writing for blogcritics?

you dont make art on your site, you dont really improve your blog much, even the production of your photo essays are slowing down. that busblog book of yours better be worth all of this.

okay well i gotta get some free food and get a nice tour of oklahoma from the gals.

thanks for spending all your energy giving me shit.

any time im on your site it just gives me more credibility.

love ya!

gw

hi morrissey.

say hi to chloe the turkey.

hi, food.

hmmm. whats up, mate, i hear youre down in the dumps.

nope, not me.

shouldnt be, TGIF, right old man?

yep, TGIF morrissey

well i dont know what crawled up your bum but you are being talked about and honored everywhere on the internet.

big whoop.

but it’s approval, son, approval! people are telling you that they love you and they want to be like you and they love what you do.

all i do is help the deaf and the hearing impared, it’s not as glamorous as they think.

well far be it for me to tell anyone to come on and get happy, but i think you should appreciate this while you have it. this doesnt happen to everyone and it is sort of disrespectful when you toss it into the dustbin like it aint no thing.

it aint no thing, morrissey, you know that.

no, i certainly do not know that. what i do i do for the people. i do it to make them happy. i do it–

you sing sad songs, completely depressing sad songs to make them happy?

yes, yes i do.

i dont believe you.

i dont care if you believe me, i dont believe you. hows that? i dont believe that youre living a dream and you are chosing to find displeasure in it. i dont believe that tony pierce, king of the optimists would take a vacation from happiness for no apparent reason what so ever right when everything is coming up roses.

nothing is coming up roses, you limey wank. a few nice people link me on their page. thats very nice. and they should. the web is full of pages and they found mine and they like what i wrote, swell. where are the millionaires with their bags of cash? where are the job offers? where are the bras being thrown at me. talk about someone who doesnt appreciate what they get, mr. bigmouth–

dont go there.

give me your turkey and i will be happy.

chloe?

yes. let me take your turkey home to be my thanksgiving dinner and i will be happy.

but this is the PETA turkey.

exactly.

you have really lost your mind.

lost it years ago, hand over the bird.

never.

then f you, morrissey. you never sang in tune anyway.

you bastard!

you call that a punch? omg that was the silliest thing ive ever seen. it felt like you were removing a shred of lint from my brow. do that again. holy shit, morrisey who taught you to fight, mother teresa?

fine, tony pierce, you have humilated me enough. if eating this proud bird will make you happy then here. have her. ENJOY YOUR THANKSGIVING!

thank you morrissey. not only will this turkey bring a smile to my face but she will bring nurishment to my body, and many sandwiches for weeks to follow.

hurry up and get out of here before bob barker sees you.

will do, later bro.

hbo3

and three hundred people complained that it was too sexy so now the fcc wants to change the indecency standard.

only in america would it be considered indecent to have a bunch of supermodels stroll around in panties, but it’s perfectly okay to have kids watch a man get down on his knee and propose to a woman that he doesnt know. the bachelor beat the pants off the victoria secret infomercial and where are the nervous ninnies who think it’s morally corrupt to let children watch a man make out with dozens of women and then propose to “the winner”?

speaking of which, f the kids.

the kids are alright.

im so sick of people hiding beind this idea that kids are going to turn out fucked up if they watch programs like victoria secrets fashion show.

cain slew able.

what the hell was on tv back then?

85% of american homes have cable. that means most of the kids in this country watch christina aguelera sing about being “dirrty” or they can watch all the filth on the discovery channel where one animal eats another animal, or they can watch the totally gross lies that come from the news, things like gw being our president.

AOL is the biggest isp in america and i would like to see what percentage of kids saw their first form of beastiality from one of the hundreds of bits of spam AOL allows to seep into each email account. thats straight up porn in the dirtiest form, one click away, and dont tell me that those splash pages that require no credit card to access wouldnt have twisted you when you were 11.

that shit twists me and im nearly 111.

all of this is just so predictable and exactly what you get when you vote republican.

they’ll stop vic’s from showing their show on one of the big four networks, as if that really matters, but they’ll let the spammers send every kid who enters a chat room porn after porn afer porn after porn.

porn doesnt even turn me on that much any more. it makes me sad that so many others are getting naked and rich and not me.

one thing that does make me happy is when i see people talking to themselves on the web.

talk about twisted.

jim treacher

and the ref calls a “t” on you for throwing elbows and taunting and talking about peoples mothers.

