i’ve lived a long time and i cant think of one girl ive met named sarah that wasnt a hottie. this one is 18 or 19, i cant remember, she takes a shot of tequilla right out of the bottle and then a glub of marguirita mix straight out of another bottle, then kisses a boy with lemon on his lips then licks a girl with salt on her belly.

then falls back on the couch and finshes her slice of za.

but hotness and coolness isnt enough to get yourself linked on the busblog, it helps if you can write and you have something to say.

sara is an undergrad at the Michigan State University, magic johnson’s alma matter, the very same school that is in the national spotlight because of some dirty dealings with the football team.

thanks to the hosemonster, i clicked over to my girl to find out the skinny on the spartans and i was blown away by how well she nailed the story but how entertainingly she spun the yarn.

first off, great lede:

Here in East Lansing, we have a saying.

“Go Big or Go Home.”

This philosophy has been perfected by Abbey Smith and this season, our football team took notice.

They knew they sucked from the get-go. They didn’t care. The only people that cared were 70,000 fans filling up the stadium and thousands more watching from tee-vee.

being from the midwest i can tell you first hand that 70,000 people at a college football game isnt bad. ive seen bigger. hell, at illinois state university they got that many kids in the damn band.

she continues by talking about alleged cocaine use on the team:

And I understand how easy it is to get involved and addicted with cocaine. When you’re at all the right parties, you meet all the right people, and you do all the right drugs. It’s free because it’s always free at first and they just want you to feel like this. And you know how good other things feel and you wanna know. So you let them give it you. And then you understand, you do feel like this. But then you feel like that and you know you’re going to die if you don’t feel like this again very, very soon. And then you’re a monster because everything in your life is to try to feel like this again.

now do you see why ive been linking her ass?

this is what we call a keeper.

this is the type of girl who if i was the advisor of the daily nexus i would set up a scholarship fund to throw money at.

you really only need four or five hot babes who can write their asses off at 19 to inspire other smart kids to work at the paper and begin (or continue) a dynasty.

when i was at ucsb we had amy collins, jenny ogar, genevieve field, melissa lallum, jen adams, sandy brilliant, bonnie bills, chris zeigler, matt welch, debbie urlick, stacy teas, my girl jeanine, and many others who are going to kick my ass for not writing down their names who not only busted but looked great doing it, and left most of us dudes in the dust.

whatev. read the rest of her peice here.

go team.

after heated debate due to popular demand, there will be a self-published Busblog Book celebrating the first year of your favorite blog.

Included in the collection of some of the best posts from the inaugural year of this blog, there will also be never before seen drawings, xbi stories, a handful of original poems, as well as some behind the scene photographs!

speculation of secret pirate maps are wild exaggerations. sigh.

Pre-orders of the yet-to-be-titled tome are now being accepted at a ridiculously low $10 + $4 s/h (shipping slightly higher for international orders).

Once the book is published (probably in a few weeks), the regular price will be $19 + shipping, so you are almost getting the book half price.

Winona agrees, this offer is a steal.

The numbered books will ship around Thanksgiving.

That means there are three ways to receive this historic book, which can be autographed at no extra charge:

1. Use paypal or credit card and secure your pre-order price now.

2. Wait until Thanksgiving and get the book at it’s regular price

3. If you are a friend of Tony’s email him your address and he will send it to you free of charge and this will be considered your Christmas gift.

The first twenty pre-orders will also receive a specially burned Christmas cd of some favorite holiday tunes.

We here at the busblog are very excited about this announcement, quite possibly the first book made exclusively of blog enteries. Please join the excitement by leaving a comment with what the title of the book should be.

