on the new quentin tarantino film that just happens to be filimg in marc’s garage. the same garage that moxie let me park her porsche halloween night.

did i tell you how ridiculously skinny that girl is? how tall those white patent leather boots were. how all the bums and crackheads of echo park just froze when she strutted down the street in her pink dress and the weis-ster on her arm?

everything revolves around marc though, you should start to learn this.

if the mc hadnt been the music director at kcsb in 89 grunge woulndta never happened and kurdt might still be alive.

speaking of which theres a girl who works here who has eyes like courtney that drives me crazy. she saw me in my baseball pants yesterday and i caught her taking a second look. i thought about asking for her number and then didnt go for it. then thought how cool it would have been to ask for a girls number while wearing a cubs hat and pinstriped baseball pants.

guess i’ll have to wait for that opportunity next week.

lets hope shes not married to a guitar god by then.

speaking of one degree of marc brown, he did the design for rupauls blog. and rupaul has recently seen “bowling for colunbine” and puts it on his top ten list for the year. which makes me wonder why siskel didnt partner up with ru when he was looking to fill gene’s seat.

it also reminds me that i really need to get that public access cable show “Bloggers” going and have ru be the weekly special guest star.

as in weekly.

since im thinking, i was thinking, why hasnt someone made an IMDB for music? all music guide is good, but it could be improved by like, a lot.

then i was thinking that theres not one all-encompassing place for entertainment news. like an Entertainment blog. some one might want to call it an E Blog.

hmmm.

then i was thinking that i love sksmiths writing. if she wrote a book i would buy it. i bet she could write a book pretty fast.

write a book, sksmith

ony’s oversleeping. if he had simply installed a little peice of software in his computer it could Tivo for his ass, it could run the stereo into his bedroom, it could turn on the lights for him, and it could be his alarm clock in the morning.

instead all he has that box do is download porn he never watches.

thats your hero, america.

number fifty-five on the weblogs top one hundred today.

so i got nothing to say. im just a blog.

but i can lead you to places that you would probably like.

you might like this shit. it’s twisted and a little sick, but it’s funny.

moxie keeps wanting to put this picture up, lord knows why. i know why, you can look at it and ask, how does that guy get any?

this ive seen before, but it’s still funny.

now this is interesting. this is the Site Meter of those sorority girls. you people are perverts.

speaking of wrong. whats up with the major leauge all stars in japan? last night MLB won its first game against the japanese stars. that was their fourth game. and whats worse is a bunch of japanese stars have been in cuba for an international tournament. so my question is, how much did japan pay for mlb to throw these games?

this girl still hates tony, too bad she doesnt update more.

meesh doesnt hate tony, and she updated last night.

chelle’s halloween costume

look at all he gives you. i have a feeling that once he wakes up he might not post again until he gets ten quality comments for this love he’s showing you.

and finally, our boy has two tickets to the no doubt / garbage / distillers show at the long beach arena the day after thanksgiving. surely there must be a young woman who wants to pick him up, dressed sexilly, brimming with compliments, and dying to spend a little quality time with him.

or perhaps theres someone who wants to pay pal his ass $100 and the tickets are theirs. theyre floor seats. show up early and you’re in the front row.

metafilter discusses drudge getting a billion hits in a year

i’d speak in italics but thatd be annoying and those are his gimmicks, not mine.

tony is passed out, pissed that the los angeles parks department has had five days to take care of the softball fields of this fine county and hasnt done so and the xbi playoff game had to be postponed until next week.

he also was given the news that the xbi wasnt interested in a blog for their website, the job that he secretly has been applying for despite being handed the promotion to captain of chopper one, the finest, quietest, fastest, most deadly immoral black uber copter in the bureau.

blogs are considered amateurish, he was told.

and i say good. finally he can quit holding back in this blog. and if he wants to say fuck he’ll say fuck. if he wants to say raymi is one sexy bitch, he’ll say it.

raymi is my secret canadian love slave.