and you dont know what language theyre speaking. and the cheerleaders might be cheering for you but youre not sure and then you hear your name but its not for the right reasons.

and you look up at the scoreboard and you threw down 30 points and grabbed 11 boards and everything should be so great.

should be.

ll cool j was in the office yesterday and he asked for me so i came out and he shook my hand.

he’s bigger than you think and his entourage is even bigger.

all fly skimmies were trying to feel the beat drop

and he said damn dog i have so much to ask you

i said tell me about working out, youve got a wife, four kids, a childrens book, a movie, a cd, so why are you working out?

and he said, when you’re building your muscles they tear slightly and they repair themselves and they grow. and to me thats symbolic of the spiritual climb that you write about so much, tony.

the girls cooed and held out cds to sign.

and, ll said, the results of that struggle arent so bad.

hopped into chopper one, totally forgetting to ask for a cd, turned off the radio took off my helmet and flew across the city of angels just doing laps around the wessside.

wishing i was anywhere else.

anyone else.

and not so alone.

youre breaking my heart the feminine voice of chopper one said sarcastically.

i tried to ignore it but how do you ignore a sarcastic computer?

the lights flashed in unison and then in trippy patterns and the steering column retracted into the control deck and the secret black copter had taken over.

she warned me that pussies were for the sunlit windowsills of lonely old ladies and nosedived straight down towards zuma trying to make me sick

then she pulled up flying up into the sun.

and then sharply to the east back at malibu

and then down into the canyon and then back up

up

up

above anything bad she told me.

only thing bad up here is us.

and we’re bad

ass.

so shape up motherfucker else i get some fratboy to fly me.

and the steering column unlocked and extended into my lap

and the lights went back to normal

so i put on my helmet, turned on the radio

and made my way back to headquarters who are starting to see that every day is going to be a new day.

as it should.

the comedian

(Elliott/Mosley)

Chorus:

Is it worth it, let me work it

I put my thing down, flip it and reverse it

{*”I put my thing down, flip it and reverse it” – backwards 2X*}

If you got a big [elephant sound], let me search ya

To find out how hard I gotta work ya

{*”I put my thing down, flip it and reverse it” – backwards 2X*}

I’d like to get to know ya so I could show ya

Put the pussy on ya like I told ya

Gimme all your numbers so I could phone ya

Your girl actin’ stank then call me over

Not on the bed, lay me on your sofa

Phone before you come, I need to shave my chocha

You do or you don’t or you will or won’t ya

Go downtown and eat it like a vulture

See my hips and my tips, don’t ya

See my ass and my lips, don’t ya

Lost a few pounds in my waist for ya

This be the beat that goes ba ta ta

ba ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta

Sex me so good I say blah-blah-blah

Work it, I need a glass of water

Boy, oh, boy, it’s good to know ya

Chorus

If you a fly gal get your nails done

Get a pedicure, get your hair did

Boy, lift it up, let’s make a toast-a

Let’s get drunk, that’s gon’ bring us closer

Don’t I look like a Halle Berry poster

See the Belvedere playin’ tricks on ya

Girlfriend wanna be like me, never

You won’t find a bitch that’s even better

I make you hot as Las Vegas weather

Listen up close while I take it backwards

(Watch the way Missy like to take it backwards) [backwards]

I’m not a prostitute, but I could give you what you want

I love your braids and your mouth full of floss

Love the way my ass go bum-bum-bum-bum

Keep your eyes on my bum-bum-bum-bum-bum

And think you can handle this gadong-a-dong-dong

Take my thong off and my ass go vroom

Cut the lights off so you see what I could do

Chorus

Boys, boys, all type of boys

Black, white, Puerto Rican, Chinese boys

Why-thai,-thai-o-toy-o-thai-thai

Rock-thai,-thai-o-toy-o-thai-thai

Girl, girl, get that cash

If it’s 9 to 5 or shakin’ your ass

Ain’t no shame, ladies do your thang

Just make sure you ahead of the game

Just ’cause I got a lot of fame supa

Prince couldn’t get me change my name papa

Kunta Kinte a slave again, no sir

Picture black sayin’, “Oh, yes a master”

Picture Lil’ Kim dating a pastor

Minnie Me and Big Ren can out last ya

Who is the best, I don’t have to ask ya

When I come out you won’t even matter

Why you act dumb like “Uh, duh”

So you act dumb like “Uh, duh”

As the drummer boy go ba-rom-pop-pom-pom

Give you some-some-some of this Cinnabun

Chorus

To my fellas, ooooh

Good God, I like the way you work that

{*scratching: “Peter Piper” featuring Jam Master Jay*}

To my ladies, woo

You sure know how to work that, good God

the new mad pony photo essay

when i said that nancy dewolf smith must have sucked a lot of dick to become a writer and part of the ed board of the wall street fucking journal.

well get in line wRyan, that post was about me being offended, dumb ass.