If we use your title you will win these fabulous prizes: 1) a signed copy of the book 2) a mention in the title page 3) a copy of the Winona Ryder Christmas cd 4) a copy of the Eazy-E Christmas cd 5) a link on the busblog in a prominent location for several months.

so pre-order today, leave title ideas (make sure your email address is in the comment), be excelent to each other, leave more title ideas, and tell your friends!

and i don’t have any fucking clue what the hell is going on.

friday after work went to the laker game with a millionaire and two hot chicks in a luxury suite. after that went to ken and laura’s party dressed up as the white stripes guy again.

didn’t get to the party till nearly one a.m. moxie and welch picked me up in moxie’s porsche on the corner of vermont and fountain. don’t ask. just think about a guy in all red and a weird wig pacing on the corner not too far away where women and men dressed as women pace on a friday night looking at the cars. it wasn’t fun.

welch was dressed in a lime green jumpsuit. moxie just looked hot. i had a bottle of red under my arm but we headed over to the hollywood vons anyway to get a few more cases of beer and i picked up some bottles of bubbly. moxie got a carton of smokes for the kids back at laynes.

once we arrived at the layne casa everyone greeted me warmly. i have great friends. even though im trying only to smoke once a week instead of every day someone put a cigarette in my hand because that’s what jack always has in his hand, apparently. who cares. it was fun.

as emmanuelle describes so well ken was dressed as one of the dudes from harry potter. looked like a cross between a giant and a pirate. kate sullivan was the white stripes babe. my attorney was barbie and her boyfriend ken dressed as himself which made them barbie and ken.

my pal derek was dressed as a fishbowl with one fish floating on top.

he brought down good friends jen and don. i don’t know what don was supposed to be but jen made a very sweet lady bug.

in the front room basart pulled out the cds and we sang along. in the back room welch had a guitar and everyone sang along and in the back yard there was a guy with a ukulele who could play anything on ukulele so we sang smiths tunes and tenacious d tunes and violent femmes tunes next to a fire pit with rabbit and her beau.

cops or guys dressed as cops arrived at around 3:30am and someone opened the door and i snickered “gotta say trick or treat first, kids.”

cops asked the room, “who’s house is this?”

layne, all 6 foot 4 of him dressed as that giant pirate guy, big belly with a pillow in it, big beard with cigarette ashes in it, stomped in and said, “I LIVE HERE.”

it was pretty funny.

cops said, “blah blah blah, i know it’s saturday night…” and some knucklehead yelled, “it’s friday night.”

and eventually they left and basart turned back on the tunes and welch went back to playing tsar tunes in the back room and the ukulele guy played something else from the rich tapestry of our youth and i hope he gave moxie his number cuz she seemed to dig him.

marc brown was there and took a bunch of pictures that you can see here

kate gave me a ride home at 4:30am and at 4:31am i was naked asleep passed out in my bed alone with nothing other than my wig on.

saturday night ashley came over. sunday we watched football and then my old buddy chris called up and flowed us laker tickets and kobe dominated.

so needless to say, it was a fun but not very relaxing weekend.

yesterday i even busted with a photo essay

it could be better, but it is what it is, it’s called you know you’re right

showing of fine art across the street from xbi’s headquarters, i was fingering chopper one contemptating “testing” it to see if it could make it up to frisco so i could see tsar and then back down to los feliz to partake in ken and laura’s day of the dead costume party when i heard the familar voice in my ear mail that said “simone.”

i accepted the message and the voice said

Subject: Free laker ticket for tonight…amazing seats. call me, call me, call me.

Hey dork!! Listen, I don’t have your cell #…and I thought that I might catch you at work. I have an extra ticket to the Laker game tonight…amazing seats in one of the suites. My cousin is six and bailed out last minute. Call my cell @ 323-555-0101 if you want to go.

Kisses Dahhhhhhhrling.

The lovely miss simone.

a car arrived and in it a beautiful dark skinned girl who looked like whitney houston waited for me with a greasy bag with the beautiful words fatburger printed on it and i recognized the woman, she was simones friend from caa, and she was an aquarius. i got in.

fatburger with chili and cheese, dr. pepper, seasoned fries and sweating next to the fully stocked bar was a large chocolate shake.

is this what everyone got waiting for them when the whistle blew on 5:30 on friday?

fuck.

drove down wilshire to k town and whitney i’d met before, her name wasnt whitney, though. it was, what was it? and there i saw it spelled out in gold dangling from her neck and who hasnt found that sexy as hell as it sparkles from the overhead passing streetlights getting their peek through the moonroof.

