“did you get my email?”

yes, baby.

“did you look at the picture?”

no, anna, you know i dont open attachments. i have had the same 400 MHz computer since 98, solely because i practice Safe Computing.

“OPEN UP THE DAMN ATTACHMENT!”

yes, dear.

ok, i opened it. who’s that, dave matthews?

“uh, no. it’s Enrique.”

enrique?

“Enrique Iglesias.”

oh your boy. i thought his name was something else.

“no, you call him something else, but his name is Enrique, anyway that is not the damn point. look what he’s doing with that whore!”

hes singing with her. he is a singer, isnt he?

“he’s playing with her hair the way that he plays with MINE! I’LL KILL HIM!”

you know, that ponytail does sorta look like yours.

“what? ARRRRGGGGG!”

you could always try to make him jealous by getting it on with me, anna. i hear sometimes jealousy is the best policy.

“tony, can you just be my friend for just once in your life, and not try to be gross?”

ok, i’ll try. this is new for me though.

“what should i do?”

you should dump him. he obviously got a chick that sorta looks like you and told her to get on her knees, or whatever and he is obviously enjoying having her head near his crotch and–

“ENOUGH! you are being so sick!”

babe, he’s a singer. hes the alleged handsome son of a truly great singer. you’re just another pretty face that he used in a video. sorta like what Juvenile and Outkast do, but you’re not shaking your ass in a micro-mini, you’re being the hot famous celeb chick.

“I want to kill him.”

kill him by not seeing him any more.

“no, i want to see him dead.”

ok, russian gurl, you’re scaring me. you know i work for–

“yeah, i know who you work for. im just so hurt. AND I GOT HIM THAT HAT!”

if it makes you feel any better, i got that chick those bangles.

“bangles?”

yeah, i love bangles.

“tony?”

yes, anna.

“will anyone ever love me?”

thats a tough question.

“so?”

probably not. love is very hard to find. especially if youre not an american citizen.

“what is that supposed to mean?”

and especially if all you do is date like super hot male celebs who have women falling for them left and right.

“well who else do you think i should be with.”

nerds. they wont leave you.

“with my luck they would.”

you never know until you try.

“who was that nerd that drew barrymore married, he dumped her.”

you mean Tom Green?

“yeah, him, whoever. yeah him.”

oh, well, date a normal nerd, not a totally freaky one who drinks milk from the udders of cows. i mean, thats sorta asking for it.

“you know, tony, if you werent my best friend, i would totally date you.”

just what i wanted to hear, hot chick. i gotta go to bed. go win a tourney for me. that will show him.

“‘night antony.”

i’ll burn all my dave matthews records for you.

“good, but he’s not dave matthews.”

me too, good-nyet anna.

“dork.”

since the early 60s and i dont think he’s ever looked better.

because we’re friends we can agree to disagree (if we were enemies we would have to duel to the death), but the fox news columnist couldnt be more wrong about Iron Mike.

Mike Tyson brought more to pro boxing than anyone since Ali and yet he is constantly put down for being exactly what we loved him to be: a dirty high pitched short stocky thug.

you dont bring a teenage beauty queen to the hotel room of a twentysomething thug in the middle of the night and expect him to recite sonnets from memory and sit back in his leather chair of the suite and listen to her, enthralled, as she tells him about every little detail of her sweet little life.

mike tyson was a professional boxer at the age of eighteen.

before that he was a purse snatching thug.

he was lucky to find an old man trainer who knew how to mold that visciousness and salvage it into something that this elegantly refined society would deem acceptable.

he also had a young man trainer and they all worked together and created Iron Mike, the scariest and youngest heavy weight champion in the world.

when the old trainer died and the young trainer was fired and when tyson married a golddigging starfucker and her mother, he instantly turned into king kong minus the restraints, lord macbeth minus the cute accent.

the woods were coming to get him.

scratch that.

the king was coming to get him.

mike tyson was a confused, ignorant, uneducated, lisping bully when we all fell in love with him, and he was all those things when he was surrounded by robin givens, her mother, and don king.

he was a confused, failing, ignorant bully when he bit the ear off evander holyfield in The most amazing moment in professional boxing.

who was really surprised when he took a first bite at that thing, stepped back and watched Evander hop around?

were you surprised that tyson took a bigger bite the next time?

ripped off part of that ear

and spit it back at him.