MUST I EXPLAIN EVERYTHING TO YOU FUCKING HYPERSENSITIVE NON-HANDWASHING BLOGSPOTTING CANADIANS?

well forget it because you’re not worth my time, and im busy watching regis.

link my ass permanently on your three hit a day site and maybe i’ll pay attention to you, which is what you’re begging for, don’t lie, you’re so transparent.

you’re allegedly offended because you’re exactly like nancy dewolf smith jealous that a superstar gets great reviews so you want to try to put us in our place with your ramblings. as always canada, try harder. raise your fist at the sun.

only thing worse than a bad writer dissing critics who praise a punk rocker’s number one best seller is a blogspotter trying to dis a blogger dissing a bad writer for trying to dis critics who praise a punk rockers number one best seller.

if you’ve read me for even a month wRyan, you know that i am capable of anything when im pissed off. unlike the ladies, i don’t just get offended. i get even.

so yes, i would call a man a cocksucker if i thought he was a bad writer whose head was up his ass. but i probably haven’t because then people might think that i have something against gays, which i do not, because they normally write much better than whores like nds in the wsj who think that its okay to kick a dead man when he’s down because he’s getting good reviews.

who the fuck is she to rain on his parade? is that her job at the wsj, to attack critics who give good reviews to good books? since when is that a career?

maybe i will spell it out to you wRyan, because i just remembered that i have a lot of canadian readers and i wouldn’t want them to think that i truly have anything against our neighbors to the north.

what i did in my piece, which you lie and say was the “worst post ever” is what i do every damn time: i addressed the concern, i provided a solution, and i led by example.

my first problem with ms. smith was her lede was terrible. it was slanderous and ridiculous and she never backed it up with anything. but worst of all it was dull while trying to be scandalous.

so what i did was show her how to write a lede.

bitch.

then i built on that lede. line after line after ridiculously obscene line.

big difference was mine was good and entertaining and motivating enough to get you off your ass and write a comment, even before you read her piece.

you played yourself, wRyan, but it’s cool, i blame the socialized meds, not you.

then i addressed my attacks and wondered out loud if it was wrong to judge a woman in such a sexist predictably hateful way, and answered it with a big fuck no because that’s what she was trying to do to not only kurt but to any journalist who gave a good review to his journals.

and i wrote it as ugly as she wrote hers.

and i wrote it better.

and instead of bashing it, i overkilled it while smoking a parliament and wearing a cockring

because that’s what the people want

motherfucker.

and i got to elbow your boyfriend greenspan when he wasn’t looking, and i got a cheap shot on your girlfriend gw when he thought i had forgotten, and i got to dirty my knuckles on the sweetest and easiest and biggest icon of journalism while defending rock and roll incarnate.

don’t like it? then suck off celine dion some more.

or perhaps you should go prostrate yourself at the feet of the priests of the temples of syrinx like a bitch.

i will say this once and for all. this blog is for the entertainment of me me me.

if you like it say so. if you don’t, piss off and be better than me.

i do this so that women will fall in lust with me and men will send me money.

and the comments are there for people to tell me how much i fucking rock

so use them properly.

oliver willis

you can stop flooding my inbox with fantasies of featherbeds and dance routines, pink champagne and restraints.

im just a city boy, born and raised in south detroit.

took a midnight train

going anywhere.

los angeles is on fire. its warm as summer here. at least eighty five, maybe ninety. and not too windy. the wind blew all the crap out of the skies so its warm clear hot babes everywhere. we know this is borrowed time but it doesnt matter, it makes a guy like me feel 79 again.

people ask me to write about michael jackson and his kids, but i wont. black folk dont like to talk about other black folk losing their minds. and obviously he’s just doing it all for the nookie, i mean for the attention.

and the warm weather just makes me meloncholy cuz i wish i did have a fast car, fast enough that we could fly away.

i would keep driving till it stopped being warm and gorgeous then i would double back, maybe go down a dusty road following the edge of warmth and if the road stopped, well i guess then we’d have to push the blinking orange button that would levitate us over the trees over the hills and above the clouds where days like these live every day.