the car dropped us off at simones, i gave my top hat to the doorman who flipped it upside down so i could stuff my gloves in it and nodded and said, “mr. pierce.”

we walked to the elevator and the young woman whispered, he reads your blog. and that explained everything.

simone had just arrived herself when we were greeted at the penthouse level, she put in millie jackson and the two ladies began to dance and i sat down flipping through the new mojo freshly removed from its plastic cover.

simone stirred up some drinks quickly for her man was about to arrive. our true host. hangar one vodka and riffraff for the ladies. bacardi neat for the gentleman.

i tore through the final 50 pages of white oleander and nearly finished but the ladies were going through several different combinations of clothes asking my advice switching up varietis of original miss simone jewlery designs, so needless to say it was distracting as i felt i was backstage in one of the milan fashion week tents, but who’s complaining. simone turned up the knob and pointed at the stereo and sang along with millie and posed while she danced.

i said you really dont need to do that for me.

she said honey who said i was doing it for you.

her babydoll tshirt said

its all about me.

i had to pee.

this is possibly the finest thing ive ever read. thanks, bloviator

(Whalen)

She never changes her mind

Loves him cuz he’s so fine

Though she never tells him so

she loves him, oh.

Sometimes she feels so sad,

Other times feels twice as bad,

But when the tears are in her eyes…

she never cries.

Ordinary Girl,

I know, you’re different

But I do believe it’s love

Ordinary Girl

Wish I were different

But I’m a stranger in the world.

Ordinary Girl.

And when the night won’t last,

Her mind moves much too fast.

And she nearly crashed her car,

when she broke a star.

Ordinary Girl.

I know, you’re different.

But I do believe it’s love.

Ordinary Girl.

Wish I, were different.

But I’m a stranger in the world.

Ordinary Girl.

Ordinary!

She waits for him to call.

But then she feels so small.

Though she never tells him so,

she loves him,

oh.

photo by wKen who reviewed last night’s tsar show at the capitol garage, which sounds like it was a bummer on many levels, still ken gives a thumbs up to the band. (this, sir, is what i believe the slow song was.)

porsche revving in my circular driveway beeping at the security gate.

i walked down to the drive and she was cleaning out the back seat area of her targa. our pal marc weisbott was in the passenger seat jetlagged but looking like a million. he was dressed up as a weary canadian and obviously spent a lot of time and money on his costume. i shook his hand, always impressed by a journalist who got paychecks from the likes of the village voice.

moxie (pictured) floored it and left a nice skidmark on the brick driveway and sped through the iron gates.

took sunset east hugged a tight right at alvarado and in no time we were being valeted at casa de marc brown, a 17 story 50s office building that had been converted to artists lofts. the mc has always lived large and im talking plate glass windows super high ceilings, exposed walls, track lighting. minimalism at its finest.

upon arrival we saw transvestites dressed as men, women dressed as ghouls, quite a few dot com casualties, wizards, even a very large man dressed like anna nicole smith with pill bottles in her hair instead of curlers. it was awesome.

i was invited to mix a drink for a lovely lass and i fixed one up for her and made a spiced rum and coke for myself.

happy halloween, captain morgan.

happy halloween, jack from the white stripes.

me and marc go back. how far back? way back.

he was the man who first showed me the world wide web. he also turned me onto some of my favorite bands like the muffs and monster magnet. if you look at his cd collection you will go home and look at yours and want to punch it for being so lame. same goes for his clothes. same goes for his life. very few men have made me jealous with their lifestyles but marc brown tops my short list.

because he’s a great host, marc (not pictured) invited us to follow anna nicole downstairs one flight where she lives. turns out she lives with another man and together, in real life, they are interior designers, and it was totally amazing what these gentlemen have done with their 1,600 foot rectangle. it was like night and gay. buddah head statues, faux marble floors, luxurious furniture and window dressings. recessed lighting.