after a quick chew

right there on pay per view

crazy warrior.

never say die.

bully.

thug.

there he was, now,

entertaining.

with an arthur ashe tattoo on one bicep

chairman mao on his chest

lord knows why

but i do know why i love mike tyson.

because he has never let me down, he has never surprised me, he has never disappointed me.

one fight the bell rang and most guys sorta dance out to the center of the ring and meet the opponent and then they

mike fucking ran across and started wailing on the guy before he had barely made it off the stool.

fearless fucking fighter.

but rapist?

desiree washington called tyson up, he sent over a limo, she hopped in, went up to his room, went into his room, and this is mike tyson, not that suave mother tony pierce saying all the right things, this is “ooh, like that asssth baby.”

hung out with mike, went into the bathroom, removed the panty shield from her

panties,

returned to tyson, who applied lube to

her

climbed on top of him and had sex with the champ,

then went back to her hotel

woke up in the morning and went to the miss black america pageant and participated in the dance routines.

and then later told the police that tyson had raped her and she was incredibly sore from the violent act.

of course, don king was nowhere to be found to help him.

infact, king didnt attend one day at tyson’s trial, but he did hire the champ his tax attorney.

the all woman jury found tyson guilty of rape and he did three years in the slam.

so the question is, why would the king want the champ to go down?

did king want the heavyweight divison to be more competitive?

did the division become more competitive?

in the wake of tyson’s false imprisonment, were 46 year old hefty has-beens like george foreman allowed to develop and regain the title?

knuckleheads like evander and lennox would have been beaten by tyson two or three times before they would have been able to become the headbutters that they became.

when mike tyson was accused of rape, he was at the top of his game with nothing but fallen challengers behind him and no true peers in the horizon.

the greatness of this manboy was stolen from him by people who have a history of manipulating men for their money.

i used to think that hell on earth would be to be stupid and ugly living in america.

now i think a worse fate would be being stupid and ugly living with don king

and robin givens.

im still with you, champ.

beyonce called me and i said, where do all of you girls get my number?

she was upset because the photos had come out and they revealed a much larger singer of the girl group.

“no one will ever love me,” she cried.

true, beyonce, but they’ll love your money.

“but i dont want them to love me for my money!”

sorry, baby, im probably the only man who will love you for who you are.

“even if im not a skinny girl any more?”

beyonce, it’s just a matter of time until any of our bodies start changing. yours just came today. it’s cool. i still love you.

“be my boyfriend.”

no.

“but…”

shhhh shhhh shhhh. i thought you wanted to be an independent woman?

“i do. on your living room floor.”

its messy there.

“after your maid comes.”

now, thats kinky.

“what is?”

ok, gotta go beyonce. cant wait for the solo record.

“but, wait. did a. beam get it right? are you really going to stop the busblog?”

yes. july 7.

“noooooo. why?”

all blogs should end after a year. its the only way to keep things fresh.

“but your blog is constantly fresh.”

but nobody cares.

“EVERYONE CARES. didnt you get like three million hits last month?”

yes, but i cheated. i put nudity on my site. thats not love.

“so like if like 100 sites that dont link you now, if they link you, will you keep the blog?”

maybe.

“say yes.”

ok, yes.

i guess i should have said by 23.

“did Sammy Davis Jr. “conk” his hair his whole life? Has he gotten shit for this? I ask cuz I’m reading malcom x’s autobiography and I just read the part where he goes off about what sellouts blacks that conked their hair were.

well, keith, Frank may have sung it, but Sammy lived it. if there was one person who did it his way, it was the little Black one eyed nappy haired jew who had a penchant for tall scandanavian blondes in an era when mixed-marriages were illegal in more than half of the states here in America.

sammy alluded to the fact that he lost his left eye possibly due to racism when driving from Vegas to Hollywood in a cadillac that was just given to him by the owner of the Sands. sammy was dating a nice young blonde girl and was driving to LA to buy a house in the ultra-white hollywood hills. all of this was just too much for some, and as he was driving suddenly he saw a car completely stopped on the highway just in front of him for no reason at all. sammy swerved to avoid the mysterious car and hit his head on the decorative cone in the center of his steering wheel and lost his eye.

things simmered when he took the advice of his friends and immediately married his first wife, a pretty black chorus girl on the strip who he barely knew.

the marriage didnt last long, and soon he was seen with the whitest women he could find.