she cant keep her clothes on.

she likes you to see her naked.

shes funny but not in a cutesy way.

and no way in hell is she nuh nuh nuh nuh nineteen.

hey, nineteen.

tony holds back on you so much.

sometimes i wonder if his foot gets tired mashing that brake like all day.

this girl came over the other day and tricked him into having sex with her.

super pretty girl but that didnt matter she wanted it rough as in ouch bitch

maybe she’d been a stripper once cuz she whipped her hair around like a pro

kept trying to get the upper leg

sunk her teeth in, defied gravity, shape shifted, scratched, turned into a wolf at least eight times

how come he never told you even one thing about her?

and what about the one who sat on one end of the room and talked so dirty in such a sweet voice

and she lifted up her dress and

she said no you sit right there

even the music stopped the lights stopped twinkling the wood didnt dare squeak everyone wanted to watch this little whisp of a girl with her legs out like that and her eyes zeroed in on him and his eyes zeroed in on her lipglossed filthy mouth

she was saying things that he wished he’d said

things that still suprises him when she calls up now and then and reminds him

i bet he wasnt even going to tell you about what happened in the subway today at hollywood and highland which is a crying shame cuz if he doesnt tell you then who out of seven hundred and fifty thousand blogs is gonna tell you, hollywood and highland of course the new center of hollywood.

black dude comes out i swear to you with a boom box on his shoulder busting with the hip hop.

it’s jay-z’s the blueprint part two.

different black guy in a dress shirt and tie says is that part two

and they give each other the soul shake finished off with the one shoulder hug, pat on the back

boom box guy danced around clear wide tape holding in the eight d batteries gay asians saying to each other why doesnt he turn that trash down

third black dude cant believe what he’s hearing and neither can i

neptunes baby he tells us

no radios no eating no drinking no smoking says the signs everywhere

eight ten pm

fuck those fucking signs wheres the train no train then fuck you let the music play

he doesnt tell you about his old best friend in high school whose dad was mafia and whose girlfriend was generally considered the town slut.

do you have any idea what sort of life he leads? dont ever feel sorry for him. ever. greatest friends alive. hottest babes. funnest jobs. even his bad days are day dreams.

he doesnt tell you about half of the web sites he goes to or about any of the tv he watches or who he really emails and chats with and whats going on with him

and he acts all suprised that places like the la times are conservative when hes about ten times as conservative

and he doesnt have shit to lose cuz they wouldnta hired him anyhow and he has nothing and therefore he has everything.

everything you can take with you when you sleep.

raymi fucks the city

my pal thor garcia dedicated his first collection of short stories to marc brown, because he was always there which is probably the finest dedication of all times.

and i was thinking about the old fashioned to my mother like jd did in catcher in the rye.

then i was thinking about dedicating it to alan greenspan because if he hadn’t stuck his little dick into the economy when it was booming i would be making probably $75k a year flying around the world making dreams come true instead of writing the busblog, so out of a sow’s rear ive spun some silk.

then i thought maybe the boss who fired me or the girl who said all the rotten things that led to me getting fired even though i hired them both and made their lives pretty easy. but if those two hadn’t done what they did i wouldn’t have been rehired four hours later a hero and a semi-martyr and i wouldn’t have been reassigned to fight crime with karisa.

then i was thinking about dedicating it to her, but then ashley would set fire to my beachhouse and i’d have to prosecute her to the fullest.

so the list grew: bud selig, master p, anna, mariah, elvis, angus young, hank williams, mozart, hef, kobe, phil jackson, michael jackson, my attorney.

then i thought of something that made me laugh so hard i nearly fell over

to my baby’s momma

but people might get the wrong idea, and the purpose of anything i type is to get laid or paid so ixnay on the baby jokes cuz until she takes a dna test that shit ain’t really all that funny.

except to me.

then i thought i should dedicate it to the Los Angeles Times who refuses not only to offer me my dream job, but didn’t even bother to write an LA Times Magazine feature on me and here i am only a few subway stops from their plush headquarters.