it was hard to chose which we liked better, the german influenced grays blacks and whites of the mc’s pad or the browns and greens and whites of the fellas downstairs. we went back upstairs to marc’s pad and i felt more at home there. i felt like i could rollerskate up there like in “betty blue” which, i believe, is one of the fine aspects of having a loft. why turn a loft into an apartment when it’s perfect just being a loft?

the views were breathtaking. long, sweeping panoramas of downtown la, complete with the police helicopters shining their floodlights upon the ruffians near staples center. it looked straight out of terminator. i was mesmerized.

so marc brought us upstairs to the roof where the wizards had congregated to smoke.

even on a roof moxie attracts attention. of all the beauty of hollywood and koreatown and downtown all eyes were on the nancy sinatra outfit of madison and one courageous wizard trekked across the roof to offer us a puff or two of his “cigarette”. moxie blushed and refused the generous offer. i followed her lead. hugs, not drugs, harry pothead. pounded my rum and threw the cup off the roof at the crackheads in the park twenty flights below.

marc had a dj on the wheels of steel who busted out the slow jams and even threw in a little Toto that brought back memories of halloweens of the past.

when i got home i found a message on my machine from my mom who said that she was remembering when my sister and i were little kids and she would help paint our faces and make costumes and she wondered if i remembered any of those nights and of course i do.

who could forget.

strangely none of the kids from my neighborhood came around for the mini tootsie rolls that i had waiting for them.

perhaps my home was decorated too scary for them.

maybe it was the creepy church next door.

maybe life is super different these days than they were when i was a boy when you could knock on any door in the neighborhood and get a treat.

oh well, sometimes change is good. if moxie and weisblog and i drove 20 minutes west instead of 20 minutes east we would have seen Pink sing for free on santa monica blvd.

i think our party was way better.

and because i was buzzing so hard and my arms had had the night off before i laid myself to rest, i whipped up a quickie little photo essay for your costumed posteriors that goes a little something like this hit it.

and for those of you into politics, may i suggest: daily instigator

i do that because theyre famous celebrities and their girlfriends would be pissed if they knew they were slumming with the likes of me.

one of them really likes mannish guys, the type that i can be sometimes but i am rarely on dates.

in real life i have a stubbly beard and a beer belly and a messy apartment and i have sports on all the time.

but on dates im well shaven, the maid picks up after me, i laugh at all her jokes, i keep my distance, i bring roses and wine, i pull out the chair, and kiss the back of her hand. all the things we gentlemen were trained to do in boarding schools in switzerland. n’est pas?

this one particlur model i have gone out with a number of times and shes never really seen the man inside that i am who is a brute and a cheat and a bum and a fucker. i can be mean and dirty and masculine (in a good way) and animal and every time im with her i think i would like to show her that part of me but all that comes out is this very polite quiet shy happy person because im very happy whenever im with her and its murphys law cuz her best friend tells me that she hates wimpy dorks like that.

one of the best moments in last week’s anna nicole show was when anna was meeting up with a matchmaker who was asking the texas playmate what sort of man she was looking for.

225 lb. anna said, “someone who’s arms i can jump into and he can make me feel small, like a little girl.”

and i thought, shaq is taken, baby.

and ive heard this request from the opposite sex before and the only person who i know i have made felt that way is ashley.

and i wondered if that meant that i should just give in and have what i have and take the princess in front of me who loves me and wants me but who im really wrong for – and try to make it work out – or if i should just keeping on moving dont stop like soul II soul.

sergi fedorov wouldnt even think these thoughts anna k whispered my way, he would just take whats in front of him and take whats behind him and take whats next to him and take. hes a man but thats what i got sick of, she told me in morse code tapped on my palm as we held hands in the back of a limo on the way from the airport early this morning.

and i fucking hated his stuble, she tapped and kissed my silky smooth cheek.

azarock

everyone’s asleep. everyone either has their head down in their chest or their head back and mouth open or their head over to the side resting against the graffitied plastic window pane.

no one is pretty. least of all me. tall skinny girl isn’t there. the good morning good morning oh im so happy you’re with me this morning conductor isn’t around any more. the super professional olde man conductor isn’t around much.