and in 1960 right after his friend JFK won the presidency, due in part to sammy’s getting out the Black vote for kennedy, he married may brit despite the fact that 31 states still considered such a practice illegal and immoral.

when JFK retracted SDJ’s invite to his inaugural ball because of his sammy’s controversial marriage, the candy man’s feelings were hurt so much that years later when Richard Nixon called on Sammy to help with his coolness quotient, sammy– to the utter disbelief of the african-american community– accepted the invitation and became friendly with the republican.

sammy also did lots of cocaine which caused a huge rift between he and old Blue Eyes that lasted years, he also didnt pay his taxes that caused him serious financial injury with Uncle Sam, and he dabbled in satanism which drew ire from The Man Upstairs.

sammy answered only to sammy.

so, to answer your question, yes, keith, sammy did sport a ‘fro for a short period of time. when i find the pictures i will post them.

but he didnt wear his hair a certain way to bow to popular convention or to appease a certain racial group, he did it because either he wanted it, or because he thought it could score him more chicks. to hell with malcom x or being called a sellout.

sammy was a tap dancing black jew who hung with tricky dick.

“sellout” only begins the list of slurs that other blacks would hurl at him and he didnt give a damn.

and now you’ve heard the best of the story.

p.s. his relationship with nixon earned him the interesting opportunity to be the first Black to sleep in the Lincoln bedroom. he took it.

he would have been 36 today.

made a big mistake at the baja fresh this afternoon, ordered the Totally Baja Burrito or some shit and i never order burritos there cuz for $6 a burrito should blow you. the correct price for a good burrito is between $2.50 and $4.50.

but i was starving, and ive been eating their taquitos with a side of beans and that hasnt been filling me up, so i went for it and said “no onions” they said, but it comes in the pico gigante sauce so i said fine. not knowing that pico gigante means hunks of tomatoes and onions and cilantro.

so now my fingers smell of baja which is a smell you cannot cleanse yourself of even after several scrubbings.

lately ive discovered that my olfactory glands are working better than ever. i used to think that one sense only gets stronger if another sense starts to fade.

so maybe i can smell things better because my memory is so wacked.

or cuz my hair is thinning like mad.

anyway i was over at this young lady’s house the other day and it was weird how the smells of her country home totally brought back old memories and made me trust her in a powerful and odd way.

it made me want to wear cologne, but then if i did i wouldnt be able to smell the rest of the world cuz i would have this barrier of eau between me and it.

baja fresh recently switched from Coke to Pepsi to increase their profit margin, then they sold out to Wendys.

dear Wendy’s please switch back over to Coke.

gracias,

antonio

hley warned in the wee hours last night as she discoverd that i was going to do a little photo essay on the other twenty year old princess, britney spears.

me, predictable?

“sure, first anna, now britney. i just dont want people to think that you’re not cool.”

but im not cool.

“oh, youre very cool.”

even after seeing britney like a dillweed?

“yes. you’ll make it a cool thing.”

so why are you worried?

“i dont know, just am. you know how you can make your thing a hundred times cooler?”

start writing about how Bush Knew about 9/11 and didnt do shit?

“uh, no. have more pictures of me on there.”

what about more indepth laker coverage?

“no, more me.”

what about telling the kids that Tsar is going to be playing tonight at the Dragonfly with the Bad Apples?

“that’s ok, but more me will make it way better.”

what about shining on anna, and dedicating my blog to the Williams Sisters who are now number one and two in the world?

“ok, nerd, that would be dumb.”

War Emblem is about to win the triple crown.

“what does that have to do with me?”

ok, i’ll have more pictures of you.

“DO YOU MEAN IT?”

yes. i just made one last night.

“ahhhh! really? which one did you use?”

the one of you trying to look like Tinkerbell.

“AAAAHHHH. ok, tell me when you use it.”

ok, will do.

that my first favorite nba star was a Net.

that’s right, the good doctor, Julius Erving, only played three seasons with the ABA’s new york nets, but managed to average a double-double or some shit.

but dont ask me, apparently my sports memories are as fuzzy as my ‘fro since i f’ed up on the may 17 cubs/phillies 23-22 game, as pointed out, very politely by baseball news (scroll down to yesterday’s deal.)

all i know is dr. j was a favorite of mine back when jason kidd was just a kid.

lakers in three.