sigh.

im sure ashley would want me to dedicate it to her, but shes been a very bad girl and proved the other day that her love isn’t for me, but for another so let him learn to read and write and when he puts out a book then he can dedicate it to her.

i have a few titles that he can use if he gets stuck.

it is so hard for me not to write about that stuff but im doing my best not to. shes a sweet girl whose still in love with her first love. and you will always be in love with your first love. even if they’re less than perfect. even if guys like me do everything for you and fill your wallets with cash that you in turn spend on clothes and food and sin.

i don’t want to write about it because i want it to be over and done with. she asked if there was anything that she could do to make things better and there really isn’t. she has a new tattoo that she could put my name inside i kept thinking but then i thought that wouldn’t even do it.

theres nothing.

have you ever been so disgusted with something that nothing could make things better. not a zillion apologies. not ten zillion catholic girl skirts.

for a while there were really only two girls i liked and only one of them liked me back and now neither do, so i write to you.

and yesterday i asked my friend, so why then am i so happy.

and she said cuz you’re illegally insane.

In Search of My Life’s Stories

Universal Music Group, 9/18/2001

Izzo

(Carter/Gordy/Mizell/Perren/Richards/West)

Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the astonishing…

H to the izz-O…V to the izz-A…

Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the 8th wonder of the world

The flow o’ the century…oh it’s timeless…HOVE!

Thanks for comin’ out tonight

You coulda been anywhere in the world, but you’re here with me

I appreciate that…uuunnnh…

H to the izz-O, V to the izz-A

Fo’ shizzle my nizzle used to dribble down in VA

Was herbin’ em in the home o’ the terrapins

Got it dirt cheap for them

Plus if they was short wit’ cheese I would work wit’ them

Boy and we…got rid of that dirt for them

Wasn’t born hustlers I was burpin’ em

H to the izz-O, V to the izz-A

Fo’ sheezy my neezy keep my arms so greasy

Can’t leave rap alone the game needs me

Haters want me clapped and chromed it ain’t easy

Cops wanna knock me, D.A. wanna box me in

But somehow, I beat them charges like Rocky

H to the izz-O, V to the izz-A

Not guilty, he who does not feel me is not real to me

Therefore he doesn’t exist

So poof…vamoose son of a bitch

H to the izz-O, V to the izz-A

Fo’ shizzle my nizzle used to dribble down in VA

H to the izz-O, V to the izz-A

That’s the anthem get’cha damn hands up

H to the izz-O, V to the izz-A

Not guilty ya’ll got-ta feel me

H to the izz-O, V to the izz-A

That’s the anthem get’cha damn hands UP!

Holla at me…

I do this for my culture

To let ’em know what a nigga look like…when a nigga in a roaster

Show ’em how to move in a room full ‘o vultures

Industry shady it need to be taken over

Label owners hate me I’m raisin’ the status quo up

I’m overchargin’ niggaz for what they did to the Cold Crush

Pay us like you owe us for all the years that you hold us

We can talk, but money talks so talk mo’ bucks

Yeah…

Hove is back, life stories told through rap

Niggaz actin’ like I sold you crack

Like I told you sell drugs…no…

Hove did that so hopefully you won’t have to go through that

I was raised in the pro-jects, roaches and rats

Smokers out back, sellin’ they mama’s sofa

Lookouts on the corner, focused on the ave

Ladies in the window, focused on the kinfolk

Me under a lamp post, why I got my hand closed?