the subway is sad in the mornings nowadays like a pumpkin patch on november first with all the cold scarred gourds fresh with morning dew that looks like tears.

it’s okay fallen scarecrow with stolen straw hat. it’s okay indian corn half gnawed by rats.

it’s okay wig store and halloween superstore where everything is now fifty percent off.

theres a warehouse in tustin where you’ll be reunited with all your holiday friends and the rats wont have their way with you, just little mice and dust and loneliness.

santa is coming and all of last years leftovers will be dusted off and released to fill the aisles of drug stores and main streets next week since theres only fifty four more shopping days left till the celebration of our savoirs birth.

me, i spent halloween with moxie and marc weisblog who flew down from canada to party with ken and laura layne for tonights day of the dead fiesta. but last night we partied with mc brown in his badass echo park loft.

we’lll talk more about that later.

right now lets just tell the left over snack size candies that it’s okay.

its okay candy corn and brown and orange felt stained with applesauce at jo-anne fabrics.

it’s okay glow in the dark skeleton marked down to $1.99 made of incredible plastic that allows it to stick right on your window.

it’s okay plastic jackolanter empty of treats with broken handle.

it’s okay fake blood hardened cuz it was opened.

it’s okay.

weisblogg

did you see them? there was winona and dorothy, spiderman and heidi, anna nicole and bobby trendy, there were sluts and pimps, 80s chicks and 60s mods.

everyone drove their silver shifters to the lava lounge on labrea last night to take in the dulcet sounds of americas number one rock group tsar.

and no one left disappointed.

basart and my attorney and shannon and this girl who works at the beverly hills starbucks met at el compadre for flaming moes and burritos pre show, then i picked up karisa and we jetted to the show and found tsar backstage drinking krystal and complaining because their m&m’s hadn’t been sorted.

the boys looked terrific and were gracious hosts as the backstage area slowly filled with the likes of moxie, ted danson, tv’s ed bagley jr., and jeweler to the stars, my exgirl jeanine.

moxie, by the way looked radiant, dressed in black, skin so elegantly pale that her blond locks glistened in comparasion under the stars of the backstage smoking area. is there anything cooler than a single girl arriving in a porsche and tossing the keys to the valet after they have opened the door?

perhaps.

the lava lounge isn’t built for rock history and im sure in the future people will look back at all hallows eve and say “how on earth did the mighty Tsar play such a teensy place like this?”

if any of you are old enough to remember the classic alex cox film Repo Man, theres a scene where the Circle Jerks are squeezed on a tiny stage in a small bar. crank up the heat, put witch hats on os and ali and jeanine and paolo and you might get the gist.

the lovely simone was there in a shirt that was ripped in all the right places and i wanted to look closer but no matter what i do theres still a catholic boy stuck in me so i blushed and ordered a pair of kamikazes for karisa and i.

many men dressed as ugly women bobbed their heads to the new tunes. i even saw a guy who dressed like the white stripes but did not look as good as i will look for he did the white shirt red pants thing which is way too easy. mine will be all red.

dylan was there trying to hide behind glasses and a fake beard but disguises don’t mean nothing we know who’s inside.

tsar played old tunes fast tunes, slow tunes.

because the lava lounge isn’t used to rock shows they made the boys keep it down which was like weird. i found myself uncomfortable hearing all the lyrics. as clever as they were i wanted more guitars, more noise, more feedback. more curtain less wizard. whalen was showing all his secrets and there are so many more sonic youth notes in a dan kern solo that were trapped in the marshall half stack restrained at 2 that all we heard were the major ones, which did the trick and impressed starbucks girl but so much depends on the red rockbarrell filled with fuck for the chickens.

give me decibels or give me death.

this was nearly an mtv unplugged event but i’ll take anything i can from these fine young fellows who i am proud to call my friends.

we all left drunk and happy and satisfied but wanting.

heidi walked outside, pulled a marlboro from behind a pigtail and dug around her bag and a pudgy spiderman tapped her shoulder and lit her up and we all drifted back to our mansions and penthouse suites happy little pollywogs, warm, buzzed, and giggly.

anorexorcism