when i was a boy in chicago i would look at the birds outside my window on the sill and id say stupid bird you could be anywhere in the world what are you doing here in cold chicago and it would twist its neck and blink.

karisa has exciting adventures that i wish she would allow me to share with you, and i suppose tony has exciting adventures that he wishes he could share with you too but there is a strange immediacy to writing in this media that makes some things feel like theyre better left saved for novels where we really pretend that its fake.

but if i told you that karisa got drunk last night with her pals and rode the bull at the saddle ranch and saw some famous people including the southern girl from real world vegas i guess thats not showing off.

and if i told you that i got to hang out with a skinny blonde girl who watched buffy while i showered and sang along to jayz and then shaved and then got to be close to her thats not really showing off i hope.

and if i told you that this morning i clicked on mad pony and was suprised to see that they put up a cute little photo gallery would you come back to me, or would you just stay over there and forget who sent ya?

ah, if only i was 87 years younger and living on a ranch in oklahoma where the wind comes sweepin’ down the plain.

and dont tell them but i cant figure out which one is kristen and which one is lauren but does it really matter?

i do know which one is meesh and it bums me out that she hasnt updated.

so lets all go over there and fill her comments box with pleas and excertations, shall we?

meesh

i think she has esp that all the hot single women of sweden and asia and planet zip are sending me their emails and telling me all the nice things that a fella wants to read when he wakes up in the morn.

we met in the lobby of the xbi and she had been in traffic for two and a half hours and she said that she didnt want to be in the car any more.

can we walk to your home? she asked.

of course, i said. she had both arms around me as we walked. there are gentlemen who dont like this sort of attention, but i think its great. across the street was the baja fresh mexican place. i said would you like some baja? and she shook her head up and down and pouted as if the 405 had victimized her and only pampering via guacamole and chips and a thick quesedia could cure.

and a kiss on the forehead.

i pushed her away for a second and twirled her around so i could get a good look. she happilly obliged.

silk shirt with an asian pattern, little white shirt underneath, sexy bra straps saying hi, tight jeans, sweet shoes, daisy behind her ear and a sticker that said taken that she peeled off and put on my cheek.

who wouldnta been taken?

we sat out in the night under the umbrella watching the cars pass by on wilshire when a very nice chap came up to us and said, “tony pierce? im matt. you linked my girlfriend.

i said who’s your girlfriend?

he said katie hall.

i said wow! i saw your girlfriend dance on her site with you! dude i love your site, how to be hip!

he said, i love your site, are you kidding me!

ashley cleared her throat.

oh oh yes, matt, this is the famous ashley.

we exchanged pleasantries and when he left ashley said, does this happen all the time that you eat here, famous boy?

i said, yes. despite being in the shadow of the screen actor’s guild, variety, e!, and many production offices like the fifth wheel and the hollywood squares, mr. blogger boy is the most famous face in the food court.

then we went to the video store which doesnt have many video tapes any more. when did that happen? picked up pulp fiction which ashley somehow had never seen before and i dont think ive seen since i saw it on opening night.

this morning it was nearly impossible to leave the daisy princess who laid beatifully in my bed as the warm breeze nudged the thin drapes as the parrots chirped in the palm trees and the school bus picked up some neighbors.

but alas here i am. big day of fighting crime ahead.

thanks for all the notes you all have left. and for those who have clicked the button on the left, the anna button, to order books, gracias. there are just a few left if you want a First Edition which will be sure to include some embarrassing errors that will be corrected in the second edition run.

rock today, superheroes, okay?

how to be hip

and theres nothing your friends can do about it or your lawyers or your loved ones or emmanuel lewis. you just do your thing and hope nobody gets hurt or you don’t get the shit beat out of you.

i have lost my mind a few times.

i have been insane in the membrane.

nothing in this is true so i can tell you about the time when someone slipped something in my drink and then someone slipped something into my cigar and then someone escorted me to the beach and we watched the sunset. we each had a beer. then this little elf bounded his way down the cliffs of isla vista and said

hi boys, would you like to suck from this magical balloon of looney love

and i had never seen an elf before and there he was in his felt suit and big red nose and his basket of gold and pointy shoes with bells on the toe and he looked at us like a dog would, with a cocked head and blush on his cheeks, were those whiskers?