Cracks in my palm, watchin’ the long arm o’ the law

So you know I seen it all before

I seen hoop dreams deflate like a true fiend’s weight

To try and to fail, the two things I hate

Succeed in this rap game, the two things is great

H to the izz-O, V to the izz-A

What else can I say about dude, I gets bizzay

H to the izz-O, V to the izz-A…

useless

thats cuz my new girlfriend linked me. she pointed to the nirvana photo essay. whats her name? hmmm. well it’s either Kalle or Halle. or maybe neither of those. is it really that important to know your girlfriends name in this modern world?

i wish she didnt live in orange county and i wish she didnt like no doubt and i wish she wasnt so damn talented. but i love her art and i love that her site is called youfuckedupmylife.net

i heart gurls with issues.

im not the only one, as it looks like she already has a fan club.

where the hell’s my fan club?

chicks get everything i swear. so do you think she likes older guys? like super older guys? shes 22, im 109. do you think she likes guys with a slight belly?

the xbi softball playoffs are tonight. do you think she likes power hitting shortstops with a little speed?

shes a gemini. thank you lord. and latin? i think so. ive been with a latin girl once. it was muy caliente.

would she be impressed that i sold 62 books in not two weeks like i thought yesterday, but in 8 days? and today i got promisory notes from people who want to buy books on friday and are curious as to if they can get the super discounted rate.

what would halle do?

often im inspired on the bus. and whereas its not really fair to the 62 who got it together and ordered the book when they were supposed to, i came up with this plan that might help the slackers.

buy two or more books at regular price, free shipping.

joe cocker is on regis singing an inxs song.

life is beautiful.

im gonna go four for four tonight. our team is gonna go to the xbi world series.

i wonder if halle likes a guy in baseball pants?

okay, now today’s fun link comes to us via my buddy robert at viralplanet, it’s a fun toboggan flash game. sick and fun. for more funny videos and games go to viral planet!

doomed dog?

yep it’s me.

but, but i thought you were toast.

nope.

but how did you escape?

turns out you got your accounting wrong, and someone from the xbi showed up and paid for the 60th book in person.

but i heard that you were killed.

where did you hear that smart guy?

uh, uh, drudge.

Drudge? since when has that guy ever been right?

i dont know, 9 years ago.

exactly, in dog years thats like 100 years ago.

well, im glad youre alive, little puppy, you look good.

food and water will do wonders.

okay well, i wish you luck. thanks for helping me sell all those books.

dont i get a cut?

a cut? at ten bones im barely covering cost.

what are you printing them on silk? hand over my share.

look, if i wanted to give people a cut of the earnings, i would get a real publisher.

good point.

sixty books in two weeks. thats kind of amazing dude. i gotta tell you. what bookstore sells that many books of an unpublished author for a book that isnt even named?

beats me. but then, im just a stray dog probably about to drown in this surf. hey how many did you sell to friends?

about nine.

i dont know what you’ve got, mr. man. but it sure is something.

you know im starting to think you’re right, mr. dog. remember those sorority girls from oklahoma?

cant say i do.

well theres these beautiful young girls who have a very nice blog theyve just got started up. if you go to their links page where do you see my name?

holy shit. right underneath “days.”

thats respect, dog. and they bought a book.

maybe you should put together a book tour and meet your fans.

nah, once they met me they wouldnt like me no more.

yeah. probably not. and it probably isnt even worth trying.

no.

yeah, you probably wouldnt want to rent a van and get welch and layne and moxie in there and rake in the green.

nah, wouldnt want that.

woof.

well, okay fella. heres my roast beef sandwich from lunch. no hard feelings?

nah. no hard feelings. thanks for making me sorta famous for a few days.

bye lil fella enjoy the surf

woof woof!

topless bukkake

but i have good news and bad news. bad news is the little dog died. hit by a train. then he got hit by another train that dragged him a few miles until the children just wouldn’t shut up.

then the birds pecked at him. then the rats. then the ants. then the lice.

good news is all of them are full now and enjoying little naps all along the woods near the train tracks.

other good news is you still have the rest of today to buy your busblog books. just about half price. since tomorrow they’ll be flying off the shelves at the much more reasonable $19.

do you know i love you all for buying this thing? you don’t even know what it looks like. its not even named. it doesn’t even have a cover to judge it by and still you order em up like my ass was stephen king or some shit.

you know how many books ive written?

zip.