and we were young guys and the sun was setting and the waves and the sea gulls and the surfer girls and surfer rosa was playing on a boom box and we said what the heck and first my buddy sucked some in and then i sucked some in and then the elf had some and then flipper swam to shore and the elf gave him some and then my buddy had one as soon as he exhaled, no air in-between, and then i did the same and then flipper cut in line and took a toke and then did a back flip and then the elf took a drag and offered it to us but we said no thanks and held it in as loooooong as we could and then the elf bowed to us and sank right into the sand.

and then i started to drift away.

away from you.

away from my buddy.

i was drifting up into the sky.

i could see my body down there against the rocks, i could see the pacific and the sunset and del playa and the houses and then i came back down into my body slowly.

ahhhhh

i took a breath of fresh air, god that was scary

oh shit then i floated up again this time higher way higher i could see all of isla vista, part of francisco torres, sands beach deveraux mental hospital lots more of the ocean, the curve of the horizon. fucking A the islands!

it felt like i was the ball on a gigantic paddle ball and i went back down to my body, faster this time, i didn’t dare take another breath of air

but i did and there i floated back up again. shit shit shit.

up up up.

goleta.

ocean.

santa barbara.

i had only been this high up when i was in an airplane flying home from a business trip nose smooshed up against the window.

the silver cord connecting rubber ball me with the paddle was going to stretch too far i feared and i would float up into heaven, a failure, a cheat. what are you doing here anthony h. pierce the third?

i lost my mind, sir.

hmmm, you’re not scheduled to be here for another 102 years. you’re a very bad boy, to hell with you.

but that didn’t happen, i was brought back to earth thanks to a sip of beer that my buddy advised me to take because i looked green. hippie chemistry. headache, smoke weed. weed headache, eat aspirin. hangover, drink rum. sensitive from acid, smoke pot. heartbroken, eat x. too much x? smoke pot. it went on and on.

the beer worked. dulled the visuals.

then the waves began to digitize.

pixilate.

the smoothness of sight had been replaced by digital colors of green red and blue, grainy like sand. the sand had turned into grainy red sand, it looked like a satellite feed from overseas in the middle of a nighttime firefight.

but it was sunset.

then it was just squares of colors.

and then just beige squares.

and then just black.

floorpie

so get up and do a little dance. the mighty mc came to this town in a space pod after his hometown planet exploded after the annual love fiesta got a little out of control and too many of the ladies in the house said hooooooeeee.

raised by amazons in a lion preserve in west afrique marc brown learned to bust with the rhymes well before dmc’s rock box but that chapter in us history is often overlooked because no one wants to think that a white man brought rap to the brotha. all i gotta say is the truth will set you free, people, so testify and give it up to marc with a c.

brown delivers. so much so that hollywood records wanted tsar to name their first record “the marc brown years” but at the last minute just called it tsar. big mistake.

while looking for his canoe and his blue ox, mark did the austrailian crawl across the sea and landed in seatle where he was raised in the trees by hippies. they gave him his american name which was alot easier to say than click click but maybe not.

the ladies loved cool b as they still do but back then he didnt know how to fend them off as delicately as he does now. back then he was too honest. he would make them all cry and it only made them fall harder for him.

one day he threw a frisbee over the head of dave grohl barefoot in the park. he said, “my bad” which was the first time anyone had ever said that and ran to retrive the flying disc. he found it on the penisula of isla vista some 1600 miles away. he looked around and felt instantly at home. he signed up for classes at the junior college, got himself a show on the radio where he played hip hop and smooth jazz and a legend was born.

marc brown was going to night school.

a few years later he transfered to ucsb and ran for president. he got 60 votes but the nexus said he got 69 and put it on the front page. all the ladies put their hands in the air, and shook em around like they just didnt care.

marc brown got so much tail in college that i used to walk behind him just to get hit by the shrapnel.

his record collection was always bigger than mine. it was a party school with hundreds of kegs a night. thousands on weekends and if you saw the mc was there you knew you were in the right place. i cant tell you how many concerts i went to that he was there too. skynyrd, lyle lovitt, tom ball and kenny sultan, hank jr., yanni. marc always was there with his backstage laminents, always an extra one for me and a cold frosty one in a plastic cup. he’d lick his hand and smear his hand stamp on mine. i’d give him a tab of acid and we’d call it even.

ah, memories.

so heres to you Mr. Birthday Boy Blogger Web Design Loft Dweller Karaoke Singing Keeping it Real Man.

you’re the true american hero of the day. and an example to all of us. and by the way, i ganked the top most blog pic from his site. thanks, cheif!

marc brown