ah, those poetry chapbooks in college don’t count. maybe one counts since it got me laid, but they don’t really count.

when i was young and impressionable i would send those to publishing houses and to bob guccione each christmas with secret hopes that they’d fall for me and hire me up.

i appreciate all that you have done for me, dear readers, to get me hired on at the la times, but it looks that my path will be much like my boy bukowski and we’ll only be globally loved and paid in full when we’re old and fat and bald and near death.

so its cool.

i would much rather be like him than say joyce carol oates who is loved by all but couldn’t bust with the freestyle if you put a gun to her head. true story, in college i was an usher for arts and lectures and joyce carol did a reading from one of her silly books and people left and i asked my boss what’s the big deal about her and she said shes a genius and then two weeks later that scientist guy in the wheel chair showed up and didn’t say a word with his lips and captivated the crowd and made us laugh and laugh and laugh and ive done some public speaking in my day, make em laugh without moving your lips and you are a genius, son.

broham asks me to italicize when i interview people and dogs and fireplugs.

i appreciate his request i do and i understand how it all might seem like fingers on the blackboard, some of you can handle the lack of capital letters but grammar bad and make your imagination figure it all out and its just too much.

little do any of you know the classic works of another one of my unpaid idols, one mr. ronald sukenick, author of 98.6, Up, and my favorite Out which is out of print but for a limited time available to read on the Internet.

here’s a fun game, read Out and drink every time i rip off sukenick. then read buk and drink every time i rip him off. then read vonnegut, like karisa did and drink everytime i rip his ass off.

little known fact, i once sent Sukenick one of my poetry books and he sent me Vurt to review and i was so blown away that he even responded that i read the book in a week and then was so blown away by that book that i couldn’t write a word. i was typeless.

read Vurt and drink every time you see italics and see me rip his ass off too.

jd salinger, i rip him off just for fun. true story, i was at santa monica college for two years. at the end of the second year i got a C in history and i asked the lady if she could give me a B minus and she said you cannot write an essay to save your life. i said please i wont be able to transfer to ucsb unless i get a B in this class and she said i cannot in good conscious send you to a UC school with you being as bad of a writer as you are.

she meant it. that old bag. she looked back down at her papers and the discussion was over.

i started crying. i don’t cry. i didn’t cry much then. but i started crying. i cried to the library. all my best laid plans were gone. i would have to go back to the electronics store a failure, i had already given them my two weeks notice. i would have to spend six more months selling tvs just so i could retake history and get a better grade. i cried on my way to the library. i passed people who saw me crying and i didn’t care. got to the library and just roamed the stacks like i would do all through college. and i found myself in front of jd salinger, my hero at the time and i cracked open nine stories, perfect day for bananafish and i read it and i thought, if this is how you write, shes right, im really not a writer.

took the money i saved for college, flew to europe, turned twenty-one in florence kissed a girl at octoberfest and realized that i might not be a writer or a good student but by the way, what was i talking about?

oh yeah, i have been getting some foul emails from people who read ashley’s diary. let me say this once, kids. not everything that i write in here is true, and that can be said for your little friend over there too. when i last left her she said a lot of things that she didn’t feel necessary to say over there. and i think shes either lying to me or you. and until she sets the record straight shes lying to both of us.

no where in her tale does she say that she has any regrets, meanwhile that’s all she said to me. so before you judge me, which none of you could, get the entire story told to you, the entire story. and then ask yourself if i had done what she did and then crawled into her bed, what names would you call me then?

unimaginative children doomed to repeat the failures of your family and friends believing the pouts of a princess permanently tied to an idiot young dumb and full of sound and fury signifying nothing.

frankenzilla

backpack stuffed with bread, brie, two bottles of champagne, one brut one extra dry, he could never remember which one was better. he rides his bike to the subway. no one rides the subway at ten fourty pee em.

the elevator smells like industrial orange cleanser. suddenly orange is the scent of freshness. some one has urinated against the glass wall. someone has scratched the name jed below the button that says mezzanine. some one is watching him.

three people wait for the northbound train. one old man who looks at the tunnel hole willing it. not knowing that there is a wind that comes minutes before the subway, then a sound, then a light. theres nothing to look at. has the boy brought a condom? no. they’re just friends.

friends.

the thought sat like a lump in his breast. only good that word ever did him was in a heated scrabble game. seven letter triple score bitch. plus it would take about four bottles to blur the line of friendship. friends. the old man looked down in the tunnel and he’s old enough to remember la when this wasn’t the only rail in town what’s he looking for, salvation?

a mexican made it four waiting for the train and he knew about the wind and sat down. its all about astrology he thought. gemini and aquarius. just like clue. parker brothers had taught him everything. if he knew it wasn’t in the library why did he keep going there.

the train arrived he rode to her house. it was a tough ride since she lives on the top of a very high hill. it smelled like isla vista up there. eucalyptus and dynamite. gasoline and burned leaves. he put it in first gear. this was great exercise he thought and it would be fun to speed down late that night. which he did. two twenty a-em. drunk buzzed really santa anas warm, warmest night of the fall for sure. must be seventy. must be going fifty. no need to worry about rabbits darting in the road or acorns or potholes he was being guided by voices.

her hair was soft and her lips were familiar. moreso than he remembered. every night felt like a dream so he traced her outline as she laid on him pressed down on her skin until he felt bone. eighth of an inch here. sixteenth there. he wasn’t much of a romantic. he said if we had to eat you after a plane crash we wouldn’t get much meat. she said the meat is the muscle and put his hand on, muscle.

must have been going sixty near the bottom of the mountain. hollywood hills meets hollywood blvd. night crew mopping the popeyes. people buying magazines. people leaving bars. people dressed real nice. he had his gangsta flannel flapping behind him no lights no brakes, a game he played since a little kid called lets see how far we can coast. the lazy mans game of human curling.

pink floyd plays in his ninety nine cents store fm radio. no dial just two buttons. one scanned in the stations, one you push for the next station. is anyone out there. the wall. when he was an ice cream man he would play dark side and animals to drown out the ice cream truck tings and tangs but it bled through mixing like strawberry twirl and carmel. she had silky hair that smelled of a fresh shower. velvet pajama pants and pale skin. he wanted to touch everything like in an x dream and she didn’t care. only he was scared. she felt so comfortable with him she said often and is that failure asked his head.

thirty five whispered the wind as he turned left on sunset. go east old man. ameoba records says hi. archlight movies says hi. give us your money says the dennys the dirtiest dennys of all. now the game is called count the hookers. okay one two. three. no shes not one. oops, yes he is. four five. two people are fighting on a fire escape while one watches. not fight fighting fist fighting is one a girl don’t look keep going. hi ninety nine cents store hi tulips strip joint. i wonder if its open i wonder what the cop car is doing empty not too close to the door but not tooooo far away. i wonder what it looks like in there in seedy hollywood on a monday night at two something a-em.

donuts. okay we’ll stop here. don’t get off the bike. three russians parked sitting on their hoods talking russian. laughing. plotting. planning. hating. hi russians with your blue eyes and short hair. everyone is welcome here. donut man asks if i want coffee. do you have eclairs with creme? of course. sixty five cents. thanks keep the change. tip everyone the brain says. over tip those you should tip and tip the ones you shouldn’t. later he’d be robbed.

again.

nine, ten, eleven. that one has a shelf butt. how does she do that? that shelf is out so far its about to fall out.

two bums playing throw the screwdriver at the palm tree. hi.

hi trash making its way home. hi fallen leaves. hi everything. hi.

tony making his way home down the hill next to the church coasting feeling like a kid again as he normally does with his very good friend who asked him to call her when he made it through the jungle back home 2.6 miles all downhill all one big thrill and when he does his phone rings and its another friend who had a date and wanted to let him know how it went.

hi three am. and he wonders who had a better night than he

